Two Hearts, One Life, One Love

Viktor Nikiforov had been waiting for his soulmate for as long as he could remember. The red string that appeared on his finger as a child told him that he was destined for something, someone special. But Fate had a few complications to throw their way before they could claim their Happy Ever After. Such as being on opposite sides of an international political divide. But love overcomes all obstacles, right? He just had to trust it.

A Secret Santa Gift for the amazing ProbablyTooOldForThis! Love you, friend, and hope you enjoy!

Notes:

For ProbablyTooOldForThis.

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

It all started with a red string, a simple crimson thread that appeared out of nowhere one day as Viktor stepped off the frozen pond behind his family's house. He'd recently discovered the pastime called "ice skating," an activity that was beginning to see a resurge of interest among the Russian nobility and one that three-year-old (almost four!) Viktor considered the greatest thing in the entire world.

As he set aside his fur mittens and began to untie his skates, he spied something strange. On his ring finger was a string that he definitely would have remembered putting there if he'd done so. The string was a vibrant red, almost too red to be a natural color, redder than even his papa's most formal senator's uniform. Viktor marveled at how it practically glowed against his pale skin.

"What does it mean, mama?" Viktor asked, running from the cold with a sense of urgency only the very small truly possess and burying himself in his mother's voluminous fox fur cloak as he often did.

Vasilisa Nikiforov smiled at her little boy with hair of spun silver that matched her own, paired with her husband's vivid blue eyes. "It means you're very lucky, Vitya. Somewhere in this wide universe, there is a person out there meant especially for you," she explained as she lifted him off the ground and headed back to their Saint Petersburg townhome along the shore of the Neva river. "The string will lead you to them."

"But it doesn't go anywhere!" Viktor whined, blue eyes full of tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. "It's only a knot on my finger."

"That only means that neither of you are ready to meet yet," his mother replied, her voice soothing. "Your person could be far away, or too young, or both. When the time is right, the string will show you the way. You just have to be patient, and trust. You will find your other half one day."

Viktor pouted. He hated waiting for anything; patience was a virtue that had yet to settle into his tiny bones. He stared at the crimson string and sighed heavily.

"Don't make me wait too long, okay?" he asked the thread softly, trusting that the words would carry to his soulmate somewhere in the universe.

Eight thousand miles away, a new baby smiled at the pretty red string adorning his pudgy little finger, knowing intrinsically that he was cherished and loved.

"Vitya! Vitya!" Mila burst into the parlor, her flaming red hair flowing behind her as it once again escaped any attempt at pinning it back in a demure fashion. As usual, she didn't seem to mind or care.

Viktor Nikiforov, looking every inch a respectable nobleman's son (although to his parents' dismay, this was where the similarity ended), lifted his head from the Pushkin novel he'd been devouring and regarded his little sister with a fond smile.

Viktor noted that Mila was again adorned in the newest dress craze, a muslin tea gown with minimal trimmings and scandalously lacking either corset or bustle. Mother had tried multiple times to curb her lack of proper fashion decorum given their family's noble rank, but Mila would not be tamed. Eventually, they had reached a compromise when Mila turned eighteen the previous June. Mila would continue to favor the more relaxed fashions unless they needed to attend a court or diplomatic function that required more traditional styles teeming with heavy velvets or brocades (which she made no secret of detesting). With their agreement, peace had settled upon the Nikiforov household once again until the next crisis.

Viktor and his younger sister were the most unruly members of their clan, perfectly content to reject the onslaught of social norms demanded of their station. At twenty and one years old, Viktor had already rejected his parents' attempts at paving an appropriate career path for him. He had no desire to be either a senator or a military commander, preferring dance and skating to weapons drills, and reading novels to lessons in statesmanship. Viktor was more than content to while his days away in what his parents considered idle pursuits. He was directionless, they told him again and again disapprovingly. Viktor had brushed them off every time, along with their incessant attempts to cement a marriage alliance between him and some equally respectable noble family.

He had a direction, thank you very much. He just didn't know what it was just yet. Idly, he ran his fingers against the smooth red string on his hand, the one that only he could see, silently pleading for the millionth time for it to finally show him the way forward. He'd been waiting for so long. But unlike his parents who only believed soulmates a pretty story for children with little actual truth behind it, Viktor had remained faithful and patient, watchful and waiting for his other half to arrive. No matter how long it took.

"What's the matter, Milotchka?" turning his attention back to his favorite sister and away from such brooding thoughts.

"Have you not heard the news, Vitya?" she asked, breathless, her blue eyes glimmering with excitement. "Tsar Nicholas just announced that there will be an new envoy arriving in the city in only a month's time!"

Viktor arched an unimpressed silver eyebrow. "That's hardly news. There are envoys arriving and departing from here all the time."

"Not from Japan!" Mila exclaimed, grabbing her brother's hands and squeezing. "Can you imagine, Vitya? A family from the Orient! There's never been a visitor from such a distance. I can't wait to meet them. According to Princess Olga, the envoy is bringing his entire family with him, his wife, a son, and a daughter! Oh, the things we can learn from each other! It's simply too exciting for words!"

Viktor couldn't help but smile at his sister's untamed exuberance. "We've never had an envoy from Japan before, that's true. I wonder what they'll be like?" He tapped a finger against his lips as he tried to picture the Japanese family they were yet to meet.

"I'm going to make sure that mother plans a welcome ball for them as soon as they arrive," Mila replied, ambition snapping in her eyes. "It'll be so wonderful having someone new around here instead of the same stuffy socialites. If I have to endure one more conversation about embroidery stitches I might lose my mind."

Viktor laughed. "I'm sure they will be quite dazzled by your efforts, dear one," he replied. "And planning such an event will keep you out of trouble, for at least a short while."

"I wouldn't go that far," Mila smirked. "Speaking of trouble, Father is looking for you. You missed another matchmaking luncheon."

Viktor rolled his eyes, groaning. "I am quite aware. Please don't tell him you found me. I'd like a few more moments of peace before I receive another lecture about duty."

"Anything for you, dear brother, as long as you return the favor when I require an escape," Mila announced with a wink before flouncing away to recruit her mother for her party plans.

Alone again, Viktor turned his gaze to the window. The Autumn chill was beginning to weave its tapestry across the Russian capital, turning the green of summer leaves to lovely shades of gold and red. Soon, the waters would freeze again, allowing him to, at last, return to the pastime he loved the most. He couldn't wait to skate again, the one thing that, even after all these years, still managed to bring him the most joy. His skates were carefully packed in his closest, like him awaiting the oncoming freeze. Soon, they would be reunited once more.

But something in addition to the excitement of the approaching winter flickered in his consciousness this year. Perhaps this change of seasons would bring with it another much-awaited change.

He very much hoped that it would.

Viktor walked as fast as he reasonably could toward his favorite pond, a manmade creation for city dwellers to enjoy a bit of nature throughout the year. Autumn had finally given way to Winter with the first major freeze of the season and he couldn't wait to return to the ice. His skates brushed against his fur coat in his haste, the weight of them on his shoulder only adding to his anticipation. It had been an excruciatingly long day full of societal obligations befitting a senator's eldest son, but if he hurried he'd have a precious hour or two to spend doing nothing but skating before the light faded. The late hour had the added benefit of ensuring that the ice would likely be completely empty, giving him room to move freely as he wished. Skating was one of the few activities in his life that afforded him the opportunity to feel truly free, and he refused to waste any precious moment of time that could be spent on the ice.

His pace quickened as the clearing came into view. He could almost taste the crisp air when it rushed into his lungs as he soared across the smooth surface. His goal was mere moments away now.

But when the pond came into view, he noticed that it was unexpectedly occupied. A single skater glided across the ice, obviously lost in his own world, for he didn't notice Viktor's approach at all. As the person skated closer to where Viktor had stopped to observe, he noticed that the person was a young male with black hair, wearing an outfit that, if he was forced to identify it, he would attribute it to what little he knew of the Orient and their fashion norms. The cut of the high-collared jacket the young man wore was nothing like the fashions he was accustomed to seeing around Saint Petersburg.

But all inconsequential thoughts flitted away from his brain as soon as the man opened his eyes, fixing Viktor with a gaze of rich mahogany.

Viktor dropped his skates, and his jaw, at those eyes that felt familiar in a way he could never hope to explain in a way that made sense. They were strangers, he knew for a fact that they had not met before, yet somehow…they weren't strangers at all. His very soul seemed to know this person, which made absolutely no sense. Something stirred in his memory at that revelation, a fleeting thought he couldn't quite grasp for a moment before an idea rippled to the surface and he ripped the kid glove from his hand. As he stared at the exposed skin, he understood.

The red string that had been his constant companion since he was nearly four years old glowed with an intensity he'd never seen before. But that wasn't what amazed him the most. Instead of looping in on itself and ending where it began as it always had, a part of the string now extended outward.

He traced the extended string with his eyes to its destination on the third finger of the skater's hand. The man had stopped moving when he'd noticed Viktor, who watched as he lifted his hand to his face, staring at the red string's connection with a look of abject shock.

Shock gave way to delight coursing through Viktor's very being, made all the sweeter when those wide brown eyes now returned to Viktor's face. Viktor extended his hand outward, reaching for the other part of him. Hesitantly, the man skated forward, until Viktor could see his face clearly. He inhaled sharply. In his entire twenty-one years of life, he'd never seen anyone more beautiful.

He must have said that out loud, because the man's mouth quirked upward with amusement. The words seemed to give the man the confidence he needed to finally close the rest of the distance and place his hand in Viktor's. The red string connecting their fingers flared brilliantly for a single moment as if commemorating the occasion, then settled to its usual color and intensity.

Viktor smiled warmly, closing his long, pale fingers around the man's, the blending of skin tones offering a pleasing contrast of cool and warm.

"Hello," he said softly, almost afraid to break the silence with the use of his voice.

The man blinked as if coming out of a daze, then offered his own tentative smile. "Ohayou," he whispered shyly.

Thoroughly charmed, Viktor lifted the hand to his lips to brush the lightest of kisses against the perfectly smooth skin. The action brought the sweetest blush to the man's round cheeks.

"I'm Viktor," he offered, hoping to hear the melodious sound of the enchanting man's voice once more.

"Katsuki Yuuri," the man replied, his voice soft but gaining confidence.

Viktor raised his eyebrows in surprise at the familiar name. "Katsuki? As in the Japanese envoy who recently arrived?"

Yuuri nodded. "The very same. Katsuki Toshiya is my father."

"And Senator Ivan Nikiforov is mine," Viktor replied. "He works on trade agreements, so I imagine our fathers have met already."

"Nikiforov…," Yuuri rolled the name off his tongue in the most charming accent. Viktor would give just about anything to hear his name on those lips for the rest of time. "Oh yes. I believe we've recently received an invitation to your home for a welcome reception."

Viktor nodded enthusiastically. "My little sister's idea. She cannot wait to meet your family and be your best friend. Brace yourself," he added with a wink that produced a delightful giggle from Yuuri.

"I'll admit I hadn't been looking forward to such a public gathering," Yuuri remarked, "but now, I believe my opinion to be quite changed."

"As is my own," Viktor agreed.

They stood silently for several moments, both marveling whether such a remarkable encounter could possibly be real, when finally, Yuuri spoke once more.

"Would you like to skate? The surface is quite smooth."

Viktor grinned, squeezing the hand he had yet to let go of. "Nothing would bring me more joy than to skate with you, Yuuri."

As they glided across the pristine, frozen surface of the pond, they slowly began to get to know each other. Viktor discovered that Yuuri was eighteen as of the day prior, that he loved dogs, and that his favorite food was something called katsudon that sounded like the food of the gods from the way he lovingly described it. In turn, Yuuri learned that Viktor enjoyed novels of the most depressing gothic variety, his twenty-second birthday was in less than a month, and that they shared a love for ice skating that forced them out of doors on even the coldest winter days. After a brief pause, Viktor added that while he had many acquaintances, there were few people he really considered friends. His words earned a sympathetic gaze from Yuuri, full of commiseration, along with a silent declaration that neither would have to endure such hollowness ever again.

It was unusual for Viktor to speak to someone so candidly, to divulge elements of his life beyond the superficiality of small talk. Even his own family didn't know the secrets of his heart. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a conversation that wasn't burdened by social expectation or carefully cultivated appearances. Over the years, he'd perfected the art of masking, full of smiles that didn't quite reach his eyes and swallowed evidence of anything that could be considered real feeling. Yet, here he was, spilling his secrets, completely devoid of his typical constraints. Being with Yuuri felt freeing in a way he'd only ever experienced when alone on the ice. And from the way Yuuri's eyes glittered as they looked back at him, he knew he wasn't the only one.

The last light of day faded behind the horizon, forcing the pair to turn back toward more solid ground and heed the insistent call of reality for them to return. Still, they hesitated, reluctant to part when they'd only just found each other. Viktor ran his thumb along the knot of red string adorning Yuuri's finger, marveling that he'd found his string's destination at last. Yuuri looked back at him, equally unable to let go.

"May I call upon you tomorrow, Yuuri?" Viktor asked, breaking the silence.

"Tomorrow and every day forward," Yuuri replied, his forwardness causing the red of his cheeks to burn as brightly as the string connecting their hands.

Viktor laughed, squeezing Yuuri's hands until finally stepping out of their reach. Gallantly, he doffed his top hat and bowed.

"It's a promise, dear Yuuri," he replied as he rose back to his full height. "In the meantime, I wish you nothing but the sweetest dreams."

"And for you as well," Yuuri added softly.

"That is a certainty," Viktor assured with a wink that caused Yuuri's knees to weaken. "I will dream of you."

With great effort, the two men turned from each other and headed back to their households and the everyday life that, without the other part of their soul by their side, would forevermore remain lackluster.

The days passed so quickly, a welcome change from the seemingly endless monotony of Viktor's days prior to meeting Yuuri. Now, every morning he rose with purpose and excitement, rushing to make his way over to the townhouse that the Tsar had granted for the Katsuki family to reside in during their time in Saint Petersburg. While he saw little of the patriarch, he became an accustomed visitor at the home for its other residents. Yuuri's mother, Hiroko, welcomed Viktor with open arms after Yuuri shyly explained that the man was the bearer of the other end of the red string affixed to his hand since birth. To her, Viktor became "Vicchan" almost immediately, uttered with such affection each time that it warmed Viktor's heart. While Yuuri's sister, Mari, was a bit more reserving with her good graces due to her protective nature, she accepted Viktor's importance to her little brother and even gradually warmed up to him as they got to know each other better.

While Viktor's parents may have been concerned about their eldest son's frequent absences from their home, they chose not to remark upon it until he missed a tea with Lilia Baronovskaya, matriarch of her prestigious noble family and aunt to yet another marriage prospect that Viktor refused to entertain. That evening at dinner produced a heated argument between Viktor and his parents, which resulted in Viktor's adamant refusal to endure anymore matchmaking unless it involved one person, the only person who he would ever consider for a spouse.

"And who might that be?" Ivan Nikiforov roared, not accustomed to such overt resistance from any member of his own family.

Viktor lifted his hand to gaze at the vibrant red string adorning his middle finger and sighed. It would be so much easier if others could see it the way he and Yuuri could. But as he would receive no assistance from the heavens, he had to make do with words.

"The other part of my soul, father," he tried to explain, his voice wavering with emotion. "The person who is the destination of the red string I wear even now on my finger. The string that has been there since I was not yet four years old."

Viktor's mother looked back at him with eyes full of sympathy. "Vitya, that's only a fairy tale. You're almost two and twenty! You are too old for such stories."

"It isn't merely a story! It's real and I have found my soulmate!" Viktor exclaimed, clenching his hand into a fist and fighting back tears.

Vasilisa Nikiforov blinked in shock. "Have you truly? Why have you not brought her to meet us?"

Viktor curled his mouth into a small smile. "You will meet him at the welcome reception tomorrow evening. His name is Katsuki Yuuri. He is the son of Katsuki Toshiya, the envoy."

Parents and child stared at each other in silence for several moments, neither wishing to break it without thorough consideration of their next words, which were of crucial importance to the future of their relationship.

At last, Ivan spoke in a much softer voice than before. "And does this Katsuki Yuuri return your regard?"

Viktor nodded. While Yuuri might be shy, he had never once given him a reason to doubt his affection, which grew more steadily with every passing day. As did his own.

"He does, father," Viktor replied quietly.

Blue eyes regarded the same blue eyes in a second face, neither son nor father backing down as they sized the other up. After several tense moments, Ivan sighed, running a hand through his black hair.

"Then, I suppose, that's that," he declared. "We look forward to meeting your intended tomorrow."

At those words of acceptance, Viktor's face broke into a wide smile. "You will love him, father. Of that I have no doubt."

At last, the evening of the welcome reception for the Japanese envoy and his family arrived. Mila fussed with the skirt of her ivory velvet dress, plucking at a stray gold thread in her nervousness. Her mother placed a hand over her daughter's before she managed to dislodge some of the considerable number of tiny pearls adorning the bodice.

"Our guests will love everything you've planned for them, my dear. Do not fret," Vasilisa said kindly, easing Mila's fears.

Mila smiled gratefully at her mother. "Thank you, mama. I want so much to be friends, especially since…" she bit her lip, unsure if she should continue.

"Especially since they are so dear to your favorite brother? I know you were listening to our argument last night. It is no secret." Mila had the grace to look sheepish at her mother's always astute observations, at least. "Vitya would not adore them so if they were not both kind and generous, and I am certain such sentiments will extend to his entire family."

"You are right, mama. I am being silly," Mila replied with a blush almost as red as her hair, a genetic gift from her paternal grandmother.

"There is nothing silly about wishing to make a good impression," Vasilisa soothed. "Now, shall we greet our guests? I am sure this will be an evening to remember for us all."

Mila nodded and followed her mother out of her sitting room and into the hall leading to the staircase that descended into Nikiforov home's sizeable parlor, which would serve as the setting for their "intimate" reception. In their social circle, intimate amounted to approximately fifty attendees, but their townhome was large enough to accommodate such a number with minimal discomfort. As they approached the staircase, they heard the lilting melody of an upbeat Tchaikovsky piece played by the string quartet they'd hired for the evening travel upwards to greet them.

"I spy two of the most beautiful ladies in Russia," a voice remarked behind them, causing the pair to turn.

"Vitya!" Mila exclaimed, rushing to his side and looping her arm in her brother's. "You look quite lovely yourself. You wouldn't be trying to impress someone, would you?"

Viktor had the grace to blush at the teasing, a delicate pink flush appearing across his nose. "I don't know what you're talking about, dear Milotchka."

Mila emitted a very unladylike snort as she led her brother down the stairs to greet their guests. "You cannot fool me, big brother. The lateness of your arrival downstairs is telling. How long have you fussed with your clothing and hair? An hour? More?"

"A gentleman never tells," Viktor replied with a playful wink that produced a giggle from his sister. Truth be told, he'd spent nearly two hours ensuring that his red and white dress uniform featuring an inordinate amount of polished brass buttons (a showpiece with no substance since he had no military appointment) was nothing less than perfect. He'd opted to braid his hair in a thick plait down his back, secured with a red velvet cord that symbolized the matching thread that even now shone brightly on his finger underneath his white gloves. It was of utmost importance that he look his best tonight. His Yuuri had described the outfit he'd planned to wear that evening, and Viktor wished to match it in formality and fashionableness as much as he possibly could.

However, no amount of description could have possibly prepared Viktor for the sight of Yuuri in Japanese formal dress as he stood in the parlor with his family. He was so stunning he could scarce remember to breathe, let alone how to descend the rest of the staircase. He wouldn't have managed either if Mila hadn't discreetly nudged him in the side, all too understanding of just how thunderstruck he was at Yuuri's beauty.

The Katsuki family appeared to have just arrived, standing in the doorway of the parlor that faced the staircase. Viktor observed Katsuki Toshiya bowing to his father, already stationed in the parlor to greet early arrivals. The envoy was dressed in a regal militaristic uniform very much influenced by the Japanese emperor's recent fascination with Western cultures. Beside him, the remaining Katsukis sported a mix of eastern and western fashion that represented the range of cultural exchange between their nations. Mari wore a dress that represented the fusion of both, a bustled black and white ballgown made of kimono-style embroidered fabric featuring cranes and bamboo. Hiroko had opted for an elaborate traditional kimono of deep plum silk dotted with delicate flowers and leafy branches, a silver obi around her middle and her hair adorned with stunning ornaments that glimmered in the gaslight.

Viktor barely noticed any of them. Once his eyes had landed on Yuuri, he had no desire to ever look away. Yuuri, like his mother, wore fully traditional dress for a Japanese nobleman. From their previous conversations, Viktor knew the outfit was called a montsuki, which was attire made popular by the now-diminished samurai class. The jacket was made of a blue ombre silk that went from light to dark as one's gaze traveled downwards. The wide, pleated pants featured a matching shade of deep blue. On both sides of his chest and, Viktor knew without being able to see, in the center of his back, were symbols embroidered in gold thread. Each symbol was the same, a word in Japanese kanji lettering surrounded by a flower. Yuuri had explained to Viktor that the symbol was their family's crest, the word pronounced as 'ri,' which meant 'advantage.' The same word formed a part of every Katsuki forename, including Yuuri's own.

Before Toshiya could finish introducing his family to Viktor's father, Viktor had dragged the remaining Nikiforovs forward. He bowed to Toshiya as low as his restrictive garment could manage, yet his eyes never left Yuuri's, delighted to see the young man blush at such scrutiny.

"Honored guests, I am so grateful that you could join us tonight," he told them when he'd risen back to his full height, using every ounce of comportment training he'd had drilled into him for much of his life. Even Ivan seemed impressed by the effort. Mila covered her mouth with a gloved hand to stifle a laugh while Vasilisa simply smiled, threading her arm in her husband's with a subtle squeeze of reassurance.

Toshiya's lips curved into a smile at the gesture of such deep respect and he returned the bow, though not as low as Viktor's given his seniority. "The honor is ours," he replied. "May I present my family? My wife Hiroko, and my children, Mari and Yuuri."

As they were introduced, each Katsuki bowed to the Nikiforovs in greeting. Ivan introduced his family in turn. Vasilisa and Mila curtsied, while Viktor gave another, less formal, bow.

"I believe we have all had enough of formalities for one evening," Ivan declared with a glimmer in his blue eye. "Let us allow the young people the chance to discuss much less stuffy things away from their parents' watchful eye. Shall we to the refreshments?" he asked Toshiya, who nodded and, with Hiroko, wandered away deeper into the house.

"Your dress is so beautiful!" Mila gushed to Mari as soon as her mother was out of earshot and unable to scold her for breaking decorum. "And you wear it so well, too!"

Mari offered a sly smile at Mila's excitement. "Do you want to know my secret?" she whispered, leaning in conspiratorially.

Mila clasped her hands before her and nodded emphatically.

"The corset it came with is currently sitting in a pile of torn fabric on my bedroom floor," she continued with a wink. "How you ladies manage to go about without needing to breathe will be an eternal mystery to me."

Mila gasped happily, overjoyed to find another fashion rebel in the Katsuki sister. "Oh, I think we're going to be the best of friends!"

Mari laughed heartily, allowing Mila to draw her away with talk of scandalous things like sportswear and bicycles. Viktor chuckled as he watched them go before a soft clearing of a throat brought his attention back.

"Ohayou, Viktoru," Yuuri said shyly. "You look very handsome tonight."

Viktor couldn't help the pink flush that crossed his cheeks at the praise. "Not as beautiful as you look, my Yuuri," he replied as he reached for Yuuri's hand. "Not a soul could ever rival you tonight."

"We might have to agree to disagree, I fear," Yuuri returned.

"I'm afraid so," Viktor said with a fond smile. Behind him, the string quartet had begun to play a Viennese waltz, giving him an idea. "Do you dance as well as you skate, Yuuri?" he asked, a silver eyebrow arched questioningly.

"I have learned a few Western dances. A friend of the family was a dancer in her youth, and she taught me some steps," Yuuri replied. "I cannot attest to how good I will be, however, compared to you."

"You could step on my feet a thousand times and I will still find it the best dance I've ever engaged in," Viktor said honestly. "Shall we?"

Blushing madly, Yuuri took Viktor's hand and let him lead him to the small area reserved for dancing, joining two other couples in twirling around the polished wood floor. They danced one piece after another without stopping or letting anyone cut in, allowing guests to titter about propriety all they wished. None of it mattered. The only thing that did was the person in the expanse of their entwined arms.

Eventually, the pair tired of dancing, and Viktor led Yuuri out to the frozen garden for a bit of bracing fresh air. They stood amongst the evergreens and snow-covered lawn, hand in hand as they watched their breath freeze and send tufts of mist into the atmosphere. A calm settled over them, neither feeling the need to fill it with words.

Finally, Yuuri decided to speak, his voice quiet with words intended for his companion alone. "You know, I dreaded coming to Russia. Throughout the time spent preparing, I was so afraid. What if we were looked down upon? What if we were hated for being too different? What if I missed home too much to carve out a life for myself here? These were all questions that spiraled in my brain throughout the long journey on the Trans-Siberian Railroad. The string on my hand…it's been there for as long as I can remember. It's been a constant source of comfort, a reminder that no matter what happened, I was never alone. When the emperor appointed my father as envoy and requiring us to relocate, I thought I was being forced to move away from the other soul my destiny was tied to, destroying any chance I had of meeting them. That fear was larger than any of the others, that I was abandoning the source of the warm, comforting glow that has never once abandoned me. But I was mistaken. Fate was moving me toward my other half, not away. And now you're here with me. I have never been so happy to be wrong."

Viktor squeezed Yuuri's hand reassuringly. "It still sometimes feels like a dream, that at long last I have met the part of me that has been missing. I've been drifting for years, my life stuck in suspended animation while I waited for my true life to begin. My family has long been pressuring me to choose a direction that they considered acceptable to my station and the responsibilities required of me to shoulder, but every time I refused. I was waiting, you see. How could I possibly choose a direction when I didn't know which one could lead me to you? I was so afraid of making an incorrect move and losing my chance to find you that I simply stood still, not moving at all. I was letting my life pass me by. Fortunately, life and love found me at last. I feel like I can move now, that I can truly breathe. My life can finally begin, as long as it's by your side."

Yuuri turned, smiling so brightly that it made Viktor's heart stutter in his chest. "Then let us find our way together, starting now. You are the one person I've ever wanted to hold onto, even before I knew you as more than a feeling tied to a red string. Henceforward, we will meet each other where we are, and move forward as one."

"That almost sounds like a marriage proposal," Viktor whispered reverently, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

"In time, it will be," Yuuri replied. "There is no rush, now that we're here."

"I could not agree more. What is a handful of years compared to the forever that we will spend at each other's side?" Viktor returned, gazing at Yuuri with overflowing affection.

"What indeed," Yuuri mused. As they lapsed into comfortable silence, Yuuri leaned his head to rest against Viktor's shoulder while Viktor wrapped his arm around Yuuri's waist to pull him closer. Despite the winter chill, neither man could remember ever feeling more warm.

December 15, 1901

Dear Yuuri,

I have been informed by my parents that it is considered proper and good form to send letters to the object of one's affections rather than darkening their doorstep on a constant basis. If it were merely myself whose behavior would come into question I would not care a white, but I would not wish to have your virtue questioned by the judgmental hoard that is high Russian society. Therefore I have decided to, reluctantly, comply, but only to a certain degree. Being apart from you too long is too great a strain on my patience and countenance that I can only bear it for so long.

I hope you are not overtired from our recent gathering. I confess that the sight of you in your montsuki haunts my dreams even days later. You were absolutely stunning, certainly the brightest shining star of the entire evening. Everyone who has approached me to discuss the reception has been in complete agreement with me. As a result, I am certain that you will receive many more social invitations from our acquaintances in the future. Everyone wishes to have you shine for them, though I pray that you do not forget me in the rush of so much attention.

Forgive me if I am being too forward, but I do not wish to hold anything back from you. My heart is an open book for you alone to read.

Might you honor me with your company tomorrow? The ice calls to me and a reprisal of our first meeting would bring me endless joy.

I await your reply with bated breath. Until I am fortunate to see your face again, I remain,

Your humble servant,

Viktor

December 25, 1901

Dear Viktor,

I know we will see each other this evening at your family's celebration, but I wanted you to wake up to my warmest wishes for a happy birthday. I enclose for you a copy of one of my favorite books. As you expressed a desire to learn Japanese, I have had it translated into Russian, and have bound the volume so that the original Japanese text faces it page by page to familiarize you with our style of lettering. I hope you find "The Tale of Genji" both diverting and instructive, and cherish it as I have. As I cherish the time spent reading with you. I look forward to discussing this book and any other topics that find their way to your mind this evening, or when next you visit for tea.

Happy birthday, Viktor.

Your Yuuri

January 14, 1902

Dear Yuuri,

Today is the start of a new year in the Russian Orthodox tradition, which makes for a good opportunity to reflect on the blessings one has received over the year prior, as well as to make plans for the year ahead. While most turn to religious considerations at such a time, my thoughts cannot help but turn toward you in both respects. I cannot be more thankful that you have come into my life. Every day I spend with you is one to cherish, whether it be skating, listening to you read to me, or simply basking in your company. My acquaintance Georgi Popovich, who often boasts of being an expert in such matters, informed me recently that it is considered romantic to gift the object of their affections with a piece of themselves for the other to keep with them when they must be parted from each other. It is with that intention that I enclose this gift to you. I hope the locket suits you, the snowflake design seemed particularly fitting, given how we met. Instead of a portrait, however, I have decided to take Georgi's advice more literally by enclosing a lock of my hair. Keep it near your heart and think of me when I am unable to be nearby, I implore you. You are always near and dear to my own.

Yours as always,

Viktor

March 15, 1902

Dear Viktor,

I am at last returning to you your copy of Anna Karenina. It almost shames me to admit to the amount of tears I've shed over the novel's ending, but I feel that I can tell you of such a weakness without being judged too harshly. Russian literature is incredibly depressing. Is it all like this, or is this type of bleakness your personal preference, coloring your choices for me to experience? Perhaps your next recommendation could be slightly less bleak? For the sake of my red, puffy eyes, I hope so. I need a little contrast in my reading material.

The winter, which at times has seemed to have no end here in Russia, has at last shown signs of beginning to break. I can see it, the promise of springtime hovering just around the corner. It is exhilarating, isn't it? There is so much to look forward to, so much to explore by your side.

It is a little bit funny as I think about how much I have changed from the scared young man I was only months ago. Before, I kept to myself and welcomed no one but family into my carefully contained sheltered life. Now, even though I am worlds away from everything I have ever known, things are quite different. Now, because you are near, I feel like I can face the unknown with confidence I have never before known. You do not give me strength. No, it is deeper than that. The truth is that you have helped me find the strength that has always been within me but I was unable to find until now. For that, and for your continued company, I will always be grateful.

Shall we skate tomorrow? We may not have many more days to enjoy our favorite pastime until the season turns cold once more. We should make the most of the time we have, should we not? Then we can move forward and embrace the promises of spring together.

Yours,

Yuuri

May 30, 1902

Dearest Yuuri,

I cannot fathom that it has been six entire months since you have begun blessing my life with your presence. Every day I am thankful. Winter has finally melted completely and allowed spring to take center stage, and with it the social season has gone into full swing. While the demands on my time are always insufferably exhausting, this season has a new element that will make everything much more bearable. With you by my side, I can weather any amount of monotonous balls and parties. Yet none of them could ever shine as brightly as you do merely by existing.

Would you please meet me at our pond tomorrow just before sunset? There is a particular question that I am burning to ask you. It is related to the visit I paid to your father and mother in private the other day. Please say that you will.

Until then I await you, heart in my throat.

Yours,

Viktor

June 5, 1902

Dearest Fiancé,

It still seems a bit surreal that I am able to use that term to describe you now. Every time the light hits the ring that now adorns my finger I cannot help but stop and stare at it. Mari teases me relentlessly every time she catches me doing so. Engagement rings are not customary in Japanese culture, but now that I am the proud owner of such a ring, I do believe my culture is missing out. To have a wearable symbol of our love, one that not only us two can see, is as delightful as it is overwhelming. As I write, I notice how well it looks nestled against the red string that has always tied us together and cannot keep from smiling.

Thank you, dear Vitya, for loving me. Though at times I feel undeserving, I promise to return your love in a thousand ways.

Your Yuuri

November 15, 1902

Dearest Yuuri,

I heard most distressing news from my father this evening, which could not await the morning to pass on to you and your family upon my visit in person. At an audience between papa and the Tsar this afternoon, our leader mentioned a letter he had received from his Imperial cousin, Emperor Wilhelm II of the German Empire. Enclosed in the letter was advice that may directly affect relations between Japan and Russia, quite negatively, I'm afraid. Tsar Nicholas appears to have taken the words of his cousin quite to heart, despite how hateful they are. Nicholas has always seen himself as God's appointed protector of the people. Wilhelm is playing to that sentiment and turning it against what he has described as the "yellow peril," that is, against anyone from the Orient. While I know that such sentiments are hardly new amongst a faction of stodgy elite within the Russian nobility, this endorsement of targeted hatred from a fellow Imperial can only add fuel to an already burning fire. Wilhelm has recommended that the land of Korea be granted to Russia by divine right, which Nicholas has directed my father to push for in future negotiations with your father henceforward. I fear that this will make diplomatic efforts between our fathers ever more difficult in the future. While papa does not agree with the direction Nicholas has ordered, he has as yet been unable to persuade him otherwise. He promises to keep trying.

Take heart and stay strong, my love. We will weather this storm together. Things will stabilize soon, I hope.

With my ardent affection,

Your Vitya

February 2, 1903

I am terribly sorry, Vitya, but I am unable to accompany you to the skating pond today. I find myself quite shaken and unable to leave our home due to recent events that I cannot bring myself to speak of aloud at present. I hope that you will understand, dear one, and not think less of me. I will rally my confidence, but I need some time.

Yesterday, Mari and I decided to take a stroll in the Summer Garden to get out of the house for an afternoon. Even in deep Winter the Garden is nothing short of magical, particularly when it is so sparsely populated due to the chilly weather. But this afternoon as we walked toward the Garden entrance, a small group of gentlemen seemed to have targeted our party specifically, following us from the street into the Garden itself. I use the term 'gentlemen' loosely. Though they were dressed in fine clothing befitting the upper class, their behavior was of a decidedly uncouth character. When we were far enough from the busy streets to remove the risk of their being overheard by anyone but Mari and I, they began to hurl insults. Zheltolitsye d'yavol, they called us. Yellow-Faced Devil. I had to forcibly restrain Mari from replying in kind, you know her protective temper. But it would have done neither of us any good. We quickly exited the park, not before receiving a peppering of snowballs hurled at our backs.

The tide of tolerance is turning, Vitya. My family is afraid that, next time, what is thrown at us alongside hateful words will not merely be innocent balls of snow.

You are, as always, welcome to call upon us at home. Should you wish to continue associating with the likes of us, of course. If, however, you fear for your reputation by associating with those currently on the outs of public opinion, I would understand.

I remain,

Your Yuuri

February 2, 1903

Dearest Yuuri,

I write this short note in haste to precede my arrival at your home as soon as I am able. Please know that there is nothing, absolutely nothing, in this entire world that would keep me from wanting to be by your side. Damn those inconsequential things like reputation and what others may think. I care not for any such nonsense. There is no one more important to me but you. Never doubt my love. I beg you.

Your Vitya

April 3, 1903

Dear Vitya,

Today marks the day that Russian forces should have been pulled back from Manchuria per the agreement struck between our governments. They have failed to do so, and have given no indication that they will ever abide by the terms of that agreement. When my father returned home from yet another long day of fruitless negotiations, I have never seen him look so defeated. He believes so strongly in peace and all his hard work is falling apart around him. I know he does not wish to give up. He will keep fighting on the side of peace for as long as he is able.

I do not know what this might mean for my family's future in Saint Petersburg, nor what it might mean for our own future marriage.

I'm afraid, Vitya. I do not wish to lose you, but I cannot abandon my family in their need either.

Your Yuuri

August 4, 1903

Dearest,

My father returned from the Senate today grim-faced and deeply troubled. The response to your father's sound points of negotiation presented yesterday has devolved into factional infighting of the worst kind. Papa fears that they may never reach any kind of consensus, nor that it would even matter if they did. Tsar Nicholas seems to only hear the poisoned words of his cousin Wilhelm these days, who regularly fills his head with notions that he is some kind of savior for a mythically superior "white race." The whole idea is so completely preposterous to anyone with half a brain, yet Nicholas is too entranced by this obvious fluffing of his ego to see the truth. Your father's plan, which I know he spent so much effort in putting together, deserved better than this incessant bickering. Father tells us to prepare for difficult times ahead. There are rumblings of unrest in and outside the Senate, not only because of matters with Japan, but because popular opinion may be turning against our Emperor, who every day seems to appear more out of touch with the people he is supposed to serve.

Every member of the Nikiforov family remain your allies and friends whatever may come in the days ahead. You are always welcome in our home, and in my arms. We will weather this storm together.

Your Vitya

21 DECEMBER 1903

URGENT NOTICE TO KATSUKI TOSHIYA ENVOY TO RUSSIAN EMPIRE [STOP]

IN TODAY'S CABINET MEETING JAPAN HAS VOTED IN FAVOR OF WAR WITH RUSSIA DUE TO FAILURE OF NEGOTIATIONS REGARDING MANCHURIA AND KOREA [STOP]

PLEASE DELIVER DECLARATION OF WAR TO RUSSIAN TSAR AND SENATE [STOP]

REPORT ON OFFICIAL RESPONSE ONCE RECEIVED AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS [STOP]

KATSURA TARO, PRIME MINISTER[STOP]

1904 dawned bleak and lifeless, hopes for peace rapidly retreating from the two families gathered together to celebrate the New Year quietly in the safety and comfort of their own home. The Nikiforovs, in light of recent events that seemed to only grow more tense with the passing days, had opted not to partake in customary performative displays typical of Orthodox nobility. Instead, they had limited their guest count to the four members of the Katsuki family alone. The eight people sat in near silence over their shared tea and cake, unable to find much to say that hadn't already been said a hundred times over the past several days.

Toshiya had, as instructed, delivered his government's declaration of war promptly to Tsar and Senate. However, neither Toshiya nor Ivan Nikiforov had expected such an extended delay of an official response from the Tsar. Every day he was able, Ivan had asked for his government's acknowledgement of the declaration and their plans with regard to the state of relations with Japan. And every day he was patronizingly told to be patient, to stall with empty promises to Toshiya that a response was forthcoming after being given careful consideration. It was only a matter of time before the Japanese government would grow tired of waiting and take matters into their own hands, a move that would deteriorate diplomatic relations past the point of no return.

Viktor gripped Yuuri's hand tightly as he sat beside him, thumb rubbing against the gold ring on his finger for reassurance that it was still there. That Yuuri was still there. Yuuri returned the grip with equal measure, offering as much comfort as he could muster given the anxious thoughts threatening to hijack his overwrought mind.

Toshiya looked up from his teacup with a heavy sigh, opening his mouth to speak the dreaded words into reality, the ones no one wanted to hear.

"We must prepare for my recall back to Japan," he said quietly. "With Russia's lack of response, I feel that the Tsar has no real intention of negotiating any longer for peace. I fear that my government's patience is quickly disappearing, and the telegram announcing my removal is only days away."

Viktor watched with wide eyes as Ivan nodded his resigned agreement. "I've done all I can, but I can tell that Nicholas is merely stalling with placating words for both of us. He is keeping secrets from me, I know it. I am no longer as trusted as I once was, I'm afraid. I will keep trying, but I can see the truth written plainly. Peace is becoming less of a possibility every day."

Viktor turned to Yuuri, blue eyes fearful. "What is going to happen, Yuuri? Tell me what you are thinking."

Yuuri returned the look his fiancé gave him, mahogany eyes full of pain. "If my father is recalled, then I will return to Japan with my family. Without the Tsar's protection it would be too dangerous for me to stay in Russia."

Viktor nodded, understanding how volatile life would be for a Japanese man to remain in a region that nurtured so much animosity toward people that looked differently than they did. "If that is the case, then I will go with you."

Yuuri shook his head frantically as if to shake such preposterous thoughts out of Viktor's mind, even though his heart leaped hopefully at the possibility. He dismissed the feeling soundly. "You cannot! Your home is here. Your family is here!"

"You are my home! Do you not understand, Yuuri? I cannot live without you. Please do not make me part from your side." Viktor gripped both of Yuuri's hands, bringing them to his chest and holding them so tightly that the tears that rose to Yuuri's eyes were from a combination of both physical and emotional pain.

Ivan spoke up, cutting through the tension with his low, resonant voice. "You will be no more safe in Japan than Yuuri is here, Vitya. It is a terrible situation, but it is not possible to go with him, my son. In fact, your presence in their traveling party could even endanger the Katsukis on the road from here to there, as hostile as relations are at the present moment. As much as it pains me to utter harsh criticisms of my own people, many Russians are hardly tolerant of, for lack of a better phrase, mixed company these days. Possibly after things have had a chance to settle and simmer down, you could be reunited. But not right now. It is simply far too dangerous to travel together. For both of you. I am sorry, but you must remain here if the Katsukis return to Japan."

The tears that had been threatening at the edges of Viktor's eyes finally broke loose and spilled over onto his pale cheeks. "I refuse to believe that parting is our best course of action. I cannot. Yuuri, please do not listen. Take me with you. If you love me, have mercy."

Yuuri offered his beloved a wobbly smile in return, trying his best to project reassurance and a soothing countenance. "We will discuss these possibilities at a later time, Vitya. That is all they are at the present moment, after all. Possibilities. All hope is not lost yet. Father has not yet been recalled. Perhaps things will yet improve. I choose to remain hopeful. With your assistance, I will stay stalwart and positive in the face of this and any other uncertainty. Will you help me be strong, Vitya? Please?"

Not caring that they were in the presence of their families, Viktor pulled Yuuri forward into a crushing hug, gulping shuddering breaths against his beloved's shoulder. "Anything for you, my Yuuri," he whispered fervently. "Now and always."

Yuuri smiled sadly against Viktor's shoulder as he returned the full force of the embrace, grateful his fiancé could not see the bitter tears threatening to spill from his own eyes. "Thank you, my love," he replied quietly for only Viktor to hear.

Despite the lovers' shared hopes, diplomatic relations failed to improve. Far too soon, the news the Katsuki family had been dreading arrived on February 6th, 1904. After nearly two months of fruitless waiting for the Russian government to respond officially to Japan's declaration of war, Japan had finally run out of patience as well as any remaining desire to negotiate peace. The recall announcement arrived at the Katsuki townhome by telegram that wintry afternoon, delivered by messenger as if it were something completely mundane and not the news that would irrevocably shatter the youngest Katsuki's very being.

Yuuri walked into the parlor when summoned, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. He only needed to look at his father's face as he sat beside his mother, the offensive piece of paper crumpled in his hand, to understand.

"How much time do I have?" he asked, voice remarkably steady despite the despair churning inside him.

"Two days. We leave the morning after tomorrow. For our safety's sake, we must leave quickly," Toshiya replied gravely. "I'm sorry," he added in a softer voice, knowing such platitudes could never come near the measure of comfort he wished to give his son.

Yuuri said nothing else, only nodded silently before turning on his heel and walking quickly out of the room.

"Yuuri…" his mother called after him and began to rise to follow him, but Toshiya placed a gentle restraining hand on her arm.

"Let him go," he told her. "He has much to do and no time to grieve."

Hiroko nodded understanding, her worried eyes fixed on the doorway where Yuuri had disappeared all the same.

The rest of that day was spent in a flurry of packing their lives into a multitude of boxes and valises. None of them talked much aside from what was necessary, opting to focus on the task at hand rather than dwell on the sadness that had covered their household like an oppressive blanket. At dinner, Yuuri informed his family that he would be spending the next day at the Nikiforov home and not to expect to see him before they rose the following morning, leveling each of them with a glare that dared any of them to challenge him. No one objected. They all understood, and let him go, promising to finish his packing for him.

Viktor was overjoyed to receive his fiancé's visit. He couldn't help but notice that Yuuri was quieter than normal, but Viktor didn't think much of it. He simply chalked it up to the recent stress Yuuri's family had been enduring because of the continually deteriorating diplomatic negotiations. Instead, he made up for the silence by volunteering to read to Yuuri, to which Yuuri quickly agreed. They spent the afternoon together in warmth and comfort, the only sounds in the plush sitting room coming from the crackling fire in the hearth and Viktor's resonant voice as he read from Turgenev's Poems in Prose. Yuuri rested his head on Viktor's broad shoulder as he listened, his eyes closed to allow the words to wash over him and just bask in the present moment, free from all other distractions. Viktor looked down at him with a fond smile curling the corners of his mouth when he paused for a breath, making sure not to move much and interrupt the peace that soothed both of their troubled souls. Such moments were already far too fleeting.

Dinnertime came and went, the pair opting to nibble on sandwiches and tea on their own rather than join the rest of the family for a more social affair than either were up for. When Viktor tired of reading they talked in soft voices, discussing light topics that steered away from anything touching distasteful current events. In their own little world, they could relax and focus on how much joy simply basking in the other's company never failed to bring them.

The hour grew late, later than Yuuri had ever remained before at the Nikiforov residence. Reluctantly, Viktor turned to his beloved to inquire whether he should order his driver to ready a carriage that would take him home, as much as he hated the thought of separating for even the night.

Yuuri levied the full power of his mahogany gaze on Viktor with a piercing expression. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he replied in a voice that, while quiet, did not leave any doubt as to the strength of his resolve.

"Vitya," he said, grasping Viktor's hand in both of his own. "May I stay here this night?"

Viktor's eyes blew open in shock, cheeks instantly turning a delicate pink as he stared dumbfounded at his fiancé. Such arrangements were fairly common among engaged pairs despite how little they were talked about, but until that moment Yuuri had never once pressed this particular suit between them. Not that Viktor hadn't fantasized about the possibility multiple times, though he would never dare to admit that to anyone for fear of dying from embarrassment.

Blushing madly, Viktor opened his mouth, alarmed when no sound came out. Closing it, he sucked in a deep breath through his nose before trying again.

"Are you certain?" he asked in a voice that trembled from the effort it took to remain calm.

Slowly, Yuuri nodded, offering a reassuring smile that told Viktor that he knew exactly what he was asking. "Yes, Vitya. I am certain. May I stay? Please?"

"O-of course, my Yuuri. You are always welcome here, for as long as you would like. I'll just…ring to have a room made ready for you, shall I?" Viktor fumbled for the rope pull near the couch they were seated upon, missing twice before managing to finally grab it and pull to call for a servant. Yuuri covered his mouth with his hand in an attempt to hide the fond chuckle that bubbled in his throat at the endearing sight of his beloved so entirely unruffled by the implications of his request.

After the servant had arrived and been thus directed to ready the guest room nearest Viktor's bedchamber, Viktor returned his hands to close around Yuuri's once more. Yuuri simply smiled before guiding his attention back to the book they had previously been reading.

"Another poem or two to pass the time?" he asked innocently.

Viktor released the tension in his frame with a heavy exhale and smiled more easily in response.

"I think that is just the thing we need," he replied before picking up the book and beginning to read aloud once more.

Much later, once the household had all retired to their respective bedchambers and a heavy silence only the darkness of night could achieve cloaked the home from top to bottom, a door at the end of the hall opened with a quiet creak. A single figure stepped into the corridor, bare feet padding quickly toward their intended target, thankfully only a handful of feet away. As softly as possible for fear of alerting unintended observers, the figure knocked upon a door. To his relief, a voice from inside instantly greeted the noise with an equally soft "enter." Turning the knob, the figure opened the door a crack and slipped inside the room, successfully hidden away once more.

Viktor sat upon his bed staring intently at the newcomer, nervously running his sweating palms against his knees, covered only by the thin fabric of his nightshirt. Swallowing nervously, Yuuri approached him with silent steps, worrying the sleeves of the borrowed dressing gown belted tightly around his thin frame.

"Yuuri," Viktor breathed as the man approached, voice reverent as if in prayer.

"Ohayou, Vitya," Yuuri replied with a small smile, stopping a foot in front of Viktor's seated form. "I would like to give you a gift. It is something that, no matter what may happen in the future, can never be taken away for as long as we both shall live. Will you accept my gift, Vitya?"

Viktor nodded emphatically, blue eyes glimmering in the low light of the room. "Of course I will, my Yuuri. I always cherish your gifts. What is it you wish to give me?"

Slowly, Yuuri untied the rope holding the dressing gown together and let it drop into a pile of silk on the floor, revealing every inch of his completely naked body.

"Me," he whispered.

Viktor, unable to keep himself apart from Yuuri for even a moment longer, stood abruptly before capturing Yuuri's lips in a searing kiss. He enclosed Yuuri's perfect form in his arms, cradling him against his chest.

"I am honored by your gift," Viktor whispered as he peppered Yuuri's face and neck with kisses. "Will you accept me in return, my love?"

Yuuri pulled apart just enough to gaze into Viktor's vivid blue eyes. "I accept all of you, my dearest Vitya. Only and ever you. Let our bodes entwine as our souls already have."

"And our hearts," Viktor whispered back as he led Yuuri to the bed. "Now and forever."

They took their time memorizing every curve, every feature that made the other unique and so very special. Though they both lacked experience, neither lacked the necessary enthusiasm and ardor. Throughout their exploration the fire of their love burned brightly, steadily building into an inferno that threatened to engulf them entirely and irrevocably. Despite the danger of being completely consumed by such magnificent passions, neither man even dreamed of pulling back from the precipice, choosing to leap forward into the abyss hand in hand. Only Viktor and Yuuri remained in all the universe, twin souls forever connected in purest life and love. In the arms of their beloved nothing could touch them; not politics, not family duty, not war, not any other factor that might threaten to tear apart that which should always be together. All of those inconsequential things were burned away by the conflagration of their love, if only for a single night.

But beautiful things rarely last. Such is their ephemeral nature.

In the smallest hours of the early morning, Viktor finally succumbed to exhausted slumber after so much pleasure and overwhelming joy. He held his lover tightly in his embrace, resolutely refusing to let him go as if subconsciously knowing what Yuuri intended to do.

Yuuri unwillingly pulled himself back from deep sleep even as it threatened to tug him under and lose himself in the comfort of his Vitya's arms. Alas, the time for such luxuries had passed forever, and there was no going back, no matter how much he wished it weren't true. The night had faded away far quicker than would ever be fair. Brushing back the silver bangs from Viktor's brow, Yuuri placed a soft kiss on his beloved's forehead before carefully extracting himself from the expanse of his embrace.

Dressing gown re-tied to once more conceal his form, he spared himself one last glance at the man who held his heart.

"I love you, Viktor," he whispered before opening the door with a quiet sob.

His heart remained, the only part of him that he was able to leave behind. It had ceased to belong to him long ago, traveling along the red string that glared accusingly at its owner from its eternal place on Yuuri's finger and residing with the man who slept on, blissfully unaware of Yuuri's betrayal.

Yuuri would not, could not pray for forgiveness. Such things were beyond redemption.

Viktor awoke when the sun beamed down high in the sky, winter birds singing the song of morning outside his window. He blinked tired eyes open and smiled at the sunlight streaming into his room, thankful that his manservant had had the presence of mind not to rouse him at his usual hour. Stretching out the delicious soreness from his muscles, he turned his body to greet its other occupant, fully intending to wake him with sweet kisses. His plans were quickly aborted, however, giving way to confusion as he took in the other side of the bed.

It was empty.

Viktor sat up and looked around his bedchamber for Yuuri, only to find himself unexpectedly alone.

"Yuuri?" he called, but no response greeted him. He took a breath, attempting to remain calm.

Grabbing for his dressing gown, he rose and pulled it on, pacing around the room to look for clues as to where his beloved could have disappeared to. He was just about to ring for his manservant to ask whether he had seen Yuuri when he spied a glimmer of gold atop a leaf of paper on his dressing table.

A ring. The very one that had only hours ago adorned Yuuri's hand. The small circle of gold that he had gifted to the man more than a year ago, a symbol of the most important question he had ever asked anyone in his life, and likely ever would. Hands shaking, he moved the ring to the side to pick up the page underneath, spying a brief message written in Yuuri's careful hand.

Dearest Vitya,

By the time you read this letter, I will be gone. The Prime Minister has recalled my father back to Japan and I must return with my family. As much as it tears my heart to do so, I release you from our engagement. It is my dearest wish that you find happiness in your future, even though I am unable to share it with you as we had planned. I will miss you, dearest, and promise to carry your memory with me for all of my days.

I remain, as always, yours, though I be worlds away.

Katsuki Yuuri

The agonized scream that came from Viktor's room could have caused the dead to sit up and notice. His family had just finished rushing to the staircase when the source of the clamor raced down it, nearly knocking them out of the way in his haste.

"A carriage!" he cried. "I need a carriage!"

"Vitya, whatever is the matter?" Vasilisa cried out in alarm, grabbing his arm to stop him from tearing for the door. She took in her son's disheveled state, his hair wild and dress in complete disarray and countenance one of unbridled panic. Only one thing could have undone him so, she knew.

"He's gone! He means to leave me. I cannot let that happen, mama! I cannot!" Viktor sobbed as he wrenched himself away from her grasp, grabbing for his coat and hat before flinging himself out the door and into the carriage that had pulled up in front of their home.

Viktor's constant entreaties for haste spurred carriage and driver forward at breakneck pace down the cobblestone streets of Saint Petersburg. He refused to even allow the vehicle to come to a complete stop before leaping from it and hurling himself toward the Katsukis' front door.

When a Russian maid Viktor had never seen before rather than one of the Katsukis' Japanese servants answered the door, he knew.

He was too late.

Yuuri was gone, and he was alone.

Viktor didn't care who was watching as he crumpled to the ground and cried, his heartbreak on display for all to witness. He sat on the front step of his love's former home and sobbed. A short time later, Ivan pulled up in a second carriage, leading his broken son away as gently as he could with soft words of comfort. Viktor heard none of it over the roaring thunder of the magnitude of his loss. He cried until there were no more tears left to shed. Eventually, when utterly spent from emotional exhaustion, he fell into a troubled sleep surrounded by his concerned family, his anguished heart beating with painful longing for what he'd lost.

On his finger, the red string's color dimmed, its red hue diminishing to near blackness.

Viktor remained bedridden for a solid week after his very public heartbreak, refusing all forms of company and nourishment. The doctor was called after the fifth day, pronouncing the diagnosis as severe melancholia but offering no viable treatments aside from rest and bloodletting, the latter Ivan quickly vetoed, not wishing to make his son weaker than he already was. Viktor spent each long day in silence, staring out the window in his chambers as he lost himself in the depths of his sadness and despair.

His demeanor didn't improve even after his family finally managed to bully him out of bed. He simply traded the object of his attention from his bedroom window to the one in the sitting room, listlessly watching the winter wind whip through the landscape with its ever-present chill.

February melted into March and March into April with no improvement to Viktor's condition. His family tried to distract him with amusements, but he refused to engage or even show a glimmer of interest in their efforts. Mila read to him from his favorite novels while Vasilisa repeatedly tried to tempt him with treats that he used to adore, all without success. Viktor's health continued to decline before their eyes and nothing seemed to help. They watched their former ray of sunshine diminish and fade with no small amount of worry. Something needed to change before he was lost to them forever, but they were out of ideas.

One dreary morning not unlike the endless string of equally bleak mornings in Saint Petersburg this time of year, Ivan sat by the fire reading the newspaper aloud for his gathered family, bringing them up to date on the goings-on of the world. Viktor sat by the window as usual, staring out the window as if trying to will Yuuri back into his life by refusing to look away. It pained his family to watch, but they had long run out of words to try and coax his attention elsewhere.

"The eastern portion of the Trans-Siberian Railroad has been closed due to sustaining heavy damage from Oriental insurgents," Ivan read aloud. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his son flinch ever so slightly. Folding the paper and putting it aside, he sighed tiredly before continuing. "The Minister of War announced to the Senate yesterday that the Tsar has ordered a naval fleet to be sent to the East China Sea. Our largest ships are currently stationed in the Baltic, so it is likely from there that a fleet will be sent east. Nicholas seems to believe that a display of Russia's military power will cause the Japanese to yield to him in fear, a notion no doubt planted in his head from that infernal cousin of his. Not one of his ministers has argued in favor of this action, nor does the Senate support him, either. We all know it is folly to try to fight a war that far away from the necessary resources for success. But he will not listen to reason. Not anymore. I admit that my faith in our government has been shaken by this turn of events. I fear that we will never see peace again, not without heavy losses."

The air grew ever more somber in the sitting room as the family took in the information. After a few moments, an unexpected voice spoke up, one they hadn't heard in so long that they almost didn't recognize it.

"The Navy is going to Japan?" Viktor asked in a voice that croaked from prolonged disuse, blue eyes fixed intently on his father.

Ivan blinked in surprise before collecting himself once more. He nodded warily. "Yes. The telegram to the Baltic fleet ordering them to begin preparations for a voyage to the East was probably sent out already. It will take some months of preparations, but the fleet will set sail in short order."

Viktor suddenly jumped to his feet, the fire returning to his eyes with terrible force. "And I will join them," he said with grave certainty before rushing from the room to write a letter to the Admiral requesting a naval appointment with the Baltic fleet and a place on the mission to Japan.

To Yuuri.

"You don't have to do this, Vitya. There are other ways. We will find them. If you would just have some patience, we could…" Vasilisa pleaded with her son for the thousandth time over the past two months, but her words fell on deaf ears. Viktor only shook his head in dismissal of her words as he'd done every time she'd spoken them.

"I do have to do this, mama," Viktor replied, his resolve unwavering at it had been ever since that April when he'd made up his mind to join the Navy. "I can't stand still any longer. And if this is the only way to even have a possibility of seeing Yuuri again, that is a chance I have to take. You and papa have always wanted me to take a direction. This is the direction I choose."

"All these years of refusing to listen and you decide to start now?" Ivan gripped Viktor's arm, blue eyes anguished. "I've told you that this expedition is doomed to failure, my son. The chances of even reaching Japan are slim and when you get there, you could be destroyed before you even set foot on Japanese shores. If you insist on going through with this, you'll be throwing your future away. Please reconsider, for our sake!"

"There is no future worth enduring if I am separated from my life and love!" Viktor replied hotly, wrenching his arm out of his father's reach. He took a deep breath, calming himself down marginally before continuing. "If this is the only way I have a chance of seeing my Yuuri again, however slim it might be, I will do it without hesitation. Living without him isn't living, papa. These empty few months have taught me that. I have to follow where he's gone. And if my life is forfeit as a result, then at least I will have died trying. I'm sorry, papa, but I cannot reconsider. I must go. I must try. I cannot stand still any longer."

Ivan looked like he was about to argue further, to try once more to convince Viktor to stay, but his wife reached out, placing a gentle hand on her husband's arm and stopping his words before they burst forth with a look. They knew that their efforts were fruitless, no matter how much they might have wished it was otherwise. It was time to finally admit defeat. "Then you will go with all our love," Vasilisa told him resolutely as she blinked the tears from her eyes. She offered Viktor a wobbly smile. "No matter what happens, you are our son and we are proud of you. You are so strong, and your devotion is something I will always admire. I will pray daily that you are successfully reunited with the other half of your heart."

After her mother stepped back, Mila threw her arms around Viktor's neck, sobbing openly. "Please find a way to contact us when this disaster is all over. Tell us you've found him, and that you're happy. You deserve so much to be happy, big brother."

"I will find a way, little sister, to reach him and to tell you of it. I promise you," Viktor whispered into Mila's flame-colored hair, hugging her tight before stepping away and accepting his coat and hat from his manservant and bowing deeply. "I love you all, and will miss you. Thank you, for everything."

His family followed him out the front door, sniffing back their tears as they watched him climb into the carriage that would take him to the train station, and from there, to the city of Reval on the coast of the Baltic Sea, the home base of the Baltic fleet. The beginning of his newest, most desperate adventure. Viktor's gaze remained fixed on the figures of his mother, father, and sister until the carriage disappeared around a corner, trying to burn their images into his permanent memory. The likelihood of seeing them again in this lifetime was marginal, but he would cherish their love for him always.

With a heavy sigh, he leaned against the backrest of the carriage, his gaze fixed forward. Come what may, he would find Yuuri. He chose to place his absolute trust in the red string of fate that had always been his guiding force. Like it did on that perfect day when he'd first met Yuuri, it would again lead him to where he needed to be. And where he needed to be was by Yuuri's side. When it did lead him back to his love, he vowed never to let him go again.

After months of preparation of both ships and crew to the best of their ability, the eleven ships of the Baltic fleet designated for the mission to Japan at last set sail in October of 1904. Viktor, one of the hundreds of sailors under the command of Admiral Rozhestvensky, watched from the deck of the Borodino as the Russian shoreline faded away with a melancholy air. He knew in his bones that he would never see his homeland again, and even though he had chosen such a path, a part of him would miss Russia. Russia had been where home and family had always resided. Absently, he rubbed the string on his finger, reminding himself of why he was voluntarily choosing exile. Russia was no longer his home, he realized as it faded from view.

Now… now his home resided in a person, not a place.

The journey was painfully long. Because there was no straightforward way of getting from Western Russia to Japan, the Admiral had decided to take the bulk of the fleet on a route that circumnavigated the southern tip of Africa with only brief stops at various ports along the way for refreshing their supplies. At every port his ship visited, Viktor sent a letter home to his family, full of ardent hopes that they were well enough without him. He wished, as he'd been doing since the day Yuuri had extracted himself from his life, that he could write to him where he lived in Japan, but correspondence had been severed between the two nations after diplomacy had failed to avert war, rendering such efforts impossible.

He wasn't certain precisely how he would reach Yuuri in Fukuoka when the fleet arrived at their destination of Vladivostok, but he didn't let uncertainties of that nature bother him. In fact, he eschewed such questions entirely in favor of nurturing an unshakable faith that, somehow, he would succeed . Fated pairs were meant to be together, he reasoned, and so he trusted that fate would intervene when he needed it to.

If he'd bothered to confide in any of his fellow sailors and disclose the plans nestled close to his heart, he knew that they would have mocked him for being both foolish and stupid. It was just as well, then, that he kept to himself as much as possible, choosing not to form any attachments that he would need to break when they reached Japan and he deserted the Russian Navy without giving them a second glance.

Seven long, terrible months at sea was how long it took the Second Pacific Squadron of the Baltic Fleet to travel to the East China Sea. By the time the eleven Russian ships arrived within sight of the Japanese coastline, not a single sailor was what one could consider entirely healthy. Those who had managed to survive the frequent sweeps of sickness onboard were considerably weaker for it. The battleships themselves had suffered as well. None of them were in top condition when the expedition had begun, but now every ship was in dire need of some form of significant repair, which could not be managed with the materials they had available onboard. Every day the crew found new evidence of exactly how ill-fated this mission had been from the start.

The morning of May 26, 1905 dawned hazily, a fine mist covering the entire bay as their ships limped into the sea between China and Japan near the island of Tsushima. Visibility was low but the Admiral pushed them forward as quickly as possible, choosing the shortest route to their final destination rather than one that might have been considered safer. The need to land, to regroup, to repair, was too great for prudence. The crews held their breath, hoping luck would be on their side as they glided forward as silently as possible.

The sight of the Japanese fleet waiting for them off the coast of Tsushima dashed all those hopes to ashes.

By their lookout's quick count, there were around 40 Japanese ships ready to intercept the Russian fleet, swiftly approaching at alarming speeds. The Admiral shouted the order to attack, the gunners firing volley after volley at the enemy ships, but it was no use. The Russian Navy was outnumbered and outclassed, and every one of them knew it. Viktor rushed up the stairs toward the top deck, unable to remain below any longer, orders to remain at his post be damned. They wouldn't help anyway. When he reached the open air, he nearly lost his footing as the deck underneath his feet shuddered violently from a projectile impacting the ship's hull. He ran to the ship's edge and looked over the short distance to the Japanese warships looming ominously as they readied themselves to fire another shot. Everything around him was chaos, shouting, and fear, but his eyes could only see one thing.

Viktor watched in horror as the shot fired and the cannonball hurled toward its target, the motion slowed down to a crawl in its deadly, unavoidable approach.

Then all he knew was fire.

The force of the blast threw Viktor a long distance from the deck he'd formerly been standing on, which was now merely a collection of fiery splinters where once a proud warship had once been. His body was tossed like a rag doll before being hurled toward the cold, unforgiving waters of the East China Sea. The water slammed into him, causing him to gasp before being pulled under the waves. With everything he had, he struggled against the undertow that threatened to drag him down to his death, kicking frantically against the current. The sea was so strong, far stronger than any mere mortal could ever hope to be. He tried not to despair as he felt his own strength quickly disappearing. He didn't want to give up. He had so much to live for.

He was so close…

But the ocean didn't care about his hopeful heart. It took and took until, at last, Viktor had nothing left to give to the fight. Thus betrayed, that very heart missed one beat, then another, the oxygen he desperately needed so far away now. Too far. As he began to sink, his thoughts narrowed their focus onto a single entity.

The only thing that mattered. The only person that would ever matter.

Yuuri, his heart cried out with its last pulses of life. Yuuri, I love you. Always.

In his last moment of consciousness, the red string on Viktor's hand blazed to life.

The booming sound of cannons echoed in the distance, rousing Yuuri from his restless slumber. It took very little to disturb his sleep on a normal basis, troubled as it had been since they had left Russia. But this was different than the normal disquiet his brain supplied. This was something more. He knew in the depths of his being that these sounds were the noises of war, reaching their shores at last. The realization was not at all comforting.

He pulled himself from the warmth of his bed and dressed in a loose-fitting yukata, tucking the gold locket he always wore around his neck underneath the folds of the soft fabric but not before giving it a small squeeze for reassurance. His thoughts drifted to the former owner of the lock of burnished silver hair nestled inside with a painful pang before he shook them away in frustration. There was no use in dwelling on what he could not change, no matter how much he missed him. After what he'd done, leaving in the dead of night like the coward that he was, he was certain Viktor must hate him almost as much as he hated himself. But even in that certainty there was a silver lining. Perhaps hating him would help Viktor move on a little easier, with less of the pain that had made a permanent place in his own chest.

Not that Yuuri had any intention of ever moving on himself. Call it his penance, something akin to what the Christians liked to cling to for some morbid form of retribution. Whatever one chose to name it, his suffering was both self-inflicted and very much deserved.

Quietly, he slid open the shoji screen separating his bedroom from the rest of the house and headed toward the family room, intent on seeking out any answers that might explain the distant clamor. He found Mari standing in the open doorway that faced outside, a lit cigarette clutched in her fist as she watched the lightening horizon punctuated with ominous flashes of light. At Yuuri's approach, Mari turned and nodded her acknowledgement as he moved to stand beside her.

"Not a single word to our parents about this," she muttered before taking a long drag of her cigarette, her posture one of abject defiance.

"If you think they don't already know that you smoke, you're incredibly blind," Yuuri replied blandly, eyes fixed on the activity taking place in the ocean just beyond their shores. Mari chuckled once before shrugging, the truth of the sentence lingering without need for further remark.

"So the Russians have arrived at last. We knew it was only a matter of time before they tried something stupid," she offered, changing the subject to more pressing matters at hand.

Yuuri sighed heavily. "As true as that is, it doesn't make it less alarming that it has indeed come to pass."

Mari hummed her agreement before taking another drag. "You're thinking about him, aren't you?"

Yuuri nodded sadly. "I am. I just cannot shake this feeling that he might have done something reckless, and if he has, it is entirely my fault."

"You got to know him quite well during your engagement. Is he the type to make impulsive, ill-advised decisions, do you think?"

Yuuri fingered the red string affixed as always on his hand. Its color had dulled to near blackness months ago, just after he'd severed their engagement and left Viktor, and his heart, behind. The string's current lifeless hue mocked him, reminding him constantly of how he'd turned his back on the one person he'd professed to love above all others. He sighed again, balling the hand into a fist and lowering it to his side.

"Viktor is exactly the type of person who would do something so reckless," he said quietly to the horizon. "That's why I'm so concerned. If only there was a way I could just check on him. To make sure my fears are unfounded. But letters and telegrams to Russia would never reach him. The hate between our governments is too intense."

"What about your connection, your string? Does it give you any clue?" Mari asked, throwing the remnants of her spent cigarette on the ground to extinguish the last of its flame before sweeping it into the grass. The nature of the red string had always been a mystery to his family, none of whom had any similar connections of their own. But what they did not understand most of all was how much of a mystery it also was to Yuuri, and always would be.

"It shows me nothing," Yuuri replied, his voice belying an undercurrent of frustration at both the question and the constant uselessness of the string in telling him what he needed to know. "The string's color is dull and I cannot see the connecting thread from this far away. It sits on my hand like it always has, offering zero answers."

Mari hummed, tilting her head in consideration of her brother's words. "Then maybe you aren't looking hard enough," she said bluntly before turning and retreating inside once more, leaving Yuuri standing alone with his gnarled knots of disquieting thoughts.

He was beginning to think of returning inside as well when he felt a jolt in the very core of his soul. Gasping, he clutched at his chest as the pang reverberated through him a second time, nearly doubling over with the force of it. His breath came in pained gulps as he tried to get himself under control, his mind whirring with the possibilities of what this sensation could possibly mean.

That was when he noticed it.

The string. The red string on his finger.

It was glowing. The vibrancy of its color had returned in force and was now more vibrant than he'd ever seen it, save for one single time.

The moment he'd first met Viktor.

Not only had the string's color returned, but something else had returned as well. Something much more important.

He could see the connecting thread, leading toward the beach, in the direction of the distant cannon fire.

Without sparing another moment for thoughts that would inevitably lead to dire places he decidedly did not want to venture into, Yuuri began to run. Following the crimson thread, he ran as fast as his bare feet would allow, uncaring about the rough ground he traveled over in his haste to reach the nearby beach. The only thing that mattered was Viktor. Viktor needed him, and this time he refused to let him down.

Yuuri would find him and he would bring him home where he belonged. Where he had always belonged. He'd let his fears and anxieties tell him otherwise, let them tell him that Viktor was better off without Yuuri pulling him down and forcing him to choose between him and the life he was accustomed to. He'd been so wrong, so stupid. They were not supposed to be apart. Not ever. And now look where his folly had led them.

As he ran, the tears blurring his vision, he prayed to every deity he knew that his mistake hadn't cost him much more than he'd ever imagined.

"Viktor!" he screamed at the ocean when he reached the shoreline with the last of the air left in his lungs. The warring ships were much more visible from his new vantage point, their battle raging, the atmosphere teeming with fire and death. "I'm here, Vitya!" he screamed, defying the gruesome scene in front of him. "I'm sorry! Please come home to me!"

He looked around frantically, hoping that somehow his other half would materialize, but to no avail. Viktor wasn't on the beach. Viktor was out there, fighting for his life on one of those blazing ships engaged in a doomed battle against a stronger and better prepared enemy. He looked down at his hand as the red string's color pulsed, like the beating of a heart.

Yuuri knew in that moment what he needed to do.

For Viktor, he would fight too.

Grabbing the connecting string in his free hand, he began to pull with every ounce of strength he possessed. He pulled and pulled, pushing past the onset of exhaustion and praying that for once his efforts would be enough. That he would be enough, just one time.

"Please, Vitya. Please," he whispered urgently over and over as he continued to pull with everything left in him.

After what seemed like an endless amount of time, the water in front of him bubbled, then parted as a shape surfaced just off the shore. With a gasp he ran into the water and grabbed the waterlogged figure, using the last of his strength to lift it into his arms and rush it the rest of the way toward the beach. As gently as he could, he lowered the body onto the soft sand.

Viktor was pale, much more than usual, his skin clammy. But worse yet was the fact that his chest was eerily still.

He wasn't breathing.

"Oh gods," Yuuri sobbed. "Don't you leave me, Vitya. Don't you dare!" He pounded on Viktor's chest, trying to coax the seawater from his lungs. Over and over he pressed frantically.

Viktor remained still.

Yuuri refused to stop trying, screaming at the body of his life and love to return to him where he belonged.

Long moments passed, so long they seemed an eternity.

Panicking because time was rapidly running out, he desperately grabbed the connecting string and pulled it one final time, one soul calling out to its twin.

The soul, almost lost, had no choice but to respond.

Viktor jolted back to life with a loud gasp, which quickly dissolved into gagging noises as he turned his head and expelled the ocean in his lungs onto the sand. Yuuri sat back on his heels in disbelief, grabbing Viktor's hand and squeezing it in reassurance. Finally empty of seawater, Viktor groaned and turned back toward his rescuer, his vivid blue eyes blinking open and widening in shock as he recognized the person sitting beside him.

"Yuuri?" he rasped.

Yuuri offered a wet laugh in response, his body sagging with relief. "Ohayou, Vitya," he replied through his tears.

"Are you really here? Or am I…" Viktor asked, his voice quiet with uncertainty.

Yuuri pulled Viktor's hand up to cup his cheek so that he could feel its reassuring warmth. "You're really here, my Vitya. You're with me, where you belong. Where you've always belonged. Vitya, I'm so sorry. For everything. I…"

Viktor silenced Yuuri's apologies with a shake of his head and a look that held nothing but pure affection. "I'm here now. Fate led me back home. To you."

"I will never let you go again, I promise," Yuuri said determinedly. "You are my home, my heart, my love, and my life. We should always be together."

Viktor smiled, his lips curling upward to form a heart shape. "That sounds like a marriage proposal," he whispered, an echo of words spoken in a frozen Russian garden what seemed a lifetime ago. Reaching into his shirt, he extracted a thin chain. On it rested a pair of very familiar golden rings. With some difficulty, he removed the chain from his neck and offered the rings to Yuuri, eyes bright with a single unasked question.

Yuuri took the precious bundle and gently removed the rings from the chain. With shaking hands, he slid one onto Viktor's hand, returning it to where it belonged and would now remain for eternity.

"Vitya, my love," Yuuri began, his voice soft but unwavering. "I ask you to please take care of me all my days, as I promise to do the same for you. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?"

Viktor took the second ring and returned it to its rightful place on Yuuri's finger. "My lovely Yuuri, I will cherish you forevermore. Nothing would bring me more joy than to be your husband, your safe harbor, your home."

Unable to contain himself any longer, Yuuri threw his arms around Viktor's neck, covering his face in kisses. Viktor held him as tightly as he could, uncaring for passerby or of the thin coating of sand covering their bodies. The brightness of their love overshadowed all else, even the devastation of war.

There is no sweeter thing in all the universe than twin souls finding each other. Such a force, rare as it may be, has the power to overcome seemingly insurmountable odds.

Nothing is stronger than love in its purest, truest form. It is the kind of love one cannot reach unless they have a dream too large to bear alone.

Never once did Yuuri and Viktor let go of that dream, or of each other.

In every lifetime, their love burns brightly, a steadfast beacon of hope that lives on into eternity.

Forever.

Notes:

Art by the AMAZING Rhape Seuhans. Please check out their Tumblr for more beautiful artwork! https://www.tumblr.com/rhapeseuhans

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