Hixale Tumbles Forward

Chuckling, Victor gets up with a small hum, eyes already darting to one particular medal. “Of course you can, lemme choose one for you~.”

He opens the cabinet and takes out his largest, it’s golden surface gleaming like a mirror, hung on a blue and red ribbon which he takes into his hands, and drapes it over the younger’s neck. Yuuri looks at it, and his eyes brightening in several shades as he holds it, measuring the weight in his hands.

Seeing the Japanese smile to brightly reminds Victor of the time he thought he might never see it again.

Since his second Grand Prix finals, wherein he clinched a silver from Yurio, the Katsuki skater had moved to Russia to hone his technique in preparation for another season. His personality was still rather meek, and Victor feared that despite only getting silver, Yuuri might really retire, regardless of his score. That his failure to get the prize would set him back again.

But Victor loved being surprised, loved it when Yuuri was smiling, loved it when he skated. Loved it when he was around to kiss him good morning and good night.

Since his arrival, the bleak skating world had burst with colour, and Victor wanted to make sure, that every step of the way, he would be there for the younger man. They were gearing up to get married, even with Yuri Plisetski promising  to ‘whoop their asses’ they were preparing. And with each day, Yuuri began to soar.

His posture began to straighten, his flexibility was reaching new heights, and his jumps were refined. It became obvious to not only Victor, but to everyone, he was bound to win more than just one gold if he continued like  this. And it was adorable that while he did not put himself down as much, he was so humble. That even with Yakov constantly breathing down their necks at practice, Yuuri was ever patient, and kind to everyone.

The next Grand Prix had come, and not only had Yuuri absolutely nailed his short program, he was nailing his free skate. Hammered his mark into the world with vice of professionals, there was no holding him back. Or at least it seemed like it.

On that ice, he jumps, infront of millions of fans on live television, infront of his competitors who watched with bated breath. Infront of the world who watched, he jumps his quadruple salchow, lands, and from that beautiful eagle who flew, it all came crashing down when his skate snapped in half.

Victor remembers being in a hotel room one night in Barcelona, the night before Yuuri’s first free skate under his wing, the night where his heart dropped and shattered when Yuuri asked to end their student-coach relationship.

That time, the boy’s insensitive words stung, like a knife to his gut. He thought the pain in his heart hurt. But but it paled in so much comparison  watching Yuuri careen to the floor, face clouded over only with shock instead of usual panic. He crashes to the ground, feet twisting awkwardly as he skid and rolled. Victor had tore himself out of his seat before he even saw Yuuri crash into the barrier.

Everything since that time he ejected himself to the ice, was a blur. A mess of foggy pictures consisting of hands, paramedics, and Yuuri, lying on the ice, a sheet of scarlet massing onto the ground.

It hurt, badly, knowing that his fiancee could have won, had that stupid skate not broken, and hitched against the ice.

Yuuri had been rushed to the hospital, and he was fast at recovery, but the doctors had informed Victor, after four agonizing days, that not only was Yuuri going to have a very hard time skating in the future, he might not remember a thing.

The Japanese brunette had woken up on the seventh night of his coma, caramel eyes darting in every which direction blearily before settling on Victor, who felt his own eyes swell with tears he he quickly pressed the button to call for a doctor. Yuuri blinked at him during the entire process, and eventually, his eyes widened, and he took in a deep  shuddering breath breath.

He moves his mouth, and furrows his brows. He breaks eye contact for a moment to think before relocating them back at Victor, “Wh...who are you?” those were his first words, in Japanese.

The first few days of his recovery, indeed, Yuuri remembered no one, not even his own sister whom had flown all the way from Japan to see him. He didn’t remember his own name, nor how to form complex speeches in Japanese, nor did he remember how to form long words in English. It was so tempting to fall into despair right there and than, that the ring on his finger might be meaningless.

But Victor sees Yuuri on that bed, scared out of his mind, crying a fountain because good god, where was he- who was he? Any traces of that warm sunny smile had been erased, and the agony, the suffering Victor felt in all those years, would never compete to this.

He spent much of his time, carefully introducing the youth to everyone, physically, and with pictures, showed him old photos of his childhood that Mari had provided, and explained to him what certain words meant, reintroduced him to foods he once loved as if they were brand new and unheard of.

Yuuri’s smile had begun to surface when he saw videos of his friends skating, when he saw Victor skating. “Who was I before… all this?”

Victor had wanted to show him videos of his skating, but his mind is a flurry of images and words, pictorials of Yuuri in the fall that destroyed him, voiced over by the doctor’s dialogue of his condition. With a heavy tongue, he strokes his hair. “Well, you were going to marry me.”

It had taken one whole year before their engagement happened, AGAIN. Yuuri’s friends had told him he used to skate, and the dark haired youth had been excited to try it when he was discharged. But even getting him to balance infront of the icy mass, sent him into hysteria, as if memories of only that time, were filling him to the brink.

It was evident that the Japanese had wanted to be back in the rink, there was a part of him that yearned for it, but everytime he saw it in person, he would shake.

Victor decided to let him do simple dances instead, to reconnect with ballet in order to gain strength in his ankle, and slowly, he could be introduced to the ice all over again. These things were ingrained into you, right? You don’t just lose your talent, right? Victor was sure that even with the hiatus, Yuuri would still be an angel on the ice.

Seeing his now husband in their shared apartment with Makkachin leaning against him on her hind legs, the Russian was even more convinced. Despite having no real recollection of his past, Yuuri was strong willed, stubborn, and courageous.

The Japanese looks up at him now, stars swimming in his eyes as he holds the medal. “Did I win any when I was skating?”

“A few, yeah.”

“A gold one, I mean.”

Victor inhales but stops midway, just like  that time in the hospital bed when the youth asked what he was before, he is filled with images. Victor will forever kick himself into prompting Yurio that day, and giving him strength to perform with all his heart, taking the gold away from Yuuri. He REALLY regrets it.

Yurio was a hard worker, and through rough words and harsh exteriors, he had a soft spot for Yuuri, and he deserved all the gold in the world. But Victor wondered, if he let Yurio be intimidated, maybe, just maybe, he would have missed a beat, the beat that brought him his first senior division win. Victor hates himself for even thinking this of the kid he treated almost like his brother.

But now Yuuri might never win that gold he wanted so badly, for himself, and for Victor.

Had Yuuri won, maybe Victor wouldn’t feel this guilty, as he fixes on a smile and brushes his husband’s hair past his ear. “Of course. To be honest, the one you’re holding right now is yours.”

For once, Victor is thankful that he doesn’t often keep pictures of his medal wins. He’s sure Yuuri might find it if he dug real deep, but from his experience, Yuuri was never one to know what to search up, he was very out of touch with technology despite having Phichit as a friend.

“Really? You’re lying, aren’t you?”

“Why would I? You’re amazing on the ice, Yuuri.” Victor strokes his cheek, biting his lip to hold back the moisture building in his eyes.

His husband doesn’t seem to notice, he looks amazed too as subconsciously, he leans into Victor’s palm, the sunniest smile blooming onto his face, he doesn’t know what he could believe, but Victor has never really lied to him, not that he was aware of.

The Russian pulls him closer, and plants a kiss on his forehead, internally whispering all the apologies he had ever said in his life for Yuuri, he hates lying to him, hates it with his bitter soul. And because of that, he never really liked doing it, but the thought of that smile, so radiant, so beautiful, dissolving, was something he wasn’t ready for just yet.

Maybe when he time was right, he’ll tell Yuuri the truth. And just maybe, by that time, the latter would be on the ice, skating like how he used too.

His eyes shut, and his golden lashes curl like the crescent. A shudder of what could be a sigh escapes him, and he allows himself to fall with no struggle.

The scarf to block the winter billows around him like wings of an angel, then he hits the waters, where the cold darkness begins to consume him.

Losing his breath, bubbles drifting from his lips, Jason's vision is hazy and everything feels painful. But there is no fight, was this how peace felt like? He had been a fool, hadn't he? The blond realizes for the first time that the paradise he was seeking had been here all along, in the silent prongs of death that approaches.

As his life flashes like a cinema in sepia, the boy of blond hair begins to wonder just how life had come to this point. His life had been a lonely one, he remembers his warm home in the middle of New York, where only he seemed to live in.

His parents had paid no real heed to him, and their absence was startlingly...familiar. Their promises of vacations were promises always empty or broken. Their presents just simply little things in an attempts on keeping him around.

Jason never stuck around.

But sometimes, he wishes he never ran away. As the warmth of the sun leaves his skin, he feels very empty. With burning lungs and a sting on the back of his shut eyes, the boy tries to curl in that water. This was peace, he was sure of it. Even though it felt so empty, even though he still yearned for 'that' warmth, this had to be peace. It just had to be.

His memories drift away, like every bubble that passes him is containing each fragment of his nostalgia.

'My falling Grace...'

Jason opens his eyes with more effort than he realizes. In his tire, a shadow comes close, like a blanket over the sun above the water tops. What felt like a breath, hitches in his  throat as his heart skips a beat. No no no, this can't be happening.

The darkness reaches out as it closes in, and Jason can see that they indeed, are hands. The fingers ghost his neck, and travel up to cup his face. The tips are warm against his skin, against the waters and the bubbles.

'I've found you.' The shadow of Percy closes their distance, and kisses him, flush on the lips.

Where Percy touches is cosmic flush of heat. Without his consent, the feeling of stinging warmth bursts through him and to his cheeks. Jason parts his lips, and his coherence ends there. Everything about Percy, his scent, his hands, his presence, swallows his clarity whole.

Jason allows himself to be used by this merman, allows himself to be completely swept away in the waves of Percy Jackson. In the beginning he should have known, that no matter how far he ran away, no matter how hard he fought, Percy was his everything.

The blond can feel himself being pulled closer, and he sighs, the water ripples away and a bubble forms around them, as the water exits the sensation of suffocation is no more as Jason chokes on all his resolve. He splutters and gasps, salt water burning his  throat and lungs, it all hurt, but Percy is there, to rub his back and to croon encouragement, but the choking never completely ended there.

Gasping for the airs he has lost, Jason feels himself tremble, the tears, all those tears he held back comes to him and he feels himself sobbing.

"Y-you tried to kill me- you tried to kill me-"

The dark haired one smiles softly, sadly, genuinely regretfully, he says not much, and simply hugs the blond tighter. "I know I did, I'm sorry."

Sorry was a word easily said, but there is a thickness in the older's voice that makes it seem that, maybe, he was being truthful for once. Even though Jason's body screams denial, to reject these touches so toxic, he gives in to the embrace, and holds onto Percy, crying into already wet shirts.