⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️

You have been warned

~~~

"You left me."

*drip drip*

"You left me when I needed you most."

*boom*

"I was already broken. You knew that. And you still walked away."

A strand of platinum hair feel into Victor's vision. He didn't bother pushing it out if the way: he knew it would be futile. What was the point anyways? The raindrops that fell down his cheeks flowed freely, no longer bothered him. His cheeks had become numb.

As had his heart.

He no longer shivered against the chilled wind that blew. He no longer jumped at the sudden cracks of thunder. He no longer wiped away the raindrops that trickled down his face. His body refused to respond to any outside movement. He was just there, in a state that some could argue as unliving. Devoid of all meaning. His eyes watched as the barely-used cigarette slipped from his blue hands, disappearing into the angry waves below. No, he hadn't watched it. It had been nothing but a a facade put in by his brain. Still, he could no longer feel the cigarette in his hand, so he assumed that was what had happened. At this point, what was real and what was a movie if the mind had blended into one.

His eyes were fixed out towards the endless circle plane of blue that stretched out underneath him. This bridge, which had once been a spot of comfort to him, was now nothing more then a bunch of hollow bricks plastered together. Meaningless. Shallow. Replaceable.

No eyes fell on the man, hunched on the railing staring out to the sea. Nobody dared wander out in such disgusting conditions. Rain feel from the sky in chunks of numbing water. Tress swayed from the relentless wind that refused to give up. Each raindrop felt like needle against bare skin, sending sharp stings up nerves that were too numb to care.

Even if any eyes had fallen on the former skater, they wouldn't have seen him. Not truly.

They would have seen Victor Nikiforov, a god on the frozen plains of ice. An epitome of perfection. The man who was always smiling. The face of fame. A light in the darkness.

All those nicknames were lies. Stupid. Arrogant. He rejected each one as they came.

At least those were all in the past. Years old. How old he couldn't remember. Not that he cared to: his mind refused to look back at those darkened times. Those times when, every day, he wore a mask. A mask made of lies, forced upwards. A smile.

If that's what you could call it. It's certainly not what it was to Victor. To him, it was a lie.

Lie
LIE

Lie
LIE

LIE

LIE

LIE

"You lied"

"For years you lied to me."

"Did I mean nothing to you??"

"Was it trust?"

"..."

"What did I do?"

"What did I do so you couldn't trust me?"

"What did I do wrong?"

"Please tell me."

"Please please please."

"You would rather have lied to me all this time."

"..."

"Dammit Yuuri...why hadn't you told me?"

"...why?"

He cursed silently. Had it been that hard? Just three words. All he had had to do was say three words. Three simple words. It's not that hard.

"Yuuri...you're flubbing your jumps...is everything ok?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, everything's fine. Just tired."

Just tired my ass.

He should've known. He blamed himself. Of course he wasn't ok. Somehow, deep deep inside, he had known this.

But somehow...SOMEHOW he had let this go by. Somehow...he had...

*CRACKABOOM*

He hates the fact. He hated it. Had it been that hard to notice it? Or had he been too occupied being mesmerized by his fluid moves. The way he had danced to the music, as if it were the blood that flowed through him. Stupid blood. Stupid music. Stupid ice.

The truth his mind refused to reach. To him it was unreal. El Dorado. Fake. Unobtainable. Truth was such an ugly word to him. Nobody ever wants to hear the truth.

But the truth couldn't stop punching him in the face. It was painful. No, not just painful. It was agonizing. Fire. An inferno. Lava. Hell. Absolute hell.

...that water looks awfully nice. Soothing. Gentle. Welcoming.

Like Yuuri. It looked like Yuuri.

Yuuri held his hand out. His soft...cool hand. Hand of silk. He wanted to touch it.

Out he reached his hand.

And Victor took it.

...

"Maybe it's cliche. Maybe it wasn't. It always sounded cliche in the books. The movies. The shows. The videos. At first glance, watch, read, it was the cheesiest thing in the world. This...reuniting. The tears. The laughter. The smiles. The ebbing of pain. So unrealistic."

"But...it's all true. It's all real. This feeling of ecstasy. The warmth. This pleasure. The soothing of the burn. It's all real."

Victor's mind was finally at ease. He could breath air again. He could see. He could Raf again. He could...he could feel.

He could feel a soft moist warmth on his cheek. He could feel...feel...

Disappointment. Pure disappointment.

"The smile...where's the smile?" He saw no smile. Instead, there stood his lover; with a frown.

"No...you have to go back. You're not ready."

Those damn words. There stood the only man who had seen him. The only man who had seen Victor. Not Victor Nikiforov.

Victor.

"But...but I can't...not when you're not there."

"Yes you can. And I'll always be there, as long as you remember me. You will remember me, won't you?"

"...forgetting would be impossible."

"Then go...and when you are finally ready....I'll be here waiting."
.
.
.

"...Ok"

The sound of sirens echoed through the empty town. Muffled voices yelled and yelled, sounds and noises that he just couldn't make out. The heart monitor beeped slowly. The sound of thunder boomed somewhere far far away.

The truth his mind had refused to reach. To him it had been unreal. El Dorado. Fake. Unobtainable. Truth had been such an ugly word to him. Nobody ever wanted to hear the truth.

But the truth couldn't stop punching him in the face. And for the first time, it didn't hurt. For the first time, instead of letting himself take those punches, he punched back. For the first time, the rain was warmer than the cold.

For the first time, Victor was able to see the truth.

And the truth was that Yuuri had died 3 years ago.

And he wasn't coming back.