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The week before the Chulanonts moved to Bath to be important at considerably less expense than they were currently putting forth, their son, Phichit, paid a visit to his close friend, a Mr. Katsuki Yuuri. Yuuri greeted him with all the warmth and affection that is due to a close friend, but after reciprocating, Phichit took his hand and said, “I am afraid I come with bad news.”
“What, worse than your imminent departure?” Yuuri asked. “What could be worse than that?”
Phichit sighed and looked down at their clasped hands. “I have only just discovered who is to be the tenant of our home while we are away,” he said. “Oh, Yuuri, please forgive me. It is Mr. Nikiforov and his young cousin.”
Yuuri felt his body grow cold at the name; he had known a Mr. Nikiforov, once upon a time. “Are you certain it is the same Mr. Nikiforov?”
Phichit nodded miserably. “I am certain. My father says he revealed that this is a return visit to —shire, not a first coming. And the Mr. Nikiforov we knew had no other family of the name.”
Yuuri pulled his hands away to stand and pace to the window. He rubbed his face, gazing out over his family’s lands. “Thank you for warning me,” he said at length, mastering himself and turning back to his friend. “I shall be able to bear it the more for having advance notice.”
“Oh, Yuuri,” Phichit cried, his voice wretched. “I did what I could to undo the deal, but the papers had already been signed—”
His friend waved his hand, brushing his words aside. “I do not blame you, Phichit,” he said, coming back and taking his hands again. “I do not blame anyone. It is an… an unfortunate circumstance, that is all.” He did his best to muster up a smile. “I shall be well, I promise you.”
“You must be well,” Phichit declared, seizing him in an embrace. “My dear Yuuri, you must be well, and you must visit me in Bath before the year is out. I do not know how I shall get by without you.”
“Certainly, if you wish it, I shall be at your disposal,” Yuuri said. He added, a touch sardonic, “Heaven knows I may wish to be away from our society here by the time you are settled.” Phichit gave a wet laugh into his shoulder.
-----
The Chulanonts departed, after a thorough feasting by their friends the Katsukis, and their tenants moved in quietly. The Chulanonts had left the bulk of their servants behind, taking only those select few they would require in Bath, and Mrs. Katsuki had it from her housekeeper that the remaining members of the household thoroughly approved of this Mr. Nikiforov and his young cousin, a Mr. Plisetsky. They were charming, kind-hearted and generous, Minako said, and the Katsukis would do well to call on them before the week was out.
They did so, bringing their son and daughter along despite the former’s earnest attempts to be absent at their departure. Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki found Mr. Nikiforov to be very charming indeed, his young cousin less so but certainly well brought up and properly educated.
Yuuri’s first reaction upon seeing the dreaded Mr. Nikiforov was a simple, stupid thought: “Oh, he’s cut his hair.” Mr. Nikiforov’s hair used to be long and shining, falling down past his waist; now it was shorn short, close-cropped around the back of his head. It suited the new steel in his eyes as he and Yuuri were introduced; those ice-blue eyes swept up and down Yuuri’s frame once, and he gave a nod of welcome that left Yuuri cold. So different from how I was once received by him. Yuuri shook himself. There was no time for reminiscing; his mother was asking Mr. Nikiforov about their journey to —shire, and it would not do for Yuuri to daydream over her speech.
“Yes, I have been in this country before, although my cousin has not,” Mr. Nikiforov said airily, in response to Mrs. Katsuki’s question. “I confess myself quite struck by its charms during my last visit, and I came to see how it has fared in the long years since I left it.” Could it be that his eyes had flicked to Yuuri as he said this? No, surely not, surely he would not be so open in his cruelty, well though Yuuri deserved it. It must have been a trick of the light, or Yuuri’s fevered imaginings running away with him.
“And how do you find it?” Mari inquired.
“Much altered,” Mr. Nikiforov said. His expression might have been etched in stone, so little did it move, but Yuuri could not altogether stop his flinch. Thankfully, no one noted him.
Mr. Plisetsky gave a snort. His cousin threw him a sharp look. The conversation moved on.
Eventually, after the most excruciating half hour of Yuuri’s life, the visit ended, and the Katsukis marched across the fields back to their own estate. Yuuri silently departed once they were in the house, making his steady way to his own room, where he shut the door behind him and paced to the mirror. He examined himself. His hair was longer; his eyes carried deep bags, where once they had been unencumbered; there was a distinct roundness to his face and body that he used to battle with more determination. Much altered indeed.
Before his tears had quite dried, there came a knock at his door. “May I enter?” Mari said, voice muffled by the thick wood.
What was there to do? He wiped at his face hurriedly. “You may.”
But his damned eyes had a tendency to swell when he wept, and she marked it immediately upon entering. “Oh, Yuuri,” she said, walking over to him. “Whatever is the matter?”
“It is nothing,” he murmured. “A silliness.”
“If it has made you cry, it is not a silliness,” she said firmly, and pushed him onto his bed, following after to perch on the duvet. “What is the matter?”
Yuuri had known his sister all his life; she could not be trusted to let it lie. “Am I…” he began, halting. “Have I… declined, in recent years?” He folded his hands in his lap, fingers fiddling with each other. He could not seem to look away from them. “Am I less now than I was?”
She clicked her tongue and pulled his chin until his eyes met hers. “You are my beloved brother,” she said, “and you are not less than you were. With each passing day, you grow to be more than you were on the previous.”
He snorted, half-hysterical. “Heaven knows that, at least, to be true.”
“That is not what I mean,” she said sharply, “and you know it. You are good, Yuuri, you are the best man I know, and every day you grow more so. You are kind, you are generous, you are funny, you are warm… I could list your virtues for hours, but I know it would only torment you. There is not an ugly bone in your body, brother of mine. I only hope one day you can see that.”
This did nothing to quell his tears, but Mari just pulled him to her shoulder and stroked his hair while they fell. Eventually, Yuuri mastered himself enough to sit back up and wipe again at his face. “I apologize—”
She waved his words off and passed him a handkerchief. “Think nothing of it, little brother. If I cannot be there for you when you are sad, then I have failed utterly as a sister.” He smiled, drying his tears, and passed the handkerchief back to her. She tucked it away and said carefully, “If I may pry, what brought this on?”
“Nothing,” Yuuri said quickly. Perhaps too quickly; her eyes narrowed. “Honestly, it was nothing,” he said more strongly, taking her hand. “You know how my mind runs away with me.”
She softened. “I do know that.” Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I came to tell you that dinner is almost ready. Mother and Father will be expecting us at table in half an hour. Wash your face, straighten your clothes. All will be well.” He opened his mouth, but she forestalled him. “They shall not hear of this from me, fear not.”
“Thank you,” he said, miserably grateful. She smiled and took her leave.
Dinner did much to lift Yuuri’s spirits, as indeed the meal often did. The cooks had prepared katsudon, Yuuri’s favorite dish, and Mari eyed him, clearly pleased, as his face visibly lifted at its presentation. “What do we all think of Mr. Nikiforov, then?” she asked the table at large, starting on her own portion with little less delight than Yuuri himself.
“A fine man,” their father said. “A fine man indeed.”
“A little cold, perhaps,” their mother put in, “but that is not a crime. Perhaps the country air will warm him.”
With pork in his belly, and a fine jag of tears behind him, Yuuri found himself able to concede that Viktor Nikiforov was indeed a fine example of a man, without suffering any further dejection of spirit. Mari agreed, and the conversation shifted to Mr. de la Iglesia’s ball, set for the next week. Yuuri had looked forward to it with genuine excitement, but that had been before the Chulanonts departed. Now, he could only hope to pass the evening without embarrassing himself, with no real expectation of pleasure.
Yuuri dreamed that night of hands clutching his, an open, wide-eyed face without a hint of coldness, and an earnest question put in good faith. The dream ended as it always did.
-----
Yuuri would come to conclude, in the week following Mr. Nikiforov and Mr. Plisetsky’s taking on of the Chulanont estate, that his friend Phichit had not left without setting his own affairs in order. The new tenants visited the Katsukis in turn, which was to be expected; Yuuri saw their carriage coming and disappeared out the kitchen door until it departed again. But theirs was not the only visit to be suffered that week; not two days had passed before Guang Hong Ji and Leo de la Iglesia called on him as well. The engaged couple seemed eager for his company, involving him immediately in conversation about their upcoming ball and asking for his opinion of their new neighbors. This made sense, Yuuri concluded in a private moment; they had been deprived of Phichit, the true social hub of —shire, and it was natural for them to attempt to fill the hole he had left behind. Why they had chosen Yuuri specifically for that role was beyond him, but he rose to meet it with as much good grace as he could muster. “Yes, I am excited,” he allowed, when the question was posed to him.
“And you will play for us, won’t you, Yuuri?” Guang Hong asked, leaning forward. “Oh, we do so love to hear you play.”
“Oh yes,” Leo concurred. “Please say you will.”
Yuuri felt his face heat. “I am not so gifted a player as all that,” he demurred, but in light of their expressions was forced to add, “but of course I will, if you wish it.”
Guang Hong seized his hand. “Excellent. Everyone will be so pleased, you are by far the best player for miles around.”
“I have had plenty of practice,” Yuuri murmured. Mr. Ji’s hand was warm, and its grip made him long for Phichit’s easy grace.
“We shall have to show you off to our new neighbors,” Leo said. “Mr. Nikiforov said he was prodigiously fond of a well-played pianoforte. No doubt you will sweep him off his feet in no time, Yuuri.”
Yuuri’s face flushed again, but he forced himself to laugh. “You overstate my abilities. No doubt a man as well-traveled as Mr. Nikiforov has heard a piano played far better than I have ever managed to make it sing.”
“Nonsense,” Leo objected. “You are too modest. I’d wager any amount of money that he will remark on your playing in particular before the evening is over.”
“There are worse comments he could make, I suppose,” Yuuri conceded over the churning of his stomach. “If all he says of me is a remark on my playing, I should count myself well-satisfied.”
This displeased Leo and Guang Hong, to judge from their expressions, but they did not remark upon it, and their visit ended with no further discussion of Mr. Nikiforov, or his opinions on the pianoforte.
Yuuri returned their visit two days later, and they passed a comfortable half an hour with Mr. and Mrs. de la Iglesia discussing the plans for the young men’s wedding, set for the following spring. They stopped just shy of asking Yuuri to play at the ceremony, although he had a sinking feeling the request would come before the year was out. The idea of helping his friends celebrate their union was most agreeable; the idea of playing in front of such a large crowd, at such a grand occasion, significantly less so. But if they asked, he would agree, and count it an honor.
To Yuuri’s startlement, he received a visit from the Crispino twins the day before the ball, cementing his notion that Phichit had enlisted all his social circle to keep Yuuri from seclusion. Sara’s acquiescence did not surprise Yuuri; she was a sociable young woman, and always had a smile for him whenever they met. Michele always greeted Yuuri with a suspicious glare, as though Yuuri were plotting to steal from him. It was well known, however, that Michele never let Sara make social calls alone to any party with a single man under the age of fifty, and so his presence at her side did not surprise Yuuri either.
Sara was all aglow with excitement for the upcoming ball. “And you will be there, of course, Yuuri,” she said no less than three times, reaching out to touch his arm. Each time he assured her he would.
“And will you be dancing?” Michele asked gruffly, from his stiff perch on the settee.
Sara quickly snapped her head towards him. “Mickey!” she snapped, her cheeks flushing.
“What?” he asked, clearly surprised by her fire.
“You know Yuuri does not care to dance,” she murmured, casting Yuuri an apologetic look. “He’ll be playing, won’t you, Yuuri?”
Yuuri plastered on a smile that did not reach his heart. “Yes, Mr. Ji and Mr. de la Iglesia have requested that I play several tunes.”
Sara gave him a warm smile that put his feeble attempt to shame. “That is excellent news,” she said, touching his arm again. “You are by far the finest player among our company.” Michele glowered at her fingers and said nothing.
-----
The day of the ball dawned bright and clear, the sunlight lancing through Yuuri’s curtains to wake him with a gentle caress. He blinked awake and rubbed his face. Today was the day. He had so far avoided Mr. Nikiforov’s company after the Katsukis’ visit to his new home, but no longer, for everyone was abuzz about his first ball in the neighborhood. They would have to meet.
Yuuri lay in bed for several long minutes, doubting his ability to manage it. Perhaps he could contrive to fall ill before tonight? Perhaps he could claim he’d forgotten every song he ever knew how to play on the pianoforte, and hide at home in shame. His parents would let him, and Mari could make his excuses. He need never see anyone ever again; he could live as a spinster in his parents’ house forever, with his dog and his family for company. It could work.
But Yuuri, whatever his flaws, had never been at heart a coward. He had had his moments of flagrant cowardice, to be sure, but the weakness was not in his core. He sighed and dressed for breakfast.
The day flew by, and all too soon he and Mari were in their carriage on the way to the Jis’ estate. She clearly marked his fidgeting hands and pale face, but said nothing, and he managed a wan smile for her, which she returned kindly.
They knew the Jis well, and thus were tolerably early to the party, but to Yuuri’s dawning horror he saw an unfamiliar carriage pulling around to the back as they arrived; they were not the first. “Are you ready?” Mari asked him quietly. What was there to do but nod, and exit the carriage, and help her out behind him?
Their coats were taken and they were shown into the main room, where Guang Hong peeled off from the pianoforte where he had been leaning to rush over and greet them. “Oh, it is wonderful to see you both,” he said, beaming all over his small, excited face. “Come, you must say hello to Mr. Nikiforov and Mr. Plisetsky.” He took Yuuri by the arm and began towing him over towards the instrument.
As they approached, Mr. Nikiforov looked up from where he had been seated idly plunking away at the keys, to the amusement of Leo and Mr. Plisetsky. Their eyes met, and he leapt from the seat as though burned. “I have taken your spot, forgive me.”
“Oh, no—” Yuuri protested, putting out a hand, but he was already up and away, sweeping his cousin off to the side of the loose circle they had all formed.
“Oh yes, we have been telling Viktor all about you,” Leo put forth, smiling as widely as his fiancé. “You must play your best tonight, Yuuri, for you have a new audience.”
Yuuri’s cheeks were aflame, he knew it, so why did no one comment on the steam that must be issuing forth from his ears? He stammered something apologetic and looked at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but where Mr. Nikiforov loomed, forced to listen to Yuuri’s praises for Heaven only knew how long. It must have been intolerable.
Fortunately for Yuuri, the ball’s attendance soon swelled to its full size, and he could hide himself at the pianoforte, away from the great crush of people. He played every song he knew, some of them twice, and when he stood, many hands pushed him back into his seat and begged him to continue.
Mr. Nikiforov swept by, Mila Babicheva on his arm, and over the din of the room he heard her say, “No, never. He has quite given up dancing.” Yuuri sat and continued to play.
Finally another player came to take his place, and Yuuri escaped to a quiet corner to cup his weary hands around a drink and take a moment of silence.
It was not to be a long moment, however, for to his great surprise, Mr. Plisetsky planted himself in front of Yuuri and stood there until Yuuri met his gaze. The boy regarded him for a long moment, his eyes seeming to bore straight into the back of Yuuri’s head to read all the matter written on his brain. Yuuri fidgeted uncomfortably, pinned by the gaze, until Mr. Plisetsky blinked and said, “You play tolerably well, although I have heard better in France.”
“Oh,” Yuuri managed. “Thank you.”
“I do not know why my cousin hates you so much,” the boy went on, his gaze now shifting into a glare. “But rest assured, I will find out.” With that, he swept away to be swallowed up by the crowd. Yuuri took a long sip of his drink.
Sara Crispino found him five minutes later, her brother hot on her heels, and Yuuri managed to find some enjoyment in what remained of the night in conversing with her, despite Michele’s frequent interjections and heated glares. At one point Yuuri turned his head to set his glass down on a table and saw Mr. Nikiforov turning away. He could not have been looking at me, Yuuri thought. Likely he had been looking at Sara, radiant in a deep blue gown studded with glittering stones. She was garnering a lot of appreciative looks, primarily from Miss Babicheva, and it was like to make her brother explode. Yuuri muffled a chuckle behind his hand and turned back to their conversation.
“And how did you find the evening?” Mari asked him, in their carriage on the way home. “I had a wonderful time. Mr. Bin is a splendid dancer, and he asked me to stand up with him twice.”
Yuuri smiled at her. “I have heard nothing but good things said about Cao Bin,” he teased her. “You could do far worse.”
“Oh, hush,” she snarled, snapping her gloves at him, but in the moonlight through the window he could see her blush.
-----
Mari, never lacking for partners, had rather overexerted herself at the ball, and was still in need of rest two days later. Yuuri paid his call to the Ji household on his own, for it could not be put off; Guang Hong and Leo had told him specifically to come by to debrief and gossip. There were deep bags under Guang Hong’s eyes, but he received Yuuri with seemingly real pleasure; Leo, he said, was still abed with a cold. “So it is doubly good that you are here,” Guang Hong said, settling into a chair next to Yuuri’s, “for I am desperate for company.”
“I am happy to provide it, such as it may be.”
“Oh, tush,” Guang Hong said, bristling. “You are always so severe on yourself, Yuuri. I wish you would not be; it causes pain to those that admire you.”
Yuuri blinked twice, three times, trying to wrap his mind around the other man’s words. “It is true I see little in myself to admire, but I will take your point, and attempt to speak less ill of myself. I do not wish to cause anyone pain.”
Guang Hong smiled at him, once again as bright as the sun. “It is merely a terrible habit, that is all. We shall break you of it.” Yuuri, helpless in the face of such enthusiasm, smiled back.
They chatted for some half an hour, going in detail over every aspect of the ball and who had danced with whom. Guang Hong complimented Yuuri’s playing no less than four times, putting Yuuri’s new resolution to the test, and Yuuri was just suspecting a fifth of being on the horizon when one of the Jis’ servants opened the door and said, “Mr. Nikiforov and Mr. Plisetsky, sir.”
“Goodness, how popular I am,” Guang Hong said, giggling. “Show them in, please.”
Yuuri surreptitiously tugged his shirtsleeves into place, smoothing out the cuffs and running a hand over his hair, ever unruly. Guang Hong gave him a strange look but said nothing, and then the door was opening again and the two were admitted.
“Oh no,” Mr. Nikiforov said, slowing to a halt. “We’ve interrupted.”
“Not at all!” Guang Hong sang out, getting to his feet. “We are all friends here, are we not, Yuuri? Come in and have a seat.”
Mr. Nikiforov hesitated a moment longer, then led Mr. Plisetsky to a free sofa. “We came to congratulate you on your excellent ball,” he said, settling in against the cushions. His young cousin dropped next to him like a sack of potatoes; Yuuri barely bit back a smile. “I must commend your timing in hosting it; it was the perfect way to meet everyone we had not yet had a chance to visit.”
“I am so pleased to have been useful to you!” Guang Hong said, beaming. “And I am glad you found it enjoyable. I do so love a ball, and the only way to ensure they happen as frequently as one likes is to host them oneself.”
“Too true,” Mr. Plisetsky said, with a sideways glare at his cousin. Mr. Nikiforov rolled his eyes, out of view of Mr. Plisetsky but perfectly visible to Yuuri. Yuuri’s stomach clenched.
“I hope you are settling in well,” Guang Hong said. “If there is ever anything you require, please feel no hesitation in asking.”
“We are, yes, and thank you for your kind offer,” Mr. Nikiforov said. “I understand the family from whom we are leasing were quite popular, so there are some large shoes to fill, but we are settling in nicely.”
“Yuuri in particular is pining for his closest friend,” Guang Hong said, “but we shall not let him be lonely. You must assist us in keeping him occupied until he can make his way to Bath.”
Those cool blue eyes settled on Yuuri’s face with a physical weight. “It would not do for him to pine away,” Mr. Nikiforov murmured. “We must not keep him from the company he truly desires.”
Yuuri swallowed. “I am quite satisfied with my current company,” he managed. “It is true I miss my friend, but we have letters, and I am not lacking for excellent companionship at home.”
“No indeed, he is beset by us,” Guang Hong put forth with a laugh. “Yuuri would love nothing more than to be locked up at home with his dog and his books and his pianoforte, but we will not let him.”
“You read?” Mr. Plisetsky said suddenly, sitting upright. “What do you read?”
“Oh,” Yuuri said, startled. “I read novels, mostly.” He named several authors. Mr. Plisetsky’s green eyes widened with each one, and filled with something startlingly near to admiration.
“You have taste,” he said, almost begrudgingly. “Mr. Lambiel is one of the finest peddlers of prose there has ever been on this Earth.”
“I would not go that far,” his cousin said, a touch waspish.
“I would,” Yuuri surprised himself by saying. Mr. Nikiforov’s eyes landed on him again. “I have all of Mr. Lambiel’s works, prose and poetry,” he went on more quietly, “and I have spent many a long day thumbing through them. They bring me great comfort.”
That was more than he had meant to say, but Mr. Nikiforov just regarded him sedately, an unreadable look in his eyes. “Well, my cousin has vouched for your taste, so I must concede ground where I am outmatched,” he said, after a moment’s long silence.
Next to Yuuri, Guang Hong shifted uncomfortably. “I did not seek to change your mind,” Yuuri said, choosing his words carefully. “Merely to explain my own.”
There was another stretch of silence. Guang Hong broke it by saying brightly, “I could never get the hang of reading. So much faff for what is really very little matter per book. I have read every book Yuuri has recommended to us, and they are all people sitting about having conversations with each other, and if I wanted that I would call upon my friends.”
Mr. Nikiforov gave a little chuckle. “You would do well in a city, I think,” he said, his gaze finally leaving Yuuri to swing over to Guang Hong. “Newspapers there have delightful little serial stories, all high adventure. They would be more to your tastes.”
Guang Hong perked up, and the rest of Yuuri’s visit was spent discussing these little tales. Yuuri left with a list, dictated to him by Mr. Plisetsky, of serials to hunt down, read, and report back on. The cousins left at the same time he did, and Yuuri felt Mr. Nikiforov’s cold eyes on the back of his neck long after his carriage door had closed and the horses swept him away.
-----
Mr. Nikiforov and Mr. Plisetsky became regular fixtures of —shire society, to Yuuri’s resignation and shameful delight. The young people adopted Mr. Plisetsky despite his rough edges and occasionally sharp tongue, and Mr. Nikiforov was regarded as a delightful curiosity. According to Guang Hong’s telling, Leo pouted for a full fortnight at having missed his visit, but soon had the opportunity to make it up; autumn was creeping along, the air growing colder, and they were all in each other’s pockets.
The cousins were hosting one particular engagement, six of them lounging about the Chulanonts’ sitting room, talking and laughing together. Mila Babicheva had Yuuri by the arm and was regaling him with a tale about Sara Crispino’s recent adventure with a wild horse which had left her with a sprained ankle, and so absent from the meeting. Mr. Nikiforov was sitting at his desk, reading a letter.
“Is it a love letter, Viktor?” Leo said teasingly, leaning over his shoulder. “You are so secretive about it.”
Mr. Nikiforov laughed, setting Yuuri’s nerves aflutter. “No, not a lover. A friend, down in Lyme.”
“How exotic,” Leo cooed, making the man laugh again. “You are fond of this friend, I see it in your eyes when you read.”
“I’ve been around the world with him, a Mr. Giacometti,” Mr. Nikiforov said, dropping the letter onto his desk. “We’ve had some great sport together. Now he hears I have settled nearby and demands I visit him. How far away is Lyme?”
“Some sixteen or seventeen miles,” Guang Hong reported. The room had quieted to hear their conversation.
“I shall go tomorrow, then,” Mr. Nikiforov said.
“Fond indeed!” Mila rang out. “That is no small distance to travel on a whim.”
“He shall give me no peace if I do not go as quickly as possible,” Mr. Nikiforov said. “And if you all could meet him, you’d love him as I do. He has a gift for making new friends.”
There was a general silence. “Well, then, why don’t we all go together?” Leo said suddenly. “It is no small distance, but no very great one either. We could make a visit of it.”
“You would be most welcome,” Mr. Nikiforov said, surprised but clearly pleased by the notion. “He adores society, and finds it somewhat lacking in Lyme.”
“There we are, then,” Leo said. “The six of us can pack into two carriages, no doubt, as we are all friends, with room to spare for Michele Crispino.”
“He will not want to leave his sister’s side,” Mila said, sniggering. “Best leave him behind. The six of us can provide enough society to satisfy any man, I am sure of it.”
Yuuri sat, a storm of indecision. Surely the invitation did not extend to him as well; Mr. Nikiforov could want Yuuri to meet no friend of his. “I am not sure I will be able to make it,” he said quietly, and every eye in the room turned to him.
“Oh, but you must!” Guang Hong called out, looking desolate. “You must come, Yuuri, it would be too cruel of you to skip it. Viktor, tell him he must come.”
Mr. Nikiforov’s face turned to Yuuri. His expression was placid, but his eyes—were they perhaps a touch less cold than they usually were? Could there be a hint of a smile around his mouth? No, surely not, surely that was Yuuri’s imagination playing tricks on him. “You would be sorely missed, although I shall not press you,” he said.
“There, that’s settled,” Mila said, gripping Yuuri’s arm the tighter. “I shall come and fetch you myself tomorrow morning.”
Yuuri searched Mr. Nikiforov’s face, but could find no hint of regret for his words. Yuuri would have to trust them. “So be it,” he conceded, and Mila beamed at him.
The journey to Lyme was bumpy and overcrowded, but everyone was in such high spirits that no one seemed to mind—except for Yuuri, of course, but he took enough pleasure in the sight of his friends’ smiles to compensate for his dread. Would Mr. Nikiforov have told his friend of the terrible business? What impressions would this Mr. Giacometti have of him, and how would Yuuri acquit himself in his eyes?
The carriages dropped them off at a promising inn, and they secured rooms for the night; there were enough spare for each of them. They dined on fish, and then Viktor led them through Lyme’s winding streets until they found themselves outside of a lopsided door to a weatherbeaten house. Viktor rapped on it, and the door was opened by a man with yellow hair and piercing green eyes, who shouted, “Viktor!” and clapped the man in an embrace on the threshold. Mr. Nikiforov pounded on his back, both men laughing, and Mr. Giacometti released him. General introductions were made, and Yuuri could detect no hint of prior knowledge when Mr. Nikiforov told him Yuuri’s name. Either he was a phenomenally good actor, or his friend had told him nothing of their prior history.
Once they were all acquainted, Mr. Giacometti—Chris, as he insisted upon being called immediately—led them inside, where they met the house’s other occupant, a Mr. Altin. They had met in Spain, Chris declared, and got along splendidly, and the both of them finding themselves rather short on funds, they had decided to take up digs together. Mr. Altin was a dark, silent man, and Yuuri could find nothing in him which might call out to the gregarious, charming Mr. Giacometti, but as the afternoon progressed, they did seem to rub along together nicely.
Chris had enough stories of his adventures to keep them all roaring with laughter well into the night, and Yuuri found himself genuinely sad to leave his house for the inn when they took their leave. “I will see you all for breakfast tomorrow,” he promised as he showed them out, “for the inn does the finest kippers I have ever had in my life.”
The walk back to the inn took place in the tired silence that can only be accomplished by a group of people who have been thoroughly enjoying themselves for several hours, and now long only for the comfort of a warm bed so they might rest to continue enjoying themselves in the morning. Guang Hong and Leo took the lead, Mila and Mr. Plisetsky following behind. Yuuri trailed slowly, so that Mr. Nikiforov might walk between him and the rest of the party, but however slowly Yuuri moved his feet, Mr. Nikiforov matched his pace. Perhaps he is tired, Yuuri thought, and sped up; Mr. Nikiforov’s steps quickened.
Yuuri looked over at him. His face was turned away, looking out towards the beach and the water; Yuuri could see nothing but the fall of his hair and the curve of one cheek, an achingly beautiful arch in the moonlight. His hands were in his pockets as they all strolled along, his elbow cocked away from his body. Yuuri swallowed and looked away.
Chris and Mr. Altin met them in the morning, and the kippers were as delicious as promised, and the coffee strong. “A walk!” Chris proclaimed once they had all broken their fast. “For you have barely seen Lyme. Send your carriages to my home, and we shall take the scenic route.” The party agreed, and their vehicles were sent on and their jackets and wraps fetched.
Chris led them a wandering trail across the beaches, with many a pause to skip rocks or exclaim at a nearby seagull. Yuuri himself had a pocket filled to bursting with seaglass by the time Chris’ house was in view. “Shall we carry on, or pause to rest?” he asked the group at large.
“My feet hurt,” Mr. Plisetsky put forth with his usual gruffness.
Mr. Nikiforov laughed. “A rest might do many of us good, Chris, to carry on in an hour’s time?”
“Very good,” Chris agreed. “There are some steps just over there, to bring us down to street level.”
The steps were rickety, loose stone and narrow, and Chris insisted on going first to help everyone else down. Mr. Nikiforov swept his arm to allow Yuuri to precede him, so they were both on the ground again when the rock gave way under Mr. Plisetsky’s foot and he came tumbling down, head hitting the pavement with a sickening crack.
Everyone froze, even Yuuri, but he found his muscles unlocked sooner than the others’, so he was first at the boy’s side. “What do we do?” Leo cried out, quick on his heels, but when Yuuri looked at him his face was lost.
“Send for a surgeon,” Yuuri ordered, since no one else seemed quick to take charge. Leo nodded and stood, but Yuuri grabbed his arm. “No! Mr. Altin!” he called over his shoulder. “Mr. Altin, fetch a surgeon, you will know where to go!” Mr. Altin was off like a shot. Mr. Nikiforov stood next to where he had been, face pale and hands shaking. Yuuri tore his gaze away and back to the patient. “No, do not move him,” he snapped, grabbing Guang Hong’s hands where they would have turned the boy over. “We do not know if his neck is… Do not move him,” he repeated, and Guang Hong left off, hands fluttering uselessly. “Here, rub his hands, rub his temples.”
The surgeon came quickly, having been only a few houses down tending to a pregnant housewife, and soon deemed it safe to lift Mr. Plisetsky and bear him back to Chris’ house. His cousin had to be led by the hand; his gaze was vacant, one hand running ceaselessly through his hair as he gaped out at them all.
Mila was sobbing on Chris’ shoulder, Leo and Guang Hong clutching at each other, so it fell to Yuuri and Mr. Altin to listen to the doctor’s instructions as he washed the wound and bandaged Mr. Plisetsky’s head. “He should wake within a few hours,” the man finished, laying the boy’s head back down upon Mr. Altin’s pillow. “If he does not wake by supper, fetch me again. He may be dazed, his gaze unfocused; this is normal for a concussion. Feed him thin broth, but he may not keep it down until tomorrow. If you do not fetch me tonight, I will call tomorrow after breakfast to check in on him.” Mr. Altin nodded solemnly. The surgeon shook both their hands and departed.
“Sit with him while I tell the others?” Yuuri asked Mr. Altin quietly; it was his room, after all, and Yuuri knew the others better than he did. Mr. Altin nodded again and sank into a chair by Mr. Plisetsky’s bedside. Yuuri left the room and went downstairs to where the others waited.
Mr. Nikiforov was a little more himself; he whirled upon Yuuri as soon as he entered. “The doctor left without saying anything, is he—”
“The doctor was very encouraging,” Yuuri hastened to say. “Provided he wakes tonight, there is no reason he should suffer overmuch. The fall was not so great as to pose a serious threat to his life. Mr. Nikiforov sank into a chair, his head dropping into his hands. Yuuri went on, “The best thing for him now is quiet. Chris, I’m afraid he shall have to trespass upon your hospitality a little longer, as the doctor thinks it will not be safe to move him for some days.”
“Of course,” Chris said, face ashen. “As long as is necessary, and you too, Viktor.” Mr. Nikiforov nodded but did not lift his face from his palms.
“The rest of us should depart,” Yuuri said. “Both for our own sakes, and for the patient’s quiescence.”
“I’ll call the carriages,” Leo said hoarsely, and stood to leave.
The group made their farewells and one by one filed out of the house to wait for the carriages outside. When Yuuri made to follow him, however, Mr. Nikiforov finally raised his head and said, “Yuu—Mr. Katsuki.”
Yuuri froze, heart pounding, and turned to him. “Yes?”
“You will—will you stay?” he asked quietly, eyes holding Yuuri fixed in place. “Stay and… and help me with him?”
Yuuri opened his mouth, shut it again, and said, “There is not much to be done. Just keep the wound clean and keep him quiet until it is safe to take him home. Mr. Altin heard the instructions just as clearly as I, and between the three of you—”
“Please.”
The word was broken, a rasp of an exhalation, but it stopped Yuuri in his tracks. Mr. Nikiforov looked a wreck, hair askew from his hands, eyes red and wet, and he stared at Yuuri as he had never stared at him before. “If you wish it,” Yuuri murmured. “Of course I will stay.”
Mr. Nikiforov’s head fell at that, back into his hands; Yuuri thought he heard a murmured thanks but could not be sure. He stepped towards the stairs but something made him pause and look back at the hunched figure in the chair; before he could stop himself, he had reached out and grasped the man’s shoulder.
Mr. Nikiforov’s hand flew, and Yuuri did not know whether it was to cling to him or shove him off, for he stopped just before touching Yuuri’s skin. They stayed like that for a long, long moment, Yuuri and Mr. Nikiforov—Yuuri and Viktor—until Chris came back into the room and Yuuri jerked back as though burned.
-----
Mr. Plisetsky woke as night was falling. Yuuri was at his bedside, having persuaded Viktor and Mr. Altin to step away for a bite to eat, and so saw his face contort and heard his low groan. His eyelids fluttered open and he looked around. “What happened?” he rasped when they fell on Yuuri.
“You fell,” Yuuri said, “and knocked your head. But you have woken tolerably quickly, so there is no reason to think all shall not be well. Careful,” he added, putting a hand to Mr. Plisetsky’s shoulder as he made to sit up. “You did take quite a blow.”
But Mr. Plisetsky was insistent, and soon found himself upright, propped on as many pillows as Yuuri could lay hands on. “I’m hungry,” he said as soon as he was settled. “Can I eat?”
“We have some broth warming for you downstairs,” Yuuri said. “I can fetch some, or call to your cousin and the homeowners if you’d rather not be left alone.”
Mr. Plisetsky sniffed. “Why should I be unable to be left alone?”
Yuuri hid a smile. “Very well.” He stood and made for the door.
As he lay his hand on it, however: “Wait,” Mr. Plisetsky called, his voice suddenly sounding uncertain. “Maybe you’d best not go. Surely my useless cousin can rouse himself enough to bring me a bowl of soup.”
Yuuri opened the door and shouted, “Mr. Nikiforov! Mr. Altin! Mr. Giacometti!”
“I told you to call me Chris,” Chris shouted back, but the three men appeared at the bottom of the stairs with no further complaints.
“The patient is awake, and requires some broth,” Yuuri said to them. “Could one of you bring some up?”
Mr. Altin nodded sharply and moved towards the kitchen; Mr. Nikiforov bounded up the stairs, brushing past Yuuri into the room where his cousin lay. “How are you feeling?” Yuuri heard him ask.
Yuuri thought it prudent to leave them alone, and went to the stairs, but before he could take a step he heard the young invalid say, “Where are you going?” Yuuri turned back to see both men staring at him. “You promised to eat with me,” Mr. Plisetsky said.
Yuuri had made no such promise, but Mr. Plisetsky’s face was the most earnest he had ever seen it, and so he reentered the room and took a seat in the corner, for Mr. Nikiforov had taken his previous chair to more easily fuss over his cousin. “How are you feeling?” he asked again.
“Hungry,” Mr. Plisetsky said, batting his hands away. “And my head aches, but that is to be expected. Yuuri says I am to recover well enough.”
Yuuri saw Mr. Nikiforov’s eyebrow raise, and felt his own do the same, but neither commented on Mr. Plisetsky’s liberty. “That is what the doctor says,” his cousin instead replied, folding his hands in his lap. “You must rest, and not strain yourself or your eyes, but you will recover.”
“There, then,” Mr. Plisetsky said. “No cause for all this fuss. Ah, good,” for Mr. Altin had returned, bearing two bowls. He passed one to Mr. Plisetsky and bore the other over to Yuuri; Yuuri smelled the tempting aroma of fish stew. “Yours smells better than mine,” Mr. Plisetsky said, looking over at Yuuri.
“I did not break a cobblestone under my head today, Yuri,” Yuuri said mildly. Mr. Nikiforov looked horrified but his cousin just laughed and took a spoonful of broth.
Yuuri and Chris walked back to the inn that night to sleep, for neither Viktor nor Mr. Altin would leave the patient’s side. “Mr. Altin seems a good sort,” Yuuri said, by way of conversation. “How old is he?”
“Eighteen,” Chris answered. “And he is a good sort. A bit standoffish, but once he claps onto you he claps hard. A good friend to have in a crisis.”
They strolled a few more yards in silence. “He seems to have clapped quite strongly onto young Yuri,” Yuuri ventured, and Chris laughed.
“Noticed, had you? Yes, I’d say so. I wonder what Viktor will say about that, once he has his head on a bit straighter.”
Yuuri did not presume to venture an opinion as to this, and the conversation changed to other matters. But Chris eyed him sidelong a time or three, and Yuuri thought there was a contemplative cast to his gaze, almost assessing him.
Yuri was still sleeping when they arrived back in the morning, and Viktor was in a full fret about it. “I do not know if it is right, that he should sleep this much,” he rambled, pacing about the living room with hurried steps. “Should he not have awoken by now?”
Chris grasped him by the shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. “Viktor. He will be fine. The doctor will be here any moment to assess him, but I can tell you now that young Yuri will recover beautifully. He ate three bowls of broth last night, and he is a growing lad. How late does he usually sleep?”
“Later than this,” Viktor confessed, and let out a deep sigh. “I hate feeling so helpless,” he murmured. Yuuri ducked away into the kitchen, where Mr. Altin was stirring a big pot of broth.
“Can I assist in any way, Mr. Altin?” Yuuri asked, crossing the threshold and shutting the door behind him.
The man looked over at him and shook his head. “No, it is made, just heating.” After a moment, he added, “Hadn’t you best call me Otabek, after everything?”
“Oh,” Yuuri said, taken aback. “If you wish. And you must call me Yuuri.”
“There,” Otabek said, and gave Yuuri a smile—the first Yuuri had ever seen from the man. “Now we are all friends.”
“I doubt if Mr. Nikiforov and I shall ever be friends,” Yuuri heard himself whisper, and to his horror Otabek heard him too.
Otabek regarded him for a few moments, and then said, “Viktor thinks very highly of you.”
Their kitchen was small, cramped and dark and undecorated, and Yuuri could not help but feel the urge to confess. “No he does not,” he said, dropping his gaze away from Otabek’s piercing eyes. “It may be that he… that he no longer hates me, but to ever presume to his friendship? No.” He shook his head. “It is beyond me.”
Otabek hummed. “You know him better than I, but I would be shocked if that were the case. His eyes were on you every moment they were not on Yuri last night.”
“Were they?” Yuuri asked, flustered, but before he could hear Otabek’s reply, the door opened and Chris thrust his head in.
“The doctor is here, if you want to come listen at the door with me,” he said, grinning cheekily. Yuuri looked at Otabek, flushed, and followed him out.
The doctor, once he had discovered them outside the door and corralled them all into the room with him, proclaimed himself eminently pleased with Yuri’s progress. “I shouldn’t recommend vigorous activity for a month at least,” he said, “but you should be able to take him home in a week’s time. I shall visit daily, to ensure there is no regression, but Mr. Plisetsky is young and healthy, and I have no real concerns about his recovery.”
Viktor visibly relaxed, and as Chris showed the doctor out he sank into the chair by Yuri’s bedside. “You will be the death of me, child,” he muttered into his hands. “Imagine if I’d had to write to your father and tell him I had let you die? Truly, you live to vex me.”
“I hardly did it on purpose!” Yuri objected, his face turning a bright shade of red. “Do you think I threw the stone out from under my own foot?”
“It would not surprise me if you had!” Viktor shouted, glaring at him.
“Why…” Yuri seemed near to explosion. “Why don’t you leave me, then, if I am so much trouble to you? Go back to —shire, and leave me to the care of others! Yuuri and Otabek can see to me just as well as you can, and Yuuri can bring me home when I am ready.”
Viktor stood and exhaled, slow and forceful. He stared at his cousin, and then lifted his head and looked at Yuuri. Yuuri fidgeted under his gaze, remembering Otabek’s words in the kitchen. “While there is no one to whose care I would trust you more than Mr. Katsuki,” he said quietly, “you shall not be free of me that easily, Cousin. But right now I need some air.” He swept from the room, his elbow brushing against Yuuri’s as he went.
In the bed, Yuri crossed his arms and huffed something that sounded like, “Disgusting.”
“I’ll go after him,” Otabek murmured to Yuuri. “Will you stay with Yuri?” Yuuri nodded and he, too, left the room.
Yuuri, for lack of a better option, took the seat Viktor had just vacated. “Mr. Nikiforov adores you,” he murmured, staring at the bedclothes.
“He treats me like a child!” Yuri exclaimed, violently uncrossing his arms and letting them fall to the bed. “A nuisance, a shackle about his neck. He didn’t want to bring me with him when he moved away from home, but Father insisted.” He snorted. “He thought it would be good for me to experience more of society. And here I am with a cracked skull as a result.”
“Your skull is not cracked,” Yuuri said firmly. “If it were, there would have been a great deal more fuss, which I know you abhor.”
Yuri huffed but did not argue. Instead, he fiddled with the edge of the sheet and said, quiet, “My cousin does not hate you anymore.”
Yuuri blinked, his only concession to the change of tone. “I am glad to hear it.”
“Why did he?” Yuri asked. His voice sounded small, and when Yuuri looked at his face, it seemed impossibly young.
Yuuri sighed. He desperately, desperately wanted to speak of anything else, but the boy was rattled from his near miss, and Yuuri could give him this one small thing. “You know your cousin traveled to —shire previously, some years ago?” he asked slowly. Yuri nodded. “We knew each other, back then. We were… We were quite close.”
Something like understanding bloomed in young Yuri’s eyes. “What happened?”
Yuuri swallowed. “He wanted something from me that I could not give. Nothing improper,” he hastened to add. “Just… beyond my means.”
“Oh.” Yuri looked down at the sheet again. “And if he were to ask you now? Would it still be beyond your means?”
Before Yuuri could answer, the door opened again, revealing a rumpled, harried-looking Viktor. “Might I have a moment alone with my cousin?” he asked Yuuri. His voice was much calmer than it had been, and there was not a frantic cast to his features anymore.
“Of course,” Yuuri said, and fled the room.
-----
“Yuuri…” Viktor’s hands were warm where they encircled Yuuri’s wrists, his grip light but not loose. “Yuuri, you must know what I have to ask you. What I want to ask you, that is.” He laughed at himself a little, and Yuuri could not help but laugh too. He could never resist the sound of Viktor’s laughter. “I do not know why I am frightened,” Viktor went on, warm blue eyes gazing into Yuuri’s. “It is the most natural thing in the world to want… But I must stop delaying.”
“Viktor…” Yuuri breathed.
Viktor shook his head. “Do not you start delaying me as well,” he said teasingly, a sweet smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “I spent all night bracing myself, and now the time has come.” Releasing one of Yuuri’s wrists, he dropped to one knee. “Yuuri. I love you, more than I ever thought to love anything or anyone, and I know, I know you love me too. Please say you will do me the honor of marrying me.”
“Viktor,” Yuuri said again, and found that there were tears in his eyes. “I… Yes.”
The widest smile Yuuri had ever seen on a person’s face now spread itself across Viktor’s, and he rose to standing again. He pressed their foreheads together, still holding one of Yuuri’s wrists in his hand. A wild, swelling happiness bubbled up inside Yuuri, threatening to burst all his seams and send him to hang in the sky like the sun, and then it began to curdle, until all he knew was fear. This was too much. Too much good fortune, too much happiness . It could not be for him. He had stolen someone else’s life, someone else’s love, and he had to extract himself before it destroyed Viktor. He gasped in pain, and Viktor leaned his head back and said, “Yuuri?”
“No,” Yuuri said wildly. Viktor’s face fell, and he opened his mouth, but before he could ask why, Yuuri cried, “I’m sorry, I cannot.” He ripped his arm out of Viktor’s grasp and fled.
Yuuri woke with a start to a rapping on his door. Groaning, he stumbled out of bed and over to it, opening it a crack. Mari peered back at him. “The servants are about to take the breakfast food away,” she said. “If you want any of it, you had best hurry.” Yuuri grumbled acquiescence and shut the door.
He had arrived home the night before, having lingered in Lyme four days, until all pretense that he could be of use was dried up and even young Yuri had agreed to release him. Viktor had lent him use of their carriage for the journey back, since Yuuri had ridden down in Mila Babicheva’s; the coachman spent the night and would have departed back to Lyme several hours since, judging by the angle of the sun. Yuuri bundled himself in a robe and padded out to scavenge among the remnants of breakfast.
Mari reappeared while Yuuri was munching on toast and handed him a stack of envelopes. “Your mail has quite piled up while you were away,” she said, settling her hip against the table and watching him eat.
“I was away five days!” Yuuri objected, flipping through the letters. Most of them were from the friends he had journeyed to Lyme with, no doubt eager for news of the patient. One, however, was not. “Oh, Phichit has written!”
“Is this his first since arriving in Bath?” Mari asked.
“He sent me a few lines to say they had arrived and were settling in, but nothing since.” Yuuri set the toast down and picked up the butter knife.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Mari said with a smile. She reached out, ruffled his hair, and departed. Yuuri slit the envelope open and tugged out the letter within.
My dearest Yuuri,
You must forgive me having taken so long to write. May it ease your ire some to know that I have been speaking with you constantly; I find myself prattling away when quite alone, telling you all the deeds of the day and the choicest gossip I have found. No doubt this madness comes of missing you, which is why you must come to me AT ONCE.
For that is why I have finally picked up my pen, after three weeks’ silence (too cruel of me, however shall you forgive such a sin?)—to invite you to come to stay. We are finally tolerably settled, and while we have not the space to host you within our own home, we are but a two-minutes’ walk from the finest hotel in Bath. I have gone on a reconnaissance mission, and am pleased to report that it is entirely up to snuff and suitable for one such as yourself. Do say you will come. I have been making friends left and right, for there is no shortage of society in Bath, but no one compares to you. I must have you, even if just for a short while.
Write back quickly and put my out of my suspense,
Phichit
Yuuri laughed aloud and set the letter down, picking up his toast again. His mother poked her head through the door, and then the rest of her followed. “You have opened Phichit’s letter, then?”
Yuuri swallowed and brushed a shower of crumbs from his lips. “He writes to invite me to Bath; he and his family are quite settled, he says, and ready to receive guests at a nearby hotel.”
“So we are to lose you again so soon,” his mother said with a pout that could not quite hide her smile. “For of course you must go. You have missed your friend terribly, I have seen it.”
“I do miss him,” Yuuri admitted, “and yet I missed all of you while at Lyme. It is Monday now; I shall write to him to expect me next Tuesday. That will give me a week to pack properly, and spend time with my family again. If this is agreeable to you and Father, of course,” he added hastily.
His mother waved a hand. “You know we will have no objections to whatever you think best, Yuuri. How long will you be gone?”
Yuuri picked up the letter again. “Phichit purports the hotel to be the finest in Bath, so no doubt it will come at some expense. If we can manage it, I think a fortnight a reasonable length for a visit.”
“Quite so,” she agreed. “I shall talk to your father, but I cannot think he will object; we expected as much when we saw he had written. What will you do today?”
“Call on Mr. Ji and Mr. de la Iglesia,” he said, finishing the crust of the toast and standing. “I must report on the consequences of our adventure.”
“Oh yes, the poor boy, you mentioned when you got in last night.” His mother frowned. “You said they would be returning home in a few days?”
“On Wednesday,” Yuuri confirmed.
“We must send over a package. I remember Mari’s concussion ten years ago; it is a scary thing.” She gave him a smile and left the room. Yuuri took the letter and another piece of toast for the road and went back to his bedroom to dress.
As he had expected, Mila and the Crispino twins were already ensconced in Guang Hong’s sitting room when Yuuri arrived two hours later. Leo seized his wrist and dragged him to a chair. “Oh Yuuri, we have all been desperate for news.”
“Mr. Plisetsky is well,” Yuuri said, and a general sigh of relief went around the room. “A concussion, but not a serious one, the doctor says. They will return home this week, and he is to be given strict bed rest for a month. But he was in high spirits when I left, and seems well on the road to making a good recovery.”
“And how is dear Viktor handling things?” Sara asked, earning her a sharp look from her brother.
“Well enough,” Yuuri said. “It is a strain, to be sure, but he seems to be maintaining a good humor.” No doubt the fact that his cousin was recovering in the house of a good friend had much to do with that. Once the initial shock had passed, Yuuri had been surprised to hear Viktor’s laugh at all hours of the day and evening, prompted by Chris’ ribald wit. His easy smiles always settled when he looked upon Yuuri, turning into something quieter and more contemplative, but they had not disappeared entirely. Yuuri, he knew, would keep those expressions locked in his memory for warmth on cold nights.
“That is good,” Mila declared, and a wave of decisive nods went around the room.
-----
Thursday morning dawned, and Yuuri’s mother presented him with a heavy box wrapped in a thick, warm blanket. “Some food for Mr. Nikiforov and Mr. Plisetsky,” she told him. “Take it over to them promptly, and give them our best. Your father and I are both keeping the young man in our thoughts.” Yuuri took the box. “And he is to keep the blanket as well,” she said firmly. “Nothing gets more boring during confinement than bedclothes; he will be glad of a change of scenery.”
Yuuri nodded and carted the box out to the carriage. He had never taken a carriage when the Chulanonts lived there, preferring the mile-long walk, but the box was heavy and he dared not risk dropping it. The coachman took it from him and settled it into one of the seats before passing Yuuri up, and they set off.
To think, just ten days ago I would have been terrified beyond measure to visit them alone. But something had changed in Lyme; Yuuri no longer felt the same measure of fear towards Viktor and Yuri that he used to. He now took pleasure in the boy’s company, and could meet Viktor’s gaze with a measure of equanimity. If there was a deeper, separate kind of pleasure that went along with such gazes, Yuuri saw no reason anyone ever need know.
When Yuuri disembarked from the carriage, box in hand, Viktor met him at the door instead of a servant. “Oh!” Yuuri exclaimed, taken aback. “Hello.”
“Hello,” Viktor said, a twist of wry amusement in his voice.
“I hope you will forgive my just dropping in,” Yuuri babbled. “Only Mother told me to bring this over.” He raised the box in his arms.
“You are most welcome here at any time,” Viktor said, sending a frisson of heat down Yuuri’s spine, and reached out to take the box from him. “Do come in?”
In their sitting room, Viktor settled the box onto a table and regarded it. He turned to Yuuri and raised an eyebrow. “Some food,” Yuuri explained, “and I am under strict instructions to see to it that the blanket reaches your cousin. My parents are thinking of both of you, and send their best wishes that Yuri has a swift recovery.”
Viktor smiled at the box. “That is very kind of them. My cousin is not allowed to leave his bed, but I shall call on them next week to thank them. And he will love the blanket, he is always complaining of a draft in his room.” He looked up at Yuuri, a horrified look on his face. “Not that we find your friend’s house lacking in any way—”
Yuuri held up a hand. “Phichit often complained of the same draft,” he said, and Viktor relaxed. “And my parents will happily receive you, whenever is convenient for you.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Viktor said.
There passed a period of silence which, by all accounts, should have been awkward but somehow was not. “I should not intrude,” Yuuri said, when it had stretched beyond all reason. “I came to bring you the box and the well-wishes; no doubt you are in need of rest after your journey yesterday.”
“Oh,” Viktor said—did he sound disappointed? Could he? “I must tell you I will catch a nightmare if Yuri hears you were here and did not see him. Will you take a moment to say hello before you go?” He reached out and unwrapped the box, holding out the blanket. “Perhaps you could take this to him yourself?”
Yuuri took it and smiled. “Of course I will say hello. You should take that to the kitchens,” he said, nodding at the now-bare box. “I know the way.”
“Of course you do,” Viktor said quietly. He picked up the box and left the room, Yuuri close at his heels until they came to the staircase. Viktor went on straight to the back of the house and Yuuri went up, turning left at the landing and counting the doors until coming to Phichit’s old room. He knocked.
“No, Viktor, I don’t need another bowl of broth, I need something filling!” came the shout from behind it.
“It is Yuuri,” Yuuri called through the wood.
Yuuri heard a muffled oath, the shifting of bedclothes, and then Yuri called out, “Come in!”
Yuuri had expected to feel a pang of loss upon entering the room, seeing Phichit’s old furniture without Phichit himself, but instead what suffused him was warmth. Yuri had made the room his own, his clothes and books scattered everywhere. He was stretched out on top of the bedclothes, bare feet tucked into the rucked-up sheets. As Yuuri entered, he ran a hand through his hair. “Hello,” he said, almost nervously.
Yuuri smiled at him. “How are you feeling?”
“Sick of everyone asking me how I am feeling,” Yuri muttered. Louder, he said, “I am well. What’s that you have?”
“A gift,” Yuuri said, and snapped the blanket out over Yuri’s prone body, letting it settle over his legs. “From my family, with their good wishes.”
Yuri ran a palm over the material. “It’s soft.”
“And warm,” Yuuri agreed. “My sister had a concussion when she was a girl, and grew wretchedly sick of the sight of her own bedroom, so my mother has sent you a change of scenery.”
Yuri continued petting the blanket, staring at it, and then looked up at Yuuri with a characteristically fierce gaze. “Thank her from me?”
“Of course,” Yuuri assured him. “Your journey from Lyme went well?”
“Wretchedly bumpy, but it was nice to be somewhere that wasn’t a bed,” Yuri said, “and I was sick and tired of being an intruder.” He grew quiet and bit his lip, then leaned forward and said, “Can I tell you a secret?”
Yuuri pulled a chair close to the bed. “You may tell me anything, Yuri. I am quite good at keeping secrets.” He had all of Phichit’s, and many of Sara Crispino’s, not to mention Mari’s. Yuuri was an accomplished secret-keeper.
Yuri bit his lip again and said, “Otabek and I are engaged.”
This was not at all what Yuuri had expected him to say, and yet was not surprising news for all that. “And are you happy?” Yuuri asked him.
“Frighteningly so,” Yuri confessed, his eyes wide and his voice low. “We do not intend to marry anytime soon—we hardly know each other—but we know each other enough to be certain. I have never met a single person like him in my whole life.”
Yuuri reached out and patted his hand. “If you are happy, I am happy, Yuri. And if you are ever not happy, come and find me, and we shall work something out. Otabek seems a reasonable, steady sort of a man, the type to make a good husband or a strong friend, should you have to break it.”
“I’m scared of telling Viktor,” Yuri admitted. “He will rage, say I am too young. But I’m not too young to know my own mind. I’m certain about Otabek,” he repeated, “and I shan’t be parted from him, not ever.”
Yuuri paused, choosing his words carefully. “Your cousin loves you above all else,” he said. “If he reacts badly, it is only because he wants you to be happy. If you think this will make you happy, then you just have to impress that upon him. He is reasonable, and thinks well of Otabek. In time I am sure he will come around.”
“Will you make him?” Yuri asked, seizing Yuuri’s hand. “If he does not understand, will you speak with him?”
“Oh,” Yuuri said, startled. “Yuri, I do not think my opinion carries much weight with your cousin.” Yuri just gazed at him beseechingly, and Yuuri relented. “But if the opportunity arises for me to attempt to calm him, of course I will try.”
“Thank you,” Yuri said, releasing Yuuri. “Thank you, I know he will listen to you.”
Viktor caught him again on the way out. “Do thank your mother most profusely from us,” he said, walking Yuuri to the door. “That chicken will feed us for several days.”
“Of course I will.”
They stepped out into the sunlight, the Katsukis’ carriage coming around the bend. “Well, then,” Viktor said, watching it approach. “Until next week?”
“Oh, you shall not see me when you call, I am afraid,” Yuuri said apologetically. “Phichit has written to invite me to Bath, I am to stay there for a fortnight.”
“Oh.” Viktor seemed to be mastering himself against some strong emotion. “Of course you should want to be with your friend. Safe travels.” He handed Yuuri into the carriage and turned on his heel, striding back into the house. Yuuri watched him go, several feelings battling for ground in his heart.
-----
Bath, Yuuri found as soon as his carriage crossed into the town, was a feast for the senses, starting with the sharp air that hit his nostrils as he poked his head out of the window. The coachman stopped for directions to the hotel and Yuuri watched the bustle of people through the streets, feeling suddenly cowed. He had traveled to London before with his family, but Bath would be the first new place he went on his own.
Not on my own. Phichit was here somewhere, waiting for him, and Yuuri would brave many things to see him again. The coachman climbed back into the seat and Yuuri retreated back inside the carriage.
The hotel was almost absurdly fine, gold and bronze and creamy marble as far as the eye could see, and Yuuri was torn between a desire to spend as little time there as possible, and a need to make the expense worth the money and take advantage of all its amenities. No doubt Phichit could help him with the latter, he reflected with a chuckle. Speaking of Phichit… Yuuri changed his jacket and hurried back out of his rooms, clutching the letter with the Chulanonts’ address in one hand.
Yuuri was met at the door by one of their servants, who smiled warmly to see him and stepped aside just in time for Phichit himself to come barreling down the stairs and catch Yuuri in an embrace. “You are here at last,” he breathed into Yuuri’s ear, squeezing him close, then released him and held him at arm’s length, looking him up and down. “You do not seem the worse for my absence,” he said. “That is good. I worried terribly about you.”
“I have missed you every day,” Yuuri said honestly. Phichit beamed at him and led him to a sitting room off the hallway. “How is Bath treating you?” he asked, settling onto a sofa. Phichit took the cushion next to him, clutching his hand. “You look well.”
“I feel well,” Phichit said, still smiling fit to burst. “I miss home, of course I do, but I have made so many friends here, and everyone has been so welcoming to my family. It is almost as though we have lived here for a year.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Yuuri said warmly. “Tell me of your new friends, that I may be jealous of them.”
Phichit laughed. “You, my darling, never need be jealous of anybody as far as I am concerned. You will always be foremost in my affections. But I will tell you of Bath’s society later. For now,” his voice dropped and he leaned in closer, “how have matters fared for you back home, with our tenant? I have been worried sick about you,” he repeated.
Yuuri sighed. “It was… hard, at first,” he admitted. “But with time, he seems to have thawed towards me a touch. I would never aspire to his friendship, I have sinned too greatly for that, but I believe he no longer wishes me ill.”
“That is concerning,” Phichit said slowly, “but not quite in line with what I have heard from Guang Hong and Leo. They spoke to me of a terrible accident in Lyme, and your presence being specifically requested to remain?”
“His cousin has taken a liking to me,” Yuuri said quickly. “He did ask me to remain with them for some days after the incident, but no doubt it was to leverage my presence to keep Mr. Plisetsky in line with the surgeon’s orders, not for any… any comfort he may have taken in my being there.”
“Hmm.” Phichit regarded him. “I know how little you think of yourself sometimes, so I will take your account with a grain of salt, and weigh it up against those of our other friends, who think of you more rationally. But he has not treated you ill?” he pressed.
Yuuri shook his head. “A little coldly, as I have said, but that is only because I remember how he used to treat me. He has given me no cause for complaint, Phichit. A perfect gentleman.”
Phichit squeezed his hand. “I shall have to be satisfied with that, until I can see him for myself. Now, tell me about this adventure in Lyme.”
They chatted for several hours, Yuuri regaling Phichit with the tale of young Yuri’s fall, and Phichit telling Yuuri all about the people he had met and parties he had been to since coming to Bath. Phichit extracted a promise from Yuuri to call the next morning just after breakfast before letting him go for the night. “For I must take you to the Pump Room,” he said firmly, “and start introducing you to people. They are all quite eager to meet you, after everything I have told them about you.”
Yuuri pressed his hands to his flushing cheeks, making Phichit laugh and embrace him again, and then took his leave, walking back to his hotel in the dim evening light. The cool air was refreshing on his cheeks, after several hours sitting indoors, and he was full of invigoration after his reunion with Phichit. Settling in at the desk in his room, he pulled some paper towards himself and began penning a letter to his mother, informing her that he had arrived and seen the Chulanonts. That duty done, he saw himself to bed.
The Pump Room, even so early the next morning, was packed with people, and full half of them seemed to know Phichit. Yuuri made more new acquaintances that day than he ever had in his life. Phichit laughed at him and made sure to whisper in his ear before those individuals whose name Yuuri would be required to remember—Seung-gil Lee, for one, and Jean-Jacques Leroy with his fiancée, Miss Yang. “You shall not be fond of JJ,” Phichit whispered to Yuuri once they had departed, “but he is quite the social center of Bath’s young people. Extremely rich and extremely opinionated. Do your best to tolerate him.” Yuuri nodded solemnly.
Phichit held a small dinner that night, Mr. Lee and Mr. Leroy and Miss Yang and a young thing named Mr. Minami, who spent the whole night staring awestruck at Yuuri, making him fidget and drop his fork. “So, Yuuri,” Mr. Leroy boomed, making Yuuri’s whole body tense up and one eyebrow rise against his will; down the table, Phichit covered his mouth. “You must be grateful to be in Bath, after such a long time in such a small town.”
Yuuri gaped at him, unable to respond, until Miss Yang leaned over and whispered something in his ear. “Oh dear, am I being too familiar again?” Mr. Leroy said and laughed heartily. “My apologies, Mr. Katsuki, but I feel I know you already from how much Phichit talks about you.”
Yuuri, recovering himself, said, “I am enjoying what I have seen of Bath so far, Mr. Leroy, but I am rather fonder of my small town than perhaps you realize.” Phichit grinned at him encouragingly.
“Fair enough, fair enough,” Mr. Leroy conceded. “How long are you in Bath?”
“A fortnight.”
Mr. Leroy waved his fork. “We shall make a convert of you yet, just as we have your friend, eh, Phichit?” He looked down at the man, who had schooled his expression into something more demure.
“I miss home as much as any man, but Bath suits me admirably as well,” Phichit said. “Everyone has been so welcoming.”
“We were in need of a man of your talents, Phichit,” Miss Yang said warmly, and the conversation blessedly moved on. Next to Phichit, Mr. Minami shoved a forkful of roast into his mouth, eyes fixed on Yuuri.
-----
Yuuri was in the Pump Room again two days later when he had his shock. Phichit had stepped away, drawn into a conversation about some business matter or other with Mr. Lee, and Yuuri was left to wander the room, looking around at all the people he did not know, when suddenly he saw a person he did know. A flash of silver hair caught him by the corner of the eye and he spun—yes, it was Viktor, standing in the doorway and looking forlornly at the crush of people in the room.
Overcome by a sudden boldness, Yuuri broke from the general current of people and walked over to him. “You are come to Bath too, Mr. Nikiforov?” he asked, and Viktor jerked in surprise.
“Mr. Katsuki! I did not think to find you so—yes, I am come to Bath,” he said rather stupidly. Yuuri bit down a small smile. “And you, you are in Bath as well.”
“Yes, as I said I would be,” Yuuri said, amused. “I am here visiting my good friend Phichit Chulanont. What brings you from your cousin’s bedside? Is he well?” he asked, suddenly worried.
“Very well,” Viktor hastened to assure him. “He recovers admirably, the doctor says. But we, ah… we rather needed a break from each other. He tells me you know of his secret regarding Mr. Altin?”
Ah. That made sense. “Yes, he told me when I dropped off the blanket,” Yuuri admitted. “He has finally told you as well?”
“Two days ago,” Viktor confirmed. “I did not take it as well as I might have, and we both deemed it best for me to step away for some time so we could get our heads settled back on.”
“I see.”
Perhaps Yuuri’s promise to Yuri showed on his face, for Viktor went on, “If you have thoughts on the matter, Mr. Katsuki, I should be very grateful if you would share them.”
Yuuri sighed. “Otabek seems a very stable, level-headed sort of a man, and from what Yuri told me, they seem to be settled on a very long engagement. I confess I do not see the harm in two young people becoming engaged as a means of getting to know one another. They can always break it if they do not like what they find, and no harm done.”
“No harm done,” Viktor echoed. There was a hint of that familiar steeliness behind his eyes; Yuuri quailed a little at the sight of it. But now it was Viktor’s turn to sigh. “You speak sense, I suppose,” he allowed. “And I do like Otabek; he was extremely useful and kind during Yuri’s convalescence at his house. And Chris’ recommendation does go far with me. But his father will not be pleased, and will take it out on me.”
“There I cannot help you,” Yuuri said. “But perhaps you need not take this particular set of swings at all.” Viktor looked at him questioningly. “Young Yuri has not compromised himself in any way that I can tell, after all. And if he is old enough to pledge his troth, he is old enough to stand up to his own father. At least that is how I see it, and I suspect how he sees it as well, if I know him.”
“He is always up for a battle,” Viktor mused. Yuuri laughed, and Viktor looked at him, all coldness gone from his eyes. “You ever were the wise one between us,” he said softly, so softly that Yuuri almost missed it. Yuuri’s heart stopped, and then picked up again at a galloping pace, but before he could make any visible reaction, Phichit was at his side.
“This could not be Mr. Nikiforov, could it?” he asked sweetly, one hand closing around Yuuri’s elbow. “Or do I mistake my family’s tenant?”
“No, it is I, Mr. Chulanont,” Viktor said, as startled by his sudden presence as Yuuri was. He bowed to Phichit, who returned the gesture. “Mr. Katsuki was just advising me on a small family matter.”
“I would not advise you to let your cousin hear you call it small,” Yuuri said, and Viktor laughed.
“Quite right, quite right. Well, I will let you get back to your walk. Mr. Katsuki, Mr. Chulanont.” With another round of bows he took his leave.
Phichit, using the hand on Yuuri’s elbow, turned him to face him. “Are you alright?” he asked, eyes searching Yuuri’s face.
“I am well, Phichit,” Yuuri said as emphatically as he could. “I told you, he no longer wishes me ill. We are acquaintances, nothing more or nothing less.”
“Significantly more than mere acquaintances, if I am any judge of character at all,” Phichit muttered, but would not explain when Yuuri pressed him. “I have had enough of the Pump Room. Let us go to the park and see if there are any likely dogs about.”
There were several excellent dogs in the park, and Yuuri greeted all of them. When the last of them had to depart with her owner, Yuuri pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the slobber off his hands and returned to Phichit’s side. “A capital idea, thank you.”
“I am glad you enjoyed it,” Phichit said. His warm smile dimmed, and he went on, “I must discuss something rather serious with you.”
“Go on,” Yuuri said, growing grave.
“It is just, given the connection between our families, now that Mr. Nikiforov is here I cannot exclude him from any gatherings or parties I throw without doing him serious insult.” Phichit seized Yuuri’s hands. “If you wish it, I will exclude him, please be certain of that. I want to cause you no discomfort of any kind, ever—”
Yuuri laughed and grasped him by the shoulders. “What will it take for you to hear me? Things are well between Mr. Nikiforov and I,” he said firmly. “Invite him, by all means. He does not deserve the insult of exclusion. I will be perfectly well. I find I enjoy his company as much as I ever have,” he added, more quietly.
“That is what I fear,” Phichit said wretchedly. “Oh, Yuuri, if your heart is in danger, please tell me and I will take steps to mitigate it.”
Yuuri shook his head. “My heart is in no danger of pain, for my expectations are firmly rooted in reality. We are acquaintances, he and I, and never shall be more again. I know that,” he assured his friend. “There is no danger.”
Phichit looked at him searchingly and then nodded. “If that ever changes, tell me at once,” he said. “Your well-being is more important than my reputation as a host.” Yuuri nodded, knowing full well that it was a lie. Phichit likely knew it too, but it was the best either of them could manage. And besides, there never will be any danger. I shall feel what I feel without hope of reciprocation, and that shall be the end of it.
-----
Phichit’s next gathering was not for several days. They ran into Viktor in the Pump Room and the Lower Assembly room a handful of times, exchanging nothing more than polite nods, and once at a concert, Italian opera. There he and Yuuri passed a few words on the weather, but with Phichit hovering over Yuuri’s shoulder as chaperone the conversation could not deepen to Yuri’s plight again.
The day of the party came, and Yuuri found he knew the vast majority of its attendees by sight at this point; Phichit had handled his instruction well. Mr. Lee gave him a nod at the door as they both arrived at the same time, but did not speak. This was in keeping with what Yuuri knew of the man—he had only ever seen him speak to Phichit privately, never in company—and Yuuri did not take insult, merely returned the nod and drifted away from him once indoors. There he was greeted by Miss Yang and Mr. Leroy, and pulled into a conversation about the latter’s new cufflinks and tie. Therefore, he missed Viktor’s arrival, merely turning around after extracting himself to find the man standing behind him. “You came,” he breathed.
“I came,” Viktor whispered. There passed a breathless moment where they just gazed at each other, and then Phichit materialized.
“Mr. Nikiforov! Welcome,” he said. “Please, treat my home as if it were your own.”
“I believe I already do,” Viktor said, quirking a smile.
Yuuri laughed, and after a moment Phichit did the same. “Of course you do. I meant this one specifically, of course.”
“Of course. And thank you for your hospitality. I know no one in Bath, save the two of you.”
“Phichit is an excellent host,” Yuuri put in. “You will know everyone there is to know before the night is through.”
“I look forward to it,” Viktor said, turning his eyes towards Yuuri again.
“Oh! Mr. Minami is here, do excuse me,” Phichit said, sweeping away towards the door and leaving the two of them alone again.
“And have you met anyone of interest in Bath?” Viktor asked, before Yuuri could make his own excuses and leave him in peace. “Anyone you think I should know?”
“I have found everyone to be as welcoming as Phichit promised,” Yuuri said. “But no one to surpass him in my affections, or those friends of ours back home.”
Viktor smiled, looking down. “I confess myself glad to hear it,” he murmured, almost too quietly to be heard in the noise of so many people. “I know my cousin was worried we would lose you to Bath.”
“Never,” Yuuri said firmly. “I could never leave —shire, I love it too much. I should love to travel, to see the world, but my home is my home, and never will change.”
Viktor’s eyes were shining, the brightest blue; Yuuri was lost in them. “Well put,” was all he said.
They were seated at opposite ends at dinner. Phichit, in a fit of pique no doubt, had placed Viktor next to Mr. Leroy, and the man was talking his ear off about the price of chickens in England against those of France. Yuuri himself was between Miss Yang and Mr. Nekola, and passed a tolerable hour of small talk.
The party thinned after dinner, several people disappearing into the library and the rest converging in the Chulanonts’ sitting room. Yuuri, staying close to Phichit’s side, was in the latter group, as was Viktor and Mr. Leroy and a handful of others. Miss Yang being in the library, Mr. Leroy turned the conversation to her and their upcoming wedding. “You shall all be invited, of course. Including you, Viktor,” he added, pointing at the man, who gave a tolerable effort at turning his wince into a smile. Mr. Leroy did not notice. “Oh, I wish you all could be as happy as she makes me,” he went on. “True love is a shockingly rare thing, I have found. Too many people make marriages for business or economy or convenience. Eternal devotion should be the driving force behind a marriage.”
“Ah,” Phichit said, “but how can you know it is eternal when you marry? You can only know your devotion was eternal when you die still devoted to the same person.”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Leroy declared. “You clearly have not felt it, Phichit, or you would know your own folly. True love can be mistaken for no other feeling in the world. It makes itself known, and is the greatest thing you could possibly aspire to.” There was a general murmur of assent, to which Yuuri did not add. Mr. Leroy’s eyes fixed upon him. “You disagree, Mr. Katsuki?”
Put on the spot, Yuuri gathered himself and said, “Not as such. True love truly is the greatest gift humanity was ever given, provided it is reciprocated. But eternal devotion can turn to a curse when it is one-sided.”
“True love is true love because it is reciprocated,” Mr. Leroy said. “There can be no one-sided devotion.”
“You have been lucky,” Yuuri said quietly. “Not all here can say the same.”
There was a quiet crash, and the room looked to Viktor, who had dropped his whiskey glass. “Oh, do forgive me, Mr. Chulanont,” he said quickly, dropping to his knees and pulling out a handkerchief to mop up the spilled liquid.
“It is nothing, Mr. Nikiforov,” Phichit assured him, thrusting his head out of the door and calling for a servant. While the mess and the glass were cleaned up, the sitting room group broke into several smaller conversations. “I think that was very brave of you,” Mr. Minami said, dropping into a seat beside Yuuri and gazing at him with rapt adoration. In the corner, Yuuri saw Viktor say a few quiet words to Phichit, who nodded and gestured at the desk. Viktor sat down and began writing something.
“Thank you,” Yuuri said, pulling his eyes away towards his new companion. “But there was no bravery in it.”
“Oh, I could never have stood up to Mr. Leroy like that,” the boy said quickly. “And to admit yourself unlucky in love! But surely no one could have rejected you, Mr. Katsuki, it is unthinkable!”
Yuuri laughed, charmed rather than put off by the boy’s enthusiasm. “You are very kind, Mr. Minami, but I have made my mistakes, the same as any man, and I have paid my price for them.” From the corner of his eye, Yuuri saw the speed of Viktor’s writing pick up. No doubt he was penning a letter of apology to his cousin, after being faced with Mr. Leroy’s declarations. After a few minutes, he left the room.
Phichit joined Yuuri and Mr. Minami, and Yuuri took the opportunity to change the subject to something less fraught. Mr. Minami was as rapt as ever listening to Yuuri opine about books, and actually fetched a piece of paper from the desk to take down a list of his recommendations. Phichit gave Yuuri a glowing look, making him blush the harder.
Yuuri was the last to leave, helping Phichit clear the glasses from the sitting room and library and pulling the furniture back into place. “Another successful party,” he said warmly, shrugging his coat on in the hallway.
“I am glad you think so.” Phichit yawned. “Perhaps I am getting old, but they do take it out of me where once they did not, I must confess.”
“Perhaps you are,” Yuuri teased. Phichit swatted at him and walked him out.
It was not a long walk back to the hotel, but the air was bitingly cold, and Yuuri pushed his hands into his pockets. The right one gave a crinkling noise, and his hand brushed against something. Startled, Yuuri pulled it out to see a folded sheet of paper with Yuuri scrawled across the front. Coming to a halt in the light from the hotel, Yuuri opened it.
Dearest Yuuri,
I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. Your words pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Can it be that you meant what you said to that vile creature? Could it be you think yourself unlucky in love, and myself the culprit? Think it not, know it to be untrue. For you alone I came to Bath—can you have missed it? Could it be possible that my motives have not been written across my face for all to see? I should not have waited even this week had I been sure of your feelings, but now I hear you talk of mistakes and prices paid, and it takes all my strength not to stride across the room and take you in my arms. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful, but never inconstant. For you alone I think and plan. I offer myself to you with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it five years ago.
I must go, uncertain of my fate. I shall be at the Hotel Grande all day tomorrow, from dawn to midnight. I shall turn away all other visitors that may happen my way. Come, and make me the happiest of men; stay away, and I shall know I left it too late, and never darken your door again.
Know me to be ever yours,
V.N.
Yuuri lifted his hand to find the extremity shaking, and wiped at his face to find it covered in tears. He pulled out his handkerchief and made himself as presentable as he could without a looking-glass, then strode into the hotel, making for the concierge. “I wish to set a wake-up call.”
“Of course, sir,” the concierge said. “For what time?”
“Dawn.” Yuuri could not imagine it possible that he would sleep that night, but matters were too important to leave anything to chance. “At first light I wish to be woken.”
“Of course, sir,” the concierge repeated. Yuuri nodded woodenly and made for the stairs to his room.
-----
Yuuri, indeed, did not sleep that night; how could he? All he could do was pace, and throw himself into a chair to reread the letter, and throw himself back out of it to pace again. He spent several hours going over every stitch of clothing he had brought with him to Bath, examining it by candlelight to determine which might be the finest, the most appropriate for… for whatever the next day held.
The knock at his door at dawn found him fully dressed and in his coat. “Which way is the Hotel Grande?” he asked the startled concierge.
“Two blocks east, sir,” the man managed. Yuuri swept past him and down the stairs, pushing out of the building almost at a run.
He did run, once he hit the street, taking the briefest moment to orient himself and then darting east as quickly as he could move himself. The hotel he sought made itself obvious after one block, and he slowed outside its doors, taking a heartbeat to tug himself back into position. He sucked in a deep breath and went in, going to the front desk. “How can I help you, sir?” the man behind it asked smoothly.
“Which room is Mr. Nikiforov’s?”
“Let me check.” The man rifled through some papers behind the desk. “It looks like he is in suite 403, sir. Would you like me to send someone up to wake him?”
“He’s waiting for me,” Yuuri called back, already making for the stairs.
Suite 403 was at the end of the hall, and Viktor opened it on the first knock, bleary-eyed and wrapped in a hotel bathrobe. He straightened when he saw Yuuri, and stood aside when Yuuri brushed past him into the room. “You came,” he breathed, shutting the door.
Yuuri dropped to one knee. Viktor’s hands flew to his mouth; Yuuri reached out and tugged on his elbow until he relinquished one of them to Yuuri’s grasp. “Viktor Nikiforov,” Yuuri said very seriously. “I love you, beyond all others, and I always have. Please marry me.”
Viktor let out a loud sob into his palm, shoulders shaking, and Yuuri stood and pulled him into his arms. Viktor clung to him, weeping into his neck. “I cannot believe you came at dawn,” he managed after a few minutes.
“I didn’t want you to doubt, even for a moment, that I would come, or what my intentions were.” Viktor showed no signs of releasing Yuuri, and Yuuri was hardly in the mood to relinquish him either, so they stood in the foyer of Viktor’s suite, holding each other close. “Did you mean what you said in your letter?” Yuuri murmured into Viktor’s hair.
“I meant every word.” Viktor leaned back to look Yuuri in the eyes, although he did not unlatch his arms from Yuuri’s waist. “I am yours, as much as I ever was five years ago. More, for I now know the man you have become and I see even more in him to admire than I ever thought possible.”
Tears welled up in Yuuri’s eyes now. “How can you have forgiven me?” he asked, not freeing his own hands to brush them away but letting them spill down his cheeks. “It was the worst mistake of my life, and I have hated myself for it every day since.”
Viktor sighed and pressed their foreheads together. “I hated you for it too, every day that we were apart, and I expected to hate you the more once I saw you again. But I could not. I am incapable of not loving you; I loved you even when I hated you; to hate you to your face was utterly beyond me. How could I do otherwise but forgive you?”
“No more,” Yuuri said. “No more hate, no more being apart. I never want to be apart from you again, Viktor.”
“Nor I.” Viktor laughed, a little chuckle to himself. “I still have not answered you; forgive me. The answer is yes, yes, always yes. We shall marry, and we shall be together always.”
Yuuri leaned in, and Viktor’s eyes fell closed as his own mouth tipped forward, and then their lips were pressed together and all was bliss. Yuuri could feel the twitching of Viktor’s fingers on his waist, could feel the soft exhalations of breath from his nose, and he wanted to live in that moment, to do nothing but kiss his fiancé for the rest of his life.
Viktor kept his eyes shut as they pulled apart, and Yuuri could see a look of pure happiness on his face that he knew was reflected on his own. Yuuri felt a laugh bubble up in his throat and let it out, and Viktor followed suit, and soon they were holding each other up and laughing fit to burst. “I love you,” Viktor murmured in between chuckles. “Oh, Yuuri, I love you.”
“And I love you,” Yuuri said. “I always have, and I always will.”
“I want to be married right away,” Viktor said, once they had calmed themselves. “No long engagements for us. I want to be your husband as soon as possible.”
Yuuri’s heart swelled. “I too. How soon can you be ready to leave Bath, to come and speak to my parents?”
“I packed last night,” Viktor confessed. “Either I would be leaving Bath tomorrow a broken man, or today the happiest man alive. I can be ready in an hour.”
“Give me two?” Yuuri asked. “I had similar thoughts last night, but I must take my leave of Phichit. I shall quit my own hotel and bring the carriage to meet you, if that is agreeable.”
“Of course.” Viktor ducked his face back into Yuuri’s neck, holding him tightly, and then finally released him. “Go now? So that we may be there the sooner.”
Yuuri departed, staying only for another lingering kiss that left him warmed through on his walk back to his own hotel.
Phichit was still abed when Yuuri knocked on his door, but Yuuri asked for him to be woken. Phichit loved sleep, but Yuuri knew he loved him more, and he would forgive him the impoliteness when he had heard Yuuri’s news. Phichit stumbled into the sitting room wrapped in a bathrobe, running a hand through his hair. “Yuuri? Whatever is the matter? You look frantic.”
“Come and sit down.” Yuuri made himself sit on the sofa, and Phichit settled next to him. Yuuri took his hands. “Phichit,” he said, gazing into his friend’s sweet face. “The mistake has been rectified.”
Phichit did not ask what he meant; there could be only one mistake. He gasped. “Mr. Nikiforov has proposed again?”
Yuuri shook his head. “I proposed, but at his prompting, and he has accepted me.”
“Oh, Yuuri.” Phichit tore his hands from Yuuri’s grasp and threw his arms around him, squeezing forcefully. “Oh Yuuri, what happened?”
“He wrote me a letter,” Yuuri said, holding his friend just as close. “Oh, Phichit, he wrote me the most beautiful letter, and I went to see him at dawn, and all is settled between us. We leave today for home, to speak with my parents.”
“Of course,” Phichit said, loosening his grip and leaning back. “Of course you must leave, at once, I cannot be cross with you for that.”
“You will stand up with me?” Yuuri asked. “At the wedding?”
Phichit nodded, eyes glistening. “I would be honored, Yuuri. The wedding!” He hugged Yuuri again. “This is the best news you could have brought me, short of an elopement.”
Yuuri laughed, wiping at his eyes. “We are not so frantic as all that, although it is a near thing.”
Phichit took his hands and looked at him steadily. “You are happy?” he asked quietly. “This is what you want?”
“I feel as though I am going to burst,” Yuuri said, just as quiet. “I feel as happy as I did the first time we were engaged, multiplied beyond belief. But I feel able to bear it, this time. I shall not make the same mistake twice. I am happy, Phichit, happier than I ever thought I should be again.”
Phichit smiled. “Then I am the gladdest of friends.” They sat together for a few moments, and then Phichit said teasingly, “What are you still doing here? You have my leave to go, so go! A beautiful man waits upon you!” Yuuri laughed and stood. “Go!” Phichit urged, and with a tearful wave, Yuuri went.
-----
Their journey back to —shire was largely uneventful. Yuuri had cause to be grateful that he had spent so much of the journey to Bath staring in awe out of the window; much of the journey from Bath was spent with his head bent close to Viktor’s, hands clasped between their seats, talking quietly of all that had transpired in their lives since they parted five years since, and they quite missed the scenery.
Even given how early in the morning they departed, they were obliged to stop for the night, and going into his own room at the inn was a wrench that he saw reflected in Viktor’s face as well. For all that, Yuuri slept well, with dreams of weddings and kisses; he woke more refreshed than he had in some time. They broke their fast quickly, eager to be back on the road, and were trundling along again within the hour.
The four hours remaining on their journey passed quickly, and all too soon they were rounding the bend to the Katsukis’ estate. “Are you ready?” Yuuri asked Viktor.
Viktor beamed at him. “I have never been readier for anything in my life, my Yuuri.” The house came into view, and he added, “Although I confess myself a touch nervous. Your parents know so little of me; what will they think of me barging in and begging for your hand?”
“They trust me,” Yuuri said. “Once I have convinced them that I am happy, and will be happy, they will give their blessing.” He smiled reassuringly at Viktor, who did not seem able to resist returning it.
Finally, the carriage pulled up in front of the house and they disembarked. “Are my parents awake?” Yuuri asked the servant who came out to greet them. She nodded. “Please tell them we wish to speak with them at their convenience. Mr. Nikiforov first, and then me if they wish.” She nodded again and vanished inside the house. Yuuri took Viktor’s hand, gave him another smile, and led him inside, to the sitting room just outside his parents’ study.
They appeared within ten minutes, looking puzzled but pleased to have their son back. Yuuri’s mother embraced him. “Welcome home, Yuuri, although we did not expect you for another week.”
“Urgent business has brought me back,” Yuuri said. He looked to Viktor, who had gone pale at the sight of them. “You will understand presently.”
“I think we have some notion of it already,” his father said drily. “Mr. Nikiforov, a pleasure. This way.” He led his wife and Viktor into the study, leaving Yuuri to wait outside, suddenly fretful.
Twenty minutes passed, during which Yuuri had to seriously contend with himself not to listen at the door, before it cracked open and Viktor came out. “They want to speak to you,” he murmured. His face was less pale but still lined with worry. Yuuri pressed his hand as he passed into the room.
His parents were seated on their sofa and rose when he came in. He presented himself at the chair opposite them, and they all sat again. “Mr. Nikiforov has told us of his proposal to you, and that it has been accepted,” Yuuri’s mother began. “You can understand why we wished to speak to you before giving our blessing.”
“Of course,” Yuuri said, rubbing his hands along his thighs. “I will speak on any topic you wish.”
“Is this really what you want?” his father, ever the forthright, asked. “He seems to be desperately in love with you, for which I commend him, but are you the same?”
“Desperately,” Yuuri said. “Rapturously, Father, I love him. I never thought to feel such love.” He could feel a smile begin on his face, and made no move to counteract it.
“It is true we have not seen the two of you interact overmuch,” his father went on, “but what we have seen was shocking in its coldness on his part. Such a change seems unbelievable.”
Yuuri shook his head. “He had good reason to be cold to me when we went to pay our respects upon his moving in. I know you cannot understand, but trust me. He was well within his rights.”
Yuuri’s mother said gently, “I think we can understand more than you credit, Yuuri.” He looked at her. “You, perhaps, think we do not remember the young man who visited these parts some five years ago, and how close the two of you became, but we do. And we remember the dejection of your spirits when he unceremoniously took his leave.” Her face was creased with kindness and love. “We just want to make sure you are making a clear-headed decision. Your future happiness is at stake.”
“It is at stake,” Yuuri said softly, “and my present happiness as well.” There was no getting around it; he would have to tell them. He sighed and began. “The first time Viktor offered himself to me, I felt nothing but fear,” he said, letting his gaze go vacant as his mind cast itself back. In front of him, he saw his parents look at each other and straighten attentively. “It felt like too much happiness, too much joy; it could not possibly be for me. I must have stolen someone else’s life, someone else’s soulmate. I fled, before a price could be enacted, and broke both our hearts in the doing.” He let his gaze sharpen again and looked at his parents. “But I never stopped loving him, and it has only grown since he has been back, and he is the same.” Yuuri laughed, tears in his eyes. “If you could but see how he loves me, how he has loved me, even when he hated me… You would not doubt for a second longer. I will marry him, or no one, for I could love no one as I love him.”
Yuuri’s father brushed a tear from his eye and shared another look with his mother. She nodded and turned to Yuuri. “If that is the case, Yuuri, then of course we will be happy for you. That is all we have ever wanted for you, to be happy.”
“I am happy,” he said, and laughed again. “I never thought to be as happy as I am.”
“Bring him in,” his father said.
Yuuri ran to the door and opened it, holding a hand out for Viktor. Viktor, who had been pacing the room outside, came to him immediately and took it. Yuuri gave him a bright smile and led him inside.
His parents were holding each other’s hands as well, he noted, and both were beaming. “Yuuri has explained to us the state of things,” his mother said, “and we give you our blessing. You will want to be married at once, I take it?”
“At once,” Viktor confirmed, looking at Yuuri; Yuuri nodded, and Viktor squeezed his hand. “As soon as possible.”
“Well, we can knock the vicar up, if he is not already awake,” Yuuri’s father said jovially, “and we shall get you a license to marry. Please allow us to pay the fee, as a wedding gift, and to obtain the license for you—no doubt you will wish to speak with your cousin this morning.”
“You are most kind,” Viktor said breathlessly. “Yes, I should speak to Yuri, and no doubt he will have some words for Yuuri as well.”
“Well, then, let us all be off! Us to the vicar, and you to your cousin.” Yuuri’s parents chivvied them out of the room, laughing.
Yuuri, pacing the lower levels of Viktor’s house an hour later, heard the noise of the shouting from Yuri’s bedroom but not its contents; when Viktor reappeared over the banister, he was flushed red and beaming. “Come up, come up,” he called to Yuuri. “Yuri says we are not to marry for another week, until he can stand up with me.” Yuuri darted up the stairs, and together they entered Yuri’s room.
-----
Viktor had to travel back home to acquaint his uncle with both his nephew’s and his son’s engagements, and fetch him to —shire for his nephew’s wedding, but he was back in time for Sara Crispino’s ball, a week after Viktor and Yuuri’s engagement was made public. Yuuri met Yakov the morning of the ball, and found him as formidable a man as he had been in Yuuri’s imagination; but the man clasped his hand warmly, and said, “May you find joy in each other. A happy marriage is the ultimate state to which one should aspire.” Yuuri, who knew something of the man’s own unhappy marriage from Viktor, nodded solemnly.
Yuri was cross to miss the ball, but he was still on strict bed rest, despite his remarkable recovery; Viktor ruffled his hair and airily promised to stand up on his behalf at least twice. “And who shall you be dancing with?” Yuri shouted at him as he left the room. “Your fiancé does not dance!”
Yuuri, who had been in the hall, heard the boy’s words clearly, and tucked himself close to Viktor on their walk back to the Katsukis’ estate for dinner. “If you should wish to dance with your fiancé tonight, you may,” he said, as they approached the house. Viktor looked at him. “I should like it if you did. But of course, you may not wish to, and that is fine,” Yuuri began to babble nervously.
Viktor lifted a finger and pressed it to Yuuri’s lips, cutting off the stream. “Yuuri. I should like nothing more than to dance with you, tonight and all nights for the rest of our lives. Never be in a moment’s doubt about that. But I thought you did not dance anymore.”
“I did not,” Yuuri admitted. “But that was because the last time I stood up to dance, it was with you.” Understanding bloomed across Viktor’s face. “I could not bear to replace our last dance with anyone else. But now, of course…”
“It need not be our last dance,” Viktor finished. “Oh, Yuuri, if you wish it I shall dance with no one else.” Wrapping his arms around Yuuri, he lifted him and spun him around, making him cry out with laughter. Setting him down, Viktor gazed into his eyes. “Only you, forever.”
“Good,” Yuuri breathed. “That is what I want.”
“Then you shall have it,” Viktor whispered, and leaned in. Yuuri pressed up on his toes to meet him, and in the green shade of the trees, in full view of anyone who happened to pass by or look out a window, they kissed. Yuuri clung to Viktor’s shoulders, his breath snatched from his gently-parted lips by his fiancé’s, and Viktor’s hands curved around Yuuri’s waist. “I love you,” Viktor murmured, pressing their foreheads together. “It feels cheap to say, as though I should have better words for it, but I love you.”
“If it is cheap to say, then you may say it frequently, and I wish to hear it as often as possible,” Yuuri said, smiling. Viktor chuckled. Growing serious, Yuuri went on, “It has only ever been you, Viktor. My Viktor.”
“Yours.” Viktor took Yuuri’s hand, lifted it to his mouth for a kiss, and led him on towards the house.