When it came to personality, the two were quite different indeed. Breha had always been the more outgoing of the two. She was the louder one, the one more likely to lead her brother off on some adventure that would surely end up with the two of them grounded...or, once they got to the academy, spending an afternoon in ‘contemplative reflection’ with their uncle. But there were ways in which they were the same as well. Ways in which no one else could possibly even begin to understand.
Not even their mother and their uncle. For while yes, they were also twins, they had lived a life apart. Had never developed the bond Breha and her brother had.
The voices he heard? She heard them too. Fainter than his and with much less pull. But they were there. It seemed today they were especially worrisome.
At Ben’s question, she nodded, showing him the identical scar gracing her own skin. Fainter, once again, than his...for she had not been the one actively injured. But there all the same. “It’s why I came to find you. I felt the burn and knew something had to be wrong. Do you want to talk about them? The voices? We could go for a walk in the jungle...” Just the two of them. Far away from the other students. From anyone who would possibly listen in.
Spoilers for Fire Emblem Three Houses as I discuss fanfic stuff.
I don’t remeber how to add a readmore on mobile, but also layout for post editing has changed so even if I remembered I probably wouldn’t find it.
So like I really like twin!verse for this game. Byleth carries Sothis’ soul and she’s the one who lacks a heartbeat. Reus is more...normal, almost human but not quite. Originally I was gonna make him pretty normal with like...sensitivity to magic or something else but
Now I’m like. “Well, he has dragon blood from both his father and his mother (since Sothis is dragony and mother dear was meant to be a host before Byleth got that elevated role). So now Reus has a draconic nature.
I think it takes him forever to figure out transformation is a thing he can pull off, and frankly it’s pretty draining to him since he doesn’t have a crest (I read some good meta about how crests are possibly this game’s equivalent of dragonstones) or other facilitator for the transformations.
His ears are more like Corrin’s, since Reus isn’t totally dragon and is like...some percentage that’s about half I guess. Considering having, for some angst, at one point his ears get messed up, scarred and rounded. It would be related to Byleth joining the ranks of the mercenaries as a kid ‘cause she proved she could fight after rescusing Reus from people that snatched him as a kid. I need to figure out why tho and if they would do that to him to make him seem more human.
Maybe the first time Reus manages a transformation is towards the end of the part one arc, when conflicts come to a head (not...in quite the same way, as it’s Byleth vs Rhea but I’m still trying to figure out details). Not sure how or why he would do it, but that’s for me to figure out once I do some more clickity clack on it.
Anyway this is 65% fluff, 10% sibling feels,, with the remaining 25% being a confused Yuuri. This is me trying to kick my own butt back into writing more.
So, I bring to you:
The Trials of Anteros
Summary: Of course Yuuri knew about Viktor’s hockey-playing twin brother; everyone in the figure skating world did. But given that Viktor had never mentioned the man, Yuuri never expected to get home one day after practice to find Vladimir Nikiforov cluttering up their apartment. (6,310 words)
Also on AO3 - please comment there if you would like!
St. Petersburg in January was terrible.
Yuuri shivered inside his thick parka on the walk up to the apartment building, his nose so cold he wondered if it might fall off. Winter in Detroit had not prepared Yuuri for the onslaught of what St. Petersburg was throwing at him this week.
With nearly-numb fingers, Yuuri managed to open the building's front door, stumbling in with a rush of snow. Relief washed over him as the door closed on the storm outside.
He was home.
Yuuri unzipped his parka and stomped snow off his feet on the way to the elevator. The old lift creaked up to Viktor's floor, with Yuuri sending out his usual fervent prayers that he would survive the elevator ride. When the door opened, he jumped out before the doors could crash back on him, and trudged down the hall to Viktor's door.
To their door.
As he put his key in the lock, Yuuri thought back to Viktor's last text, the one he'd received as Yakov was chasing him out of the rink that evening. Yuuri I have such a surprise for you!!!! ♥ ♥ ♥
Three hearts. That could be anything from Viktor making rice for dinner, to Viktor having bought a llama. Yuuri sighed as the key turned. He supposed he would never get used to Viktor's surprises.
But his sigh quickly turned into a smile. Maybe he never wanted to get used to Viktor's surprises. Maybe that was what made Viktor so… Viktor.
Still smiling, Yuuri walked into the apartment and closed the door behind him. "Viktor?" Yuuri called.
At the sound, a shadow by the window moved, stepping into the light from the kitchen lamp. For a crazy moment, Yuuri felt as if he'd walked into some alternate dimension. It was Viktor, but it wasn't. Viktor wasn't that thick, arms and chest curved with the outline of muscles, and he never slouched like that, with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched forward.
But what made Yuuri drop his skatebag in shock was what he saw on Viktor's head.
"You cut your hair?" Yuuri squeaked, completely appalled. The sides of Viktor's head were closed-shaved, and the top longer, only a few centimeters away from a terrible hockey mullet.
Wait.
Hockey?
As Yuuri was slowly piecing together the clues, Viktor-but-not-Viktor looked at him in confusion. "Nyet, is like always?" he said in an extremely thick Russian accent.
Yuuri clutched at his parka, wondering if he might sink into the floor. He knew who this was now, from years of meticulously stalking everything to do with Viktor Nikiforov's career. Viktor might never have spoken of the matter, but Yuuri knew that this man in their apartment could be no one other than Viktor's famous hockey-playing twin brother.
"Are you Vladimir?" Yuuri asked shakily, his hands clenched so tight that the open zipper bit into his palms.
The man beamed at Yuuri, a wide heart-shaped grin that mirrored Viktor's. Well, except for the missing canine tooth. "Da!" he exclaimed. "You, you are Vitya's Yuuri?" He pronounces Yuuri's name the way the way all Russians did, swallowing the U. "Good, good!"
Yuuri didn't know what to do, or why Viktor's brother was be standing in their apartment with no sign of Viktor, but he was saved by a shout as the apartment door opened. "Vova?"
Yuuri almost collapsed in relief as he saw Viktor, his familiar and wonderful Viktor.
"Vova!" Viktor shouldered his way through the front door and walked straight into Yuuri. "Yuuri!"
Viktor put down the box he was carrying, kissed Yuuri soundly, then kicked the door closed.
"You've met Vova!" Viktor said as he put his arm around Yuuri's shoulders. He then said something in rapid Russian, far faster than he usually spoke the language around Yuuri. "This is my brother, Vladimir!"
"Hallo," Vladimir said, holding out a hand to Yuuri. Vladimir's hand was rough with calluses, but where Viktor's hand was usually cold, Vladimir's was really warm. "Vitya is telling me much about you!" Vladimir said. "But he not say how you so cute."
Yuuri blushed so hard he wondered if he might burst into flames. He stepped back to pull off his parka before he could actually self-combust in the hot apartment.
"Vova," Viktor scolded. "Ignore him, Yuuri, he always flirts with everyone. So popular in school."
Yuuri looked between the brothers. Viktor's face was slightly narrower than Vladimir's, and Vladimir had a spattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Other than their hair, Vladimir's missing tooth, and the difference in their builds, they looked so similar, with the same smile, the same brilliant blue eyes, and the same straight nose.
Viktor tightened his arm around Yuuri's shoulders. "And now, my love, you should go change."
"I should shower too," Yuuri said, taking reassurance from the solidity of Viktor at his side. "I didn't mean to interrupt you two."
Vladimir, who had been following this conversation with a slight frown, perked up. "No, no interrupt! Vitya went for…" He made an expressive Slavic hand gesture. "Detskiye fotografii… Ah, baby photos!"
Yuuri felt his eyes open very wide. He turned on Viktor. "You told me that you didn't have any baby pictures," he said accusingly. "My mother showed you every single album of me as a kid and you said you didn't have any baby pictures."
Viktor didn't look at all repentant. "I do not, not of only me." He gestured between himself and Vladimir. "They are all of us together, or of him alone." He then spoke in Russian, and the few words Yuuri could pick up indicated that Viktor was translating for his brother.
Vladimir laughed, a deeper, heartier chuckle than Viktor's own. "I say, is pictures all of Vitya!"
Viktor was smiling, but it was a smile than shone less brightly that usual. "Go, my Yuuri, we will be here when you get back."
"Okay." Yuuri pressed his hand against the small of Viktor's back, just for a moment. "It was nice to meet you," he said to Vladimir.
"And you!"
With one last glance at the brothers, Yuuri headed into the bedroom. He closed the door on two identical voices speaking in animated Russian. "That was weird," he said in Japanese to Makkachin, who was lounging on the rumpled bed.
Makkachin thumped his tail lazily against the quilt.
"Why are you in here?" Yuuri flopped onto the bed, patting the dog's fluffy side. Makkachin panted happily. "Do you not like Vladimir?"
Makkachin put his head back down and closed his eyes.
"Why is he here, anyway?" Yuuri made himself get to his feet. "I have never heard anything about him from Viktor."
Makkachin yipped at the sound of Viktor's name.
"Viktor seems happy enough," Yuuri said as he undressed. "But if he never talked about his brother, is that good or bad?"
Leaving Makkachin to his nap, Yuuri grabbed his robe and shuffled into the bathroom. He got the shower going, thankful that the building's hot water was at full strength on this cold night, then took off his glasses before entering the shower stall.
The water was hot and the spray hard against his skin, and it was exactly what Yuuri needed after a long day at the rink. He stood there for a few minutes, letting the water carry away all his exhaustion and frustration.
He was home.
With a sigh, Yuuri picked up the soap. He wondered why Vladimir was there, and if Viktor knew his brother was coming – he hadn't said anything to Yuuri, but was that because he hadn't known, or hadn't thought it was worth mentioning to Yuuri?
Was that the surprise that Viktor had mentioned in his text?
Yuuri was distracted from his thoughts when he pressed too hard on his upper arm, which was sporting a nice bruise from a fall the day before. Muttering to himself, he rinsed the soap off his body, but his mind soon returned to the twins.
It was a strange time of year to have a visit from a hockey player, right in the middle of the season. Yuuri knew from his all-consuming Viktor Nikiforov obsession that Vladimir was on the Torpedoes, which was based out of Nizhny Novgorod, east of Moscow. Maybe the Torpedoes were in town to play St. Petersburg's SKA?
Yuuri ducked his face into the spray, then turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He dried himself off, pulled on his robe, and carried his steamed-up glasses back into the bedroom. Makkachin had not moved from his spot on the bed.
The more Yuuri thought, the less he understood about Vladimir. From the looks of things between the brothers, it wasn't as if Viktor and Vladimir were feuding. So why, in over eight months living in each other's pockets, had Viktor never mentioned his twin brother?
Stepping into nicer clothes than he would have put on for just Viktor alone, Yuuri left the bedroom.
Viktor and Vladimir were on the couch, side by side. As Yuuri approached, he could hear Viktor's voice, his words a soft waterfall of Russian.
Yuuri paused, suddenly unsure of his welcome. It might have been a very long time indeed since Viktor had seen his brother. What if the reason he hadn't mentioned anything about the visit to Yuuri, was that he wanted time alone with Vladimir?
Maybe Yuuri should leave.
But at that moment, Viktor looked up, his expression brightening when he saw Yuuri. "You're here!" he exclaimed in English, holding out his hand. Yuuri went over to him, letting Viktor pull him down onto the couch at his side. "I found the picture that our mother took at our very first skating lesson, come to see."
From Viktor's other side, Vladimir held up an old photograph, its colours faded with time. In the photo, two toddlers stood on tiny ice skates, each holding a hand of someone tall enough to be out of the shot.
Yuuri stared. "How old were you?" he blurted out.
Viktor spoke in Russian to Vladimir, then said, "I think we had just turned two."
Yuuri was still staring. This was the first baby photo of Viktor that Yuuri had ever seen, and it confirmed that Viktor had indeed been born with silver hair.
He was so small.
"Even then," Vladimir said, putting the photo into Yuuri's hand and reaching for another. "We are the best."
"The best at falling, maybe." Viktor repeated himself in Russian, and Vladimir snorted out a laugh. "At least when you are two, you are used to falling down."
Yuuri lifted the photo so he could look the details. "Which one are you?" he asked.
Viktor pointed to the toddler on the left. "That's me."
"Nyet," Vladimir said, taking the photo out of Yuuri's hand to tap on the same toddler. "Is me."
Viktor rolled his eyes. "He always thinks that." Pushing his hair out of his eyes, Viktor said something to Vladimir, to which Vladimir replied by handing Yuuri a stack of photos. "I think the only way our parents started telling us apart was to see which of us was wearing figure skates."
Yuuri sorted through the photos. They showed the Nikiforov twins at a variety of ages, from infancy to six, if the missing front teeth in the boys was any indication.
In every photograph, the boys were completely identical, mirror images of each other.
As Yuuri examined the photos, Viktor put his arm around Yuuri's shoulders and pulled him in close. Vladimir said something in quiet Russian, to which Viktor responded. Yuuri absently heard a few words he knew, including his name several times (with both Viktor's exact pronunciation, as well as Vladimir's Slavic version).
The second to last photo in the stack pulled Yuuri up short. It was of the boys, standing in a field with empty wilderness behind them. Unlike all the other pictures, neither boy was smiling.
"What's happening here?" Yuuri asked, interrupting the twins. Viktor took the photo from Yuuri and conferred briefly with Vladimir.
"Grandmother's dacha," Viktor finally said. "In the summer, when we were four."
"Da, chetyrekhletniy," Vladimir agreed.
"This was when we decided," Viktor went on. His eyes were fixed very firmly on the photograph, but Yuuri could feel his free hand trembling against Yuuri's shoulder. Yuuri took hold of the trembling hand and held it in both of his.
"When you decided what?" Yuuri asked.
Viktor took a deep breath. "When we decided that I would figure skate, and Vova would play hockey."
Something wasn't right in Viktor's words, a tension that Yuuri did not understand. Yuuri swallowed. What was in Viktor's head, and why wouldn't he say it out loud?
Viktor put the photograph back into the box, then spoke to Vladimir in Russian for almost a minute, Vladimir responding in muted tones. At a loss, Yuuri looked at the very last photograph in his hands, one of the twins at about six, both with the same bowl-shaped haircut, both missing their front teeth, and both with scraped knees. They looked terribly happy.
"I like this one," he said when Viktor stopped for breath. When he showed it to the brothers, Vladimir laughed.
"First day of school," he said. "What year, Vitya?"
"It was in our first year of elementary school." The seriousness has been chased out of Viktor's expression, and he was back to looking somewhat happy. "At the end of the first day of class, Vova had knocked out another tooth, both of us had fallen off the playground equipment, and I already had a detention for trying to climb over the school's fence."
Vladimir elbowed Viktor in the side. "Some thing, never change." He grinned, showing off his missing tooth again.
"Vova is stopping overnight to get his tooth fixed," Viktor said to Yuuri as he placed the last photograph back into the box. "His next game isn't for a few days, in Moscow, so he has an appointment with a dentist tomorrow morning."
"Oh." Yuuri thought about this for a moment. "Don't they have dentists in Nizhny Novgorod?"
Vladimir winced at Yuuri's pronunciation. "Dentist better here," he said. "More, uh…" He looked at Viktor.
"The dentist Vova is seeing tomorrow does very fine cosmetic work," Viktor explained. "Almost enough to make this one look like less of a thug." He said something in Russian, to which Vladimir laughed again and replied in kind.
"What did he say?"
"He said that he has spent a great deal of time and effort in making people think him a thug on the ice. Fewer fights that way."
"They think I am tough man," Vladimir agreed. "No fight a tough man, so I skate fast then and get goals."
"Are you…" Yuuri trailed off, trying to figure out how to ask the question without letting on that Viktor had never mentioned his brother. "Do you get many goals?"
"Of course he does," Viktor murmured. "A Nikiforov would never be anything less than the best."
The tension from earlier was back now. The brothers exchanged a glance, and Yuuri wondered desperately what he was supposed to do.
After what felt like an eternity, Viktor sighed. "Yuuri, my love, might I ask a favour of you?"
Inwardly, Yuuri quailed, but he made himself sit still. "Sure. What?"
"Would you mind terribly much if Vova and I went for a walk? There is a thing we need to discuss."
"Oh. Um, okay." Yuuri sat back. "Unless you want… I mean, I could leave…"
"No," Viktor said firmly. "It is very cold out, and you had a long day at practice." He lifted Yuuri's hand to kiss his knuckles. ""And this is your home. I would never ask you to leave it."
"Oh," Yuuri said again. "Okay."
Viktor kissed Yuuri's hand again. "I'll be back soon," he said, then stood up.
Viktor also got to his feet. "Is nice to meet you," he said, smiling at Yuuri. "Is nice to know the man who makes Vitya so happy."
"Yeah, nice to meet you too," Yuuri said, standing awkwardly. "Um, see you again?"
"Da, maybe," Vladimir said as Viktor went to put on his coat. "We come to play here in one, two months."
"Vova, bystreye !" Viktor called. With another grin, Vladimir grabbed his large parka from the hook on the wall, shoved his feet into his boots, and the brothers were pushing out into the hall.
"Bye," Yuuri called as the door shut. The suddenly quiet apartment felt cold, and Yuuri hugged himself.
He certainly had not been expecting that when he left the rink that afternoon.
Quiet footfalls sounded across the floor, and soon Makkachin was pushing his nose against Yuuri's leg.
"Viktor had to go out," Yuuri told Makkachin in Japanese. "He and his brother wanted to talk."
Makkachin yipped, then went to stand expectantly by his food bowl.
"Makka," Yuuri said, glad to be drawn out of his head by the poodle. "I know you already ate. I can see the bits of your dinner left in the bowl."
Makkachin licked his muzzle, then nudged the bowl before looking at Yuuri again.
Yuuri rolled his eyes. "I'm going to eat and you can have some of my vegetables," he told the dog as he walked over to the fridge. "Because that is healthy for you."
He opened the refrigerator door, and stopped dead.
On the top shelf was a small white confectioner's box, with some writing on top.
Was this was Viktor had meant by his text about a surprise? Not Vladimir?
Yuuri carefully took the box out of the fridge to look at it. Yuuri, my love, my life, happy one-month anniversary in St. Petersburg! read the inscription, in Viktor's loopy letters. Inside the box was a tiny chocolate cake, hardly larger than an American cupcake.
Yuuri's stomach dropped into his shoes with the horrible realization that he had forgotten about this anniversary. For some reason, he hadn't thought Viktor would care about how long Yuuri had been in St. Petersburg… but then, this was the man who had made Yuuri special crepes after Yuuri had been in Russia for a week, and had taken Yuuri out for dinner for the three-month anniversary of their first kiss.
"Makkachin!" Yuuri yelped. The dog looked up from his water bowl. "I forgot an anniversary! What do I do?"
Makkachin was singularly unhelpful, but Yuuri was already speeding around the apartment, wondering how he could make something for their anniversary to make up for his forgetfulness, before Viktor got home.
Determined, Yuuri pushed all thoughts of Vladimir out of his head. He didn't know how long Viktor might be gone, but Yuuri was going to do everything he could to make their one-month anniversary of living in St. Petersburg, the best anniversary Viktor had ever had.
Viktor returned home an hour later. In that time, Yuuri had frantically cleaned up the apartment, including stacking the old photos back into their box, and made a special dinner that was at least mostly within their training diet plan.
He had also made enough for three, in case Viktor had brought his brother back with him.
"Yuuri?" Viktor called as he closed the door. "Are you here?"
Yuuri poked his head out of the kitchen. Viktor was alone. "Just a minute!" Yuuri called. He lit the candles on the table, reached into the oven to pull the tinfoil off the fish, then hurried into the living room. "Hi."
"What are you doing?" Viktor asked as he hung up his coat. "What smells so good?"
"Dinner." Yuuri let Viktor sweep him up into an embrace. "I made a special dinner for us."
Viktor brushed his hand lightly over Yuuri's cheek. "Why?" he asked, his blue eyes so beautiful in the soft light.
"Because I wanted to." Yuuri kissed Viktor's palm. "Because I wanted to make something special for you."
Viktor's thumb slid over Yuuri's lower lip. In that moment, he was the most beautiful person in Yuuri's entire universe. "Why?" he whispered again.
Startled, Yuuri closed the tiny distance between them by hugging Viktor as tightly as he could. "Because I love you," he said in Viktor's ear. "That's why."
Yuuri could feel the tension coiled in Viktor's body for a moment, then he nearly collapsed into Yuuri's arms, hands gripping Yuuri's shirt as tight as he could.
"Yuuri," Viktor breathed. "I love you too."
"Good," Yuuri said, and shifted his feet to keep them steady. "Did something happen with your brother?"
Viktor shook his head against Yuuri's neck. "He is…" Viktor's breath was warm against Yuuri's skin. "He is good. He is better than he was the last time we spoke. And so am I."
Yuuri ran his hand over Viktor's head, wishing he knew if he was helping at all. "I'm glad."
Viktor slowly loosened his grip on Yuuri's shirt, letting his hands slid down to Yuuri's hips. "I never told you about him, did I?"
"No," Yuuri said. He kissed Viktor's ear. "But I knew you had a twin brother."
With a sigh, Viktor slowly lifted his head to look at Yuuri. "Yes, it is on my wiki page," he said ruefully.
"It is," Yuuri said. "And it was also in the interviews you gave after winning bronze in your first year in seniors."
Viktor frowned slightly. "Those were all in Russian. You translated them?"
Yuuri kissed the tip of Viktor's nose. "I was thirteen and motivated," he pointed out.
Viktor's frown eased into a softer expression. "But Yuuri," he said, "If you knew I had a brother, why have you never asked me about him?"
Yuuri carefully brushed Viktor's bangs out of his eyes. "Because sometimes we need to keep some things to ourselves about the people we love." He thought of Vicchan, and of his much-loved grandmother who had died when he was ten. "I will listen to whatever you want to tell me, but I won't ever expect you to talk about things you don't want to."
Viktor ran his fingertips over Yuuri's cheek. "How are you so much the perfect man?" he asked wistfully. Something in Viktor's eyes made Yuuri's stomach twist, and he looked away.
"I'm not perfect," he muttered.
"Oh no? Then you are perfect for me." Viktor smacked a noisy kiss to Yuuri's forehead. "What is for dinner? It smells very delicious!"
Yuuri started. "The fish!" he exclaimed, dashing for the kitchen. With a jump over Makkachin and a quick dive for a potholder, Yuuri got the salmon out of the oven before the sauce began to burn.
"Is it all right?" Viktor, hanging back.
Yuuri set the pan on the stovetop. "Yes." He poked at the fish with a fork. "Let's eat."
Viktor was gratifyingly pleased about the meal, even though it was only salmon with a special glaze, and green vegetables with a light ginger-lemon sauce. Viktor insisted on sitting beside Yuuri at the table, eating with one hand, while the other was wrapped around Yuuri's under the table.
After they had finished eating, and after Makkachin had received a tablespoon of carefully flaked fish from Viktor's plate, Viktor and Yuuri carried the candles into the living room, where they cuddled together on the couch while Viktor fed Yuuri tiny morsels of rich chocolate cake.
"This is the best anniversary," Viktor murmured into Yuuri's ear. "We should do this every month."
Yuuri, who was drifting on a hazy cloud of carbohydrates and contentment, snuggled down against Viktor. "Okay."
Viktor licked icing off the fork, then set the empty plate on the coffee table. "I am so lucky to have you," he whispered.
"Forever," Yuuri agreed drowsily.
"Forever," Viktor repeated. "Yes." There was a minute's silence. "Yuuri, may I tell you a true thing?"
Yuuri blinked himself back from his doze. "Uh, yeah, of course." He sat back so he could see Viktor"s face in the candlelight.
Viktor licked his lower lip. "I… I must make a confession to you."
"Oh?" Yuuri was a little confused at Viktor's change in demeanour. "What is it?"
Viktor hesitated.
Slightly worried, Yuuri put his hands over Viktor's. "Viktor?"
A sharp smile pulled at Viktor's lips. "That is it, is it not?"
"What?"
Viktor laced his fingers thought Yuuri's. "You call me, Viktor. The problem is that I do not know if I am."
All that came out of Yuuri's mouth was an indescribable curl of noise.
Viktor let out a long breath. "It probably no longer matters, legally, but… Vova and me, we do not really know which of us is Viktor, and which of us is Vladimir."
Without meaning to, Yuuri pulled away from Viktor. He wasn't even sure what he was hearing.
Was Viktor okay?
Viktor looked down at his hands. "That is what I meant, this afternoon, when we looked at that photograph." He stood up and went to the box of photographs, sorting through them until he pulled one from the pack. Returning to the couch, he sat down in the same spot, only this time he was not touching Yuuri.
"When we were very young, we were always together, and everyone called to us like that. It was always, Vitya and Vova, all the time. Sometimes my mother would call me Vitya, and sometimes Vova, and when we were little that was… normal."
Yuuri frowned. "She got you two mixed up like that?"
Viktor let out a sigh, a low, unhappy noise. "Now… I don't think she even knew which one of us was which." He looked down at the photograph. "And neither do I."
Yuuri, moving slowly, leaned in to see what Viktor was looking at. It was the picture he had seen earlier of the two boys, four years old and unsmiling at their grandmother's house.
Viktor ran this finger along the edge of the photograph. "I knew other people had names, names of their own, but with me and my brother, we always did everything together, all the time, maybe it didn't matter. And then," and he lifted the photograph, "This day, someone, I think an uncle, he said to us, what are you going to do after the summer. For some reason I remember this so clear."
"What happened?" Yuuri asked.
"I said, I wanted to figure skate, but Vova said he wanted to play hockey. It was the first time we'd ever wanted to do anything different from each other. When they sent us outside to play, I asked him if he wanted to figure skate with me, but he said no. He said he wanted to play hockey." Viktor tossed the photograph onto the table, narrowly missing the dessert plate. "I got so mad I hit him, and then he hit me back, and said I should play hockey with him. To that, I said no."
Yuuri carefully put his hand on Viktor's arm, tense in case Viktor pushed him away. Instantly, Viktor curled into Yuuri, turning the touch into a tight embrace. With his free hand, Yuuri stroked Viktor's hair back from his forehead, and waited.
"My mother came out of the house and told us to stop fighting, that if Vova wanted to play hockey and Vitya wanted to figure skate, then that was that. When she went away, we looked at each other and I think Vova said, I want to play hockey, so I am Vova. And that meant that if I wanted to figure skate, I had to be Viktor." Viktor pressed his cheek to Yuuri's chest. "I think that was the first time we realized that if we wanted to do different things, we had to be different people."
Yuuri kissed the top of Viktor's head. "Little kids have a weird way of looking at things," he said. "Mari told you all those stories of the weird stuff I used to do when I was little."
Viktor pulled himself out of Yuuri's arms, and stared. "Yuuri, no, this is not leaving mochi out for the hot springs in case they got hungry," he said urgently. "Did I not make myself understood? My brother and I, until we were four years old, we used the same names. To this day, I do not know if I really am Viktor Nikiforov, or Vladimir."
Yuuri stared right back at Viktor. If they had had this conversation any other day, Yuuri might have been uncertain, but today… Today, he had seen Vladimir Nikiforov, had watched the brothers together, so similar but fundamentally different.
After today, Yuuri knew that he could never mistake either of them for the other.
But Viktor was still staring at Yuuri like he had just confessed to some terrible secret. "Is that some sort of legal problem in Russia?" Yuuri asked, trying to figure out why Viktor was such a mess. "If you're Viktor, you're Viktor."
Viktor rubbed his hands over his face, like he only ever did when he was extremely frustrated. "Yuuri, I have told to you that I do not know who I was born, why does this not bother you?"
Yuuri leaned forward to take Viktor's hands in his own. He was not certain of nearly anything in his own life, but he had spent half a lifetime worshipping Viktor Nikiforov, and almost a year loving him. "You're Viktor," Yuuri said again. "You're the best figure skater of all time."
"Yuuri—"
"No, listen to me," Yuuri said, giving Viktor's hands a gentle shake. "You did that. Not your brother, you. You've broken all the records, you won all those championships, and you…" Yuuri swallowed against a lump in his throat. "You inspired a whole generation of figure skaters." He hesitated, then went on. "You inspired me, from that first time I saw you skate when I was twelve. You inspire me every single day."
Viktor looked away. "Does it not matter to you, who I am?" he asked, bitterness in his words.
"You're you." Yuuri lifted Viktor's hands to kiss his gold ring. "And so what if your parents got you and your brother so mixed up? So what if you were really born Vladimir and that all got mixed up? If your name was Vladimir, or Viktor, or… or maybe even Boris. So what? You're still the one who did all those things. You're Viktor now." Yuuri kissed Viktor's ring again. "And you've always been the one I love."
Viktor looked at Yuuri. In the dim candlelight, his blue eyes were cast a deep purple, drawing Yuuri in. "Do you mean this?" he said after a minute.
"Of course I do. I always mean everything I tell you."
Viktor turned his hands in Yuuri's grasp. "You are everything to me," he said quietly. "I was worried that… If I told you…"
"That what?" Yuuri tugged on Viktor, pulling him along with Yuuri until they were lying tangled up in each other on the couch. "That I'd freak out?"
Viktor snuggled in against Yuuri's body, sending warm tingles down Yuuri's spine. "Maybe."
Yuuri turned his head a fraction so he could press a light kiss against Viktor's mouth. "This isn't even the weirdest thing I've heard this month, it'll take more than that from you Russians to make me run away screaming."
"Mmm." Viktor lifted his head, kissing Yuuri so hard that Yuuri's head spun. For a short time, words between them were unnecessary.
Eventually, one of the candles sputtered. With one last caress, Viktor leaned back, all the tension gone now from his body. He smiled at Yuuri, a familiar and warm smile that Yuuri could look at every day for the rest of his life.
"My beautiful Yuuri," Viktor murmured. "How am I so lucky to have you in my life?"
Yuuri hooked his ankle around Viktor's calf, shivering a little as Viktor ran his hand down Yuuri's back. "I don't know, but I'm lucky too."
Viktor's smile grew. "So lucky," he said, then descended on Yuuri for another kiss.
A moment later, a phone rang.
It was an unfamiliar ringtone, not one of Yuuri's. Viktor sat up, frowning, then quickly got to his feet and dashed to the coatrack, digging for his phone. Yuuri sat up to watch, unsure if there was a problem.
"Da?" Viktor said into the phone. "Vova?"
He listened for a few seconds, then his whole body relaxed. He spoke in rapid Russian, waited for a reply, then spoke again, before saying farewell and ending the call. He returned to the couch, put his phone down, then lay down on top of Yuuri again, ignoring Yuuri's squeaks of protest.
"Is everything okay?" Yuuri asked, resigned to his fate as Viktor wrapped his arms around Yuuri.
"Yes." Viktor shimmied his hips until he was in just the right position to drape his thigh over Yuuri's. "He got into his hotel for the night and all is well."
"Good." Yuuri felt Viktor's hand slide under his shirt, and he shivered. "So you two had a good talk?"
Viktor's hand stilled, and Yuuri could have kicked himself. Why didn't he ever just shut up? "Yes," said Viktor after a moment. "Yes, it was the first time we had spoken since… since everything went wrong between us."
"Oh." Yuuri rubbed his hand over Viktor's hip. "What, um. What happened?"
Viktor rested his head on Yuuri's shoulder. "It was at Sochi, the Olympics," he said quietly. "I had won gold, again, and the Russian hockey team had barely lost to take silver." He exhaled, his breath catching at Yuuri's skin. "Before the closing ceremonies, I went to find Vova to make sure he was all right, he so hates to lose, and… I do not know if he was angry at me for winning when he did not, but after I asked if he was okay, he asked me why I kept skating when it didn't make me happy."
Yuuri's eyes opened very wide. "Didn't make you happy?" he repeated.
"That is what he said." Viktor's voice held no energy. "I told him that he knew nothing, that of course I was happy because I had won, and he said that he knew I wasn't happy, that he had known me for so very long and I might be able to lie to everyone else, but not to him."
"What happened then?" Yuuri asked when Viktor didn't go on.
"I told him that if he was so jealous of me for winning that he would say such things, then I did not have time for him. He said that wasn't what it was, but I… I walked away. I should not have, but I did."
Yuuri blinked up at the ceiling, not sure what to say.
"I should not have walked away," Viktor said again. "Because he was right."
Yuuri sat up in complete astonishment, nearly knocking Viktor off the couch. "What?" he exclaimed. "But… but you're Viktor Nikiforov!"
He said it as if that should have been the answer, the only answer, but Viktor just sat up, resting his elbows on his knees as if he was so very tired. "Yes," Viktor said shortly. "And Vova was right. By Sochi… skating was not… I did not find love there, not any more. It was… everyone expected that I would win, and I could not skate any less than my best. But…"
"But you weren't happy?"
Viktor looked over at Yuuri, then reached out to take Yuuri's hand. "Skating had lost the spark that made me love it," Viktor said. "Vova still had his spark, his team, his friends… It took me a long time to realize how jealous I was, that even when he lost, he still won more than I did with all my medals."
Yuuri, completely flummoxed, could only squeeze Viktor's hand.
"But you." Viktor reached up to pushed Yuuri's hair back from his forehead. "You helped me find my love for skating again."
"I did?" Yuuri asked, feeling somewhat faint.
"You did." Viktor leaned in for a soft, lingering kiss that made Yuuri's insides melt. "And every day I am with you, I find that love again. Thank you, Yuuri."
"You're welcome," Yuuri said. "It's that… I mean, you…"
Viktor waited patiently while Yuuri bumbled his way through the sentence.
"You gave figure skating to me," Yuuri finally blurted out. "When I was a kid, watching you skate… And when you came to Japan to be my coach…" He took a deep breath. "You've given me everything, skating and… and…" He felt a blush creep into his cheeks. "You."
"Oh, Yuuri," Viktor breathed. He wrapped his arms around Yuuri and Yuuri let himself be pulled back down onto the couch. "My love, my life."
Yuuri clutched at Viktor, for a moment almost disbelieving that this was his life. But here he was, in St. Petersburg, two weeks away from the Four Continents Championship, engaged to the man he loved.
"I love you too," Yuuri said, muffled by Viktor's shoulder. "Oh, Viktor."
Viktor made a soft, happy noise in Yuuri's ear. "Do you know what the best thing is?" he whispered, pulling back to look Yuuri in the eye.
"What?"
Viktor pulled Yuuri's glasses off his face. "Today, as I walked out in the cold with my brother, he asked if I had found happiness. I said yes, of course, because he and I were together again, but do you know what else I said?"
Yuuri shook his head. "What?"
Viktor ran his thumb over Yuuri's lower lip. "I said I am happy, because I have you."
"Oh, Viktor," Yuuri breathed. "And I have you too."
Viktor picked up Yuuri's hand, caressing it as he brought it to his lips. "And are you happy?" Viktor asked, pressing a kiss to Yuuri's ring.
Jace had been set free, cleared of all charges but Jonathan hadn’t. Pacing in his cell in the City of Bones he wondered how long it would take them to work out that he was a better weapon than prisoner. Spinning towards the corridor entrance as he finally saw movement.
(Hope you don’t mind that I’m using Tom as your muse...)
Never Sent:
1. Tom, call me would you? I worry.
2. Sarah’s gotten herself in trouble. Can you help cover for me?
3. Have you talked to Dad recently?
4. I worry that sometimes we don’t talk like we used to.
5. I find it kind of funny when I find out Tony’s talked to you and thought it was me.
Actually sent: Stop hitting on people who I’ve shown slight interest in over the years! Abby is going to kill me for leading you-know-who on if you don’t stop!
Reus is incredibly jealous when Byleth starts to emotionally open up around the students at the Officers Academy.
He tries so hard not to be. Byleth has friends! Who seem to be really good people! And frankly he likes them and would like to be friends, his interactions with his peers are limited.
Reus had learned how to be simple in gesture, to learn to read Byleth’s lack of emoting.
And now she was learning to smile with people who were strangers, was beginning to learn social cues for emoting.
He’s so incredibly happy for his twin, but he wanted to be the one to show her how to feel a smile, and not just fake it like when he tried to teach her when they were kids.
Perhaps that is how they grow up. The Eisner twins follow their own paths, rather than being joined together forever.
(He’s not sure how to feel about the revelation, but he locks away the jealousy to simmer because he doesn’t really have a right to feel that way...does he?)
A preview of a “short” thing pre-my big fanon stuff. In which we see a not quite confused because her emotions are still....buried real deep except maybe her twin is the one exception.
I will give no context lmao. That will be given when I post the thing after nano is done and I give it a quick once over for any needed edits I can catch
-
Byleth had escaped the attackers. She had abandoned her load and ran into the woods, up some trees, and her pursuers had given up long ago.
She had followed them though, even though it was illogical. It would have been better to stay put and wait for her father. To wait for anybody to handle the situation who actually understood what might be happening.
(But she needed to find Reus. They needed each other. She needed to find him. He couldn’t find her, she’d seen them drag him away.)
