Bodies Safe To Shore

Chapter Text

Swipe, tap, swipe, tap. A lull in the cognizant connection between his fingers and brain was all it took for Viktor to go from insta-stalking Demitry to searching through the photos tagged 'GPF2019'.

Everyone looked so happy, their faces warm like nutmeg and clove. Some posted photos with mulled wine, conglomerated into large groups, their backdrops familiar upscale bars. Others shared more intimate glimpses into their lives, arms wrapped around their lover's waists in downtown Turin, bulky winter jackets pressing against one another to create a serene scene of domesticity.

It drove him insane, both their happiness and his aversion to it.

After the banquet, he'd bundled himself up into threadbare wefts, wholly presentable to the public but one unnecessary conversation away from disintegration. His unchanging complexion was hard to rattle, pale peach remaining prominently uniform even after a downpour of tears threatened the peace, warring beneath the surface but never disturbing the water's surface. As a boy, he was often accused of wearing spoiled crocodile tears.

They weren't, but adults, hive minded and stern, paid his whimpering complaints no mind. Mama had been the exception to that rule, but she hadn't stuck around to pamper him.

Both a blessing and a curse was it that no one knew to ask him if he was ok. He was for once unsure of how he'd answer.

That night, accompanied by the embers and amber of the false hotel fireplace, Viktor chose to stay awake, methodically scrolling and by extension, coveting. He wanted to have what they all had. Whatever he was lacking, something deep and fundamental had stripped him of the right to be seen as human.

In exchange for the realization of his quixotry, Viktor would forever remain incomplete, at least that was the way it seemed.

What had they done to earn them, their burgundy and wheatgrass, their technicolor movements and pliable expressions that were tickled by the slightest twinkling trinkets, by mini window shop Christmas trees aglow with cheap ornaments and half hazardously strewn tinsel.

He'd worked so much harder, bled more in a week than they did in a year, just to live in a disconsolate monochromatic sphere where not a single treetop carried an angel or star on its crown.

The torch he had relit over and over again was about to crumble away, and the tipping of the scale was too reminiscent of his mother's own downward spiral for comfort.

He continued perusing, eyes seeing but not understanding.

Was it noticeable? Viktor was fairly certain he'd hidden the worm's birth and growth with due diligence. Yuuri called him insane. The man's desultory words had no right to beguile him so. What did he know? It's not like he'd even allowed Viktor the chance to speak.

Oh, someone posted a picture of him and Chris hugging during warm up. Cute. He followed the account, some fan page he'd seen around.

Shit, he'd said fifty words at the most. In his anger, Yuuri had simply tossed around whatever insults he could think of in an attempt to stir Viktor from his forced copacetic stupor. Just because he'd been referred to as unbalanced didn't make it the truth. This weird state of absence and withdrawal was a temporary after effect, nothing more.

Another picture of Chris, this time with an arm around Yuuri's waist at the medal ceremony. How his skin appeared both tan and baby smooth was the world's eighth wonder. Yuuri looked sick, as he had the whole weekend, but there was a genuine smile cascading across his lips, sweeping his cheeks upwards and reaching his half lidded eyes. It suited him well, the softness. Viktor would like to be on the receiving end of that smile at some point. Fat chance.

Feeling generous, Viktor hit the follow button once more. Then again, and again, and again. Maybe it was mania, or maybe it was kindness, either way he had made a few fan's very happy with his thoughtless and cyclic tapping.

He posted his own pictures, a set of three that included a professionally taken graphic of him kissing his gold on the podium, another taken with Chris using his front facing camera, and a final photo of the entire six person entourage pressed against one another in a scripted group hug. He didn't even remember some of the skater's names…

The moment his post went live, a gratifying flood of comments and likes soothed his balmy nerves, if only with mild precision. The inlets of unshed tears and glimmer in the distance couldn't be expunged with shallow means of validation, but the lesser evils that clouded his muddy sentience were thankfully pushed to the back burner, replaced by words of praise and affirmation.

Pathetically, he reloaded the page time and time again, eating up each new outreach with the hunger of a man starving and brittle. Not everyone was playing nice, but that wasn't out of the ordinary. Only God himself was allowed the opportunity to be consummate and absolute, and such a title being thrust upon him would only work to strengthen his growing complex.

Automatic was the flinch and bile proceeding the thought. It had become so commonplace as of late, for him to relate things to his youth and 'sanctious' upbringing. God was blind, cruel, or nonexistent. What good did it do, emulating his mother in the worst of ways?

If he grew any more pastoral he'd wind up nothing but a religious curmudgeon on the outskirts of polite society. Morality and religion are not one and the same, and religion without morality is more frequent than its more polite counterpart.

So much time had passed since mother left to join her beloved god that Viktor had nearly forgotten just how cruel a lord he was. Maybe he was subconsciously trying to reach out to her in the only way he knew how…Not that it would do any good.

Viktor nibbled on the already torn skin of his bottom lip, submerged in a perfunctory trance that offered nothing but lost time and dissociative absence. Yuuri, mother, expectations, and Christ.

What an odd conglomeration of stressors, the land of the living and otherworldly ideals combined to create a version of himself that no one would envy. Just another reason for him to stand tall and choke on unspoken confessions while giving the people what they had always expected.

It felt like his day of reckoning was approaching with unprecedented haste, dragging him along by the lobe of his ear leaving him with no autonomy. When exactly had he become such a hollow excuse for a man? At what point did gold fade to silver, silver to pearl?

Another round of notifications rolled in, then a text. His heart dropped immediately, guilt and dread seeping from his pores as the contact continued typing out a presumably large paragraph. What had he done to invoke Lilila's attention? She hadn't reached out to him on her own accord in nearly a year. Their bond had been diminishing for half of a decade, so to see her name pop up was a heart attack and a half.

Yura must have snitched on him.

Lilia: Vitusha, what was that face you were making on the podium? That was not beauty, nor was it grace. I have trained you better than that. I've held my tongue, as I promised little Yurochka I would, but I cannot watch my student fade into obscurity.

Vitya: Sorry.

Her weaning distance, broken by a lecture. How very fitting for a woman with a heart made of ice.

Lilia: No, I do not want your apologies. Why is your expression no longer true? Haven't I always told you that the path to perfection must be walked with honesty? Playing a character will get you nowhere.

Lilia: You've neglected your ballet for long enough. I let you have your teenage dramatics, but you will dawdle no longer. You are an adult now, Vitusha, a role model. Once you've returned from Italy, we will be running sessions tri-weekly. Yakov has already approved of my sentiments and thinks a refresher will do you good.

Vitya: Where did this sudden concern come from? You're acting strange.

Lilia: I am acting strange? You've kept secrets, and I've allowed it, as you are your own person, but it's clearly destroying you not only as a performer, but as an individual. I cannot stand by and watch my son crumble.

She had not referred to him as such since he was fourteen. He'd figured her memories of his mother had finally become sun bleached enough to dwindle into transparent fragments of forgotten camaraderie.

He too was forgetting her voice, how could he blame Lilia for doing the same? He had never been her responsibility to begin with. Viktor treated their weakening relationship as an inevitability, lest he fall victim to the insecurities that came with it.

Vitya: I have only one mother, and she is dead. Don't worry about me. You have enough on your plate with Yura and Mila. Like you said, I'm an adult now.

Lilia: I think she'd be sad to hear you speaking that way. She trusted me with you. You are just as much my son as you were hers. I will see you on Tuesday. Goodnight.

Viktor didn't bother responding. He was tired, and could you blame him? Nothing made sense anymore. Time and time again he was thrown curveball after curveball with nothing positive to show for it. Even the worm was getting sick of his dramatics, repudiating his souring outlook in favor of taking him back to its twisted version of neverland.

Another notification. Wonderful, even Lilia was on his ass now. If he wanted to sleep at all that night, he'd have to type out some empty agreement and satiate her nagging.

Picking up his phone to do just that, Viktor's breath caught in his throat. Ten new followers. One minute ago; YuuriKatsuki has followed you.

No way in hell. He'd finally lost his damn mind. It must be a fan account. The 'I' was actually an 'L', or something.

But it wasn't. Yuuri Katsuki, Japanese figure skater and 2019 silver medalist, his newest enemy and crudest critic had followed him at… four in the morning.

What kind of mind games was he playing at? Even worse, why was Viktor giddy? He felt like he'd won something, like the lottery had a prize he actually coveted and henceforth attained.

Validation. That's what it was. Viktor wrinkled his nose, cringing at the degrading notion of his own need for the man's attention. Why should Yuuri's possible favor mean anything to him?

Well, number one, he'd never before earned it. Number two, it was seemingly beyond reach, and number three, Yuuri was seamlessly crafted of most of the things Viktor wasn't.

For the first time in years, he'd brought something new to the table, and despite their endless quarreling, Yuuri had maintained composure and eloquence when it mattered, keeping them both out of boiling water and a searing public scandal beyond the accusations they were already grappling with.

That's because Yuuri was smart. Intelligent people had always struck his fancy, people like Chris and Yakov who he could converse with naturally, effortlessly ping ponging witty rebuttals back and forth for hours on end.

Then the thought struck him, the outlandish little prompting that nettled his frontal lobe. How strange yet anticlimactic was it that Viktor would quite like to make not just a neutral acquaintance of Yuuri, but a friend.

A lot of the hurt made sense now. Yes, Viktor had been threatened by the younger skater's abilities and the ISU's intention to use them against him, but beyond that, beyond his callous demeanor and looming walls was someone uniquely alluring, like a poisoned spindle draped with golden greenery.

The competitive paranoia had inculcated him with misplaced fear and anger, conditioning him to react like a caged bear being driven to the circus. He'd realized this several times between their most recent altercation and the current hour, but no matter the number, each refurbished look at their dynamic tasted brand new.

He was getting ahead of himself. A follow meant very little in the modern age of technology, as it were, and Yuuri, as sagacious as he was, had probably only gone through with it in an attempt to alleviate the pressure that the media was putting on the both of them to rip each other to shreds.

It was better than nothing.

Happy go lucky to an embarassing extent, Viktor intended to reciprocate the truce, clicking on the little bubble that would lead to Yuuri's profile while rubbing his chapped lips together nervously.

He was already following him. Now when had that happened? Viktor felt a blush rise beneath his skin. Yuuri must have seen it, too. How shameful.

First option off the table, Viktor absentmindedly liked the first picture on the other skater's nearly empty page. It had been posted just that afternoon, a duplicate of the one which Chris had posted of the three medalists populating their designated pedestals.

Setting his phone atop the mahogany bedside table, Viktor went through his nightly routine, though one could hardly call it night considering the sun was breaching the morning's pastel serenity with its demanding neon presence. If he was lucky, he'd get an hour of sleep, but that would be pushing it if he wanted to make his early morning flight.

Viktor wound up pulling an all nighter, somnolently drifting through the airport in a haze and clinging to his luggage as if it were a lifeline.

During the flight, his sleep-addled mind drifted back to Yuuri and the night's effulgent revelations.

The two of them, as friends. What would it have been like if they'd met under more comely circumstances? What if Yuuri had been a fan of his, blustering and stuttering instead of dogmatically dismissing Viktor's fatuous approach that night at the banquet?

What if he'd never said a word, kept his mouth glued shut and heart pried open in the face of the ISU's manipulative taunts? Would such bravery have won Yuuri over, or would it have not changed a thing?

Chris would have been happier, too. Instead of having to split himself off into equal parts, he'd have been able to share his time with the people he cared about without fear of perceived favoritism.

They'd go to after parties and share drinks, tripping over their own feet beneath the streetlights and clicking their heels as their wine chapped tongues prattled on, the trio inured to the outside world's damp air, chests warmed by liquor and good company.

Yuuri would smile, and Chris would allow Viktor to set the pace, as he would undoubtedly be the slowest of the group when inebriated, and they'd take turns playing songs off of their phones, tinny speakers a reflection of the atmosphere.

Crickets would sing symphonies around them and daisies would envy their carefree resplendence, like three large children playing by the train tracks.

Viktor might have been a mentor to Yuuri, like a brother or a father figure, experienced in ways only time could offer.

Maybe he'd be like a comrade in arms, the two of them both war torn and world weary by the expectations that rested upon their crowns.

The podium would be rhapsodic and limerent regardless of who took gold. Viktor wouldn't mind giving it up for a taste of Yuuri's kindness, but the younger skater would surely take offense to such an act.

Out of respect, even as things were, Viktor would have to continue fighting with everything he had. It was his only chance to prove himself genuine in his efforts to mend the damage that had been done.

Inklings of amber and pumpkin lulled him to rest, images of cinnamon and honey, soft and sharp. When the plane began its less than gentle descent, turbulence be damned, Yakov shook him awake, sleepily grumbling something about their overhead luggage and where it needed to go when they unboarded.

A familiar head of tousled blonde hair waited for the group of Russians just past baggage check, but a tightly spun bun that leered above the crowd's bustling movement took away any joy Viktor could have found in the moment. Of course, he'd rather Yura arrive accompanied, but couldn't he have chosen a more inconspicuous chaperone?

Yeah right, like the poor kid had any choice in the matter. Lilia's word is law.

"Vitusha."

"Madame."

Yura looked between the two, head tilted upwards speculatively. Viktor ruffled his hair, bending down to reach his eye line before flicking the boy's forehead.

"You snitched on me, brat."

Arms crossed, Yura stuck his tongue out, rolling his eyes with the petulant flair only a ten year old can so shamelessly possess.

"Da. What of it? You need to fix… Whatever this is. It won't be fun beating you if you suck. And you definitely suck right now."

He'd have laughed at the show of brash arrogance if it hadn't been supported by a foundation of affection. Yura was worried and showed it in the only way he knew how, insults. Instead of throwing a fit, Viktor simply sighed, sliding off his 'team Russia' jacket and tying it's frayed sleeves around the handle of his suitcase, meeting Lilia's stern gaze and furrowed brow for less than a second before making his merry way to the exit.

"You driving, or am I?" He inquired, casting a glance over one shoulder.

"If you think for one second that I would allow you behind the wheel of my car…"

He figured as much.

Once the entirety of the team had finished their security checks, they piled into Lilia's extended Beamer, one half passing out upon contact with its finely upholstered seats and the other half slipping in earbuds and losing themselves in a daydream. Yakov took shotgun, of course, and that's where he was now snoring up a storm, head lulling in whichever direction the car was angled. Katya had tried her damndest to steal it, but their coach was exhausted and obdurate, so no luck.

Viktor was left with an ebullient Yura who shot off rapid fire questions, mostly regarding Yuuri and his performance.

"It's so unfair! You get to see him, like, one a month, and you don't even like him! I should be the one competing against him."

"Da, da. Whatever you say, kiddo."

"Don't give me that! I wanna see him again! Take me with you to Europeans!"

Viktor resisted the urge to put on his own headphones. He was one hell of a spitfire, a flame inside a can too small to contain its heat, that's for sure.

"Yura. Europeans. Think about what you just said for a minute."

The blonde squinted, lips pressed into a fine line. A flush bloomed atop his round cheeks, quickly spreading from his ears to his nose.

"I- I meant to say Four Continents!"

"Now why would I be at Four Continents? The next time I see him will be at Worlds, if we both qualify."

Yura groaned, sliding his hands over his head and against his face, needlessly exasperated. Viktor got it, really. Being a kid, powerless to make your own decisions does suck, but it's generally best to bar a ten year old from running the show. They'd all be licking Katsuki's boots and blasting grunge rock if he was appointed dictator.

"But that's too far away! Viktor, I'll die! I'll shrivel up and die like a rotten beet!"

Oh god, Yura sounded just like Viktor at his age. Were the theatrics contagious, or was he just a horrible influence? Probably both.

"You'll be fine. Yuuri is busy, y'know. As am I. You should be, too. Don't you want to become the best? You'll have to spend a hell of a lot more time on the ice if you really want to go head to head with Katsuki. Believe me, I'd know."

Viktor didn't miss Lilia's emerald cut eyes meeting his own in the rear view mirror. Eavesdropping? Rude.

"Yeah, well…It's almost my birthday… I saved up enough for tickets. Do you think Yakov will take me if I land my double flip by Four Continents?"

A child's naivety knows no bounds. Viktor didn't want to be the one to break his heart, but the chances of Yura getting to go weren't propitious, especially with Worlds directly proceeding Yuuri's assignment.

"Yurochka, Yakov is going to be busy training us into the ground, that includes you. Besides, the tickets are only a fraction of what it costs to actually get there. What about plane tickets, a hotel, food?"

He was met with silence. Good, he wouldn't have to further elaborate and dig himself into a-

"But Vitya!" The child croaked with a snotty grimace.

So this is how the evening was going to play out? Spectacular. How much longer was this car ride going to be? Were they circling the block or something?

Viktor tried to harden his wounded expression into something less telling, tried convincing himself that he was doing Yura a favor, schooling him on the disappointments that came with being an adult… but he was only a child. Why on Earth should he be expected to behave like a grown up?

"No one ever has time for my birthday, and it's all 'cus of Worlds! Last year you stayed at the rink so late I fell asleep! I even saved you a slice of cake, asshole!"

"Language." Lilia chimed in.

"Yura-"

"Katya was with you, and Georgi was too busy with one of his stupid girlfriends! Only Yakov, Mila and Lilia ate dinner with me!"

Shit. He had a point. It's not the kid's fault that his birthday falls right before an important event every year. How could they have collectively assumed he wasn't bothered by it? Viktor wanted to lash out at the two adults in the front seat, but knowing he carried equal blame nipped that urge in the bud. He had no fucking right. Hypocrite.

Seriously, what kind of child doesn't want to feel special on the one day a year where they can rightfully mark themselves the center of attention without being brushed off as entitled?

Viktor never got to celebrate his, due to it falling on Christmas. He should have known better. No, he did know better. He was just too busy cleaning up messes of his own creation and pandering to people he didn't even know to give careful consideration to those who actually mattered. The same pattern. Would he ever learn?

"I didn't even ask for a present! It's so unfair…you- you guys are just like mom and dad!"

That didn't give him the right to throw an accusation that shitty in Viktor's face.

"Yuri, don't you dare. That's manipulative and you fucking know it." Viktor snapped, tone a bit harsher than he'd intended.

"Language." Repeated Lilia from the front seat, "No wonder he curses like a sailor. Shame on you."

Did she have nothing better to do? Jesus Christ. They were having a blatant breakdown over here. Read the room, lady. He raked a hand through his knotted tresses, several greasy strands falling to frame his hallowed cheekbones. There goes a week worth of skincare.

Viktor rarely responded to Yura's tantrums with anger, as it wasn't a tactic that yielded positive results. Due to his tumultuous upbringing, the boy could hold his own in a screaming match, and by god, that's what it would devolve into if things continued on as they were. Lilia didn't seem intent to intervene. She probably thought it suited him right.

When no surly outburst grieved the suddenly silent air, everyone tuning out the drama in favor of feigning sleep, Viktor paused.

Yura had his small fists clenched tightly, both hands shaking as they rested upon his blanket-covered lap. His whole frame shook with muted sobs, his chest heaving in random increments.

The scene was all too familiar. Viktor didn't want to hurt anyone else, especially not a member of his own family. How could he soothe the boy's wistfulness? There was clearly more to this outburst than what was presented at surface level.

Yes, Yura felt neglected. Again. Different people, same situation.

The worm nibbled on his liver, membranes stretched thin over its jaws as it feasted. The car came to a stop.

"Yura?" Viktor prompted as the other skaters slid out of the car, awkwardly avoiding making eye contact.

Even Katya offered nothing more than an exhausted shrug, mouthing "Davai" and unloading her luggage as quietly as she could manage with sore muscles and heavy feet.

Lilia shook Yakov awake in the front seat. Useless, the lot of them.

"Yurochka. Look at me? Please? I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be an ass."

Jumping from his seat, Yura's throat was caught by the seat belt, cries muffled as his throat compressed against the thickly woven strip of fabric. Viktor's hand darted out to unbuckle him, but his hand was incisively slapped away.

Two tiny feet landed against the driveway's gravel, chalky dust kicked into the air upon impact. White. Or was it pearl?

"I hate you!"

Ouch.

"Happy early birthday, you selfish moron!"

Something with sharp corners bounced off his skull, and Yura ran along the trail that led to the house. He wound up slipping once in his haste, but caught himself with his twig-like arms, thankfully avoiding any serious injuries, but he'd definitely scraped his knees. Viktor would have to bandage them up once he'd cooled down and taken a nap.

He slid the box into his jacket pocket. Yura needed to see him open it, to witness just how much whatever little trinket he'd managed to find meant to him. Just thinking about it left him with a wet lash line.

Viktor's own car had been left at the rink from which they'd departed earlier in the week. It would have been nice to just run away and sink into the bathtub of his high rise, but if he called an Uber now, he'd only be reinforcing Yura's insecurities. Not an option.

So that left him stuck in Yakov's house for an indeterminate amount of time. With Lilia and an angry preteen. Spectacular.

"Vitusha, come inside for tea."

"I'm alright, thank-"

"I'm not requesting, I'm instructing. Now come."

Yakov was already ten feet ahead of them, escaping while he still had the chance, it seems. Lucky bastard.

"Yes, Madame."

The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they swept past the hanging honeysuckle vines that swung from the archway in front of the cedar studded porch steps. Fragrant and nostalgic, the yellow blooms cosseted Viktor with inflections of his youth.

He blinked away the reminiscence. Time cannot be bought back.

Viktor watched as his coach meandered up the stairs, hesitating before leaving the teal plated door half open in expectation. Lilia entered first, suitcase creaking ruefully as its worn bronze hinges met with the doorframe.

"Do you need any help Madame?"

"No. Wait in the tea room."

So he did just that, relieved to not have to lift a finger. His hairline would look like Yakov's in no time at all, with the way his bones were already creaking. That would be the day he died, because without his iconic hair, Viktor was a common plebeian. At least he was funny.

After ten minutes had passed, on the dot, Lilia entered the room, tray and teapot in hand. He'd never get used to seeing her completing everyday tasks as if she were actually human and not some demigod. People that perfect shouldn't have to do much of anything at all, besides perform and fine tune their craft.

Her retirement was a plague unto the world.

"Sugar?"

"Nyet. My diet."

"I figured as much."

Steam, sunlight through battered window panes, and earl gray, just like when he was a boy. He fiddled with the daisy on his neck.

"I am worried about you."

Blunt but straightforward. She had never been one to beat around the bush.

"Yes, I happen to recall you reaming me out last night."

"Charming. Where has my little ballerina gone? Boys always grow so cold with age. Is it a crime for me to care?"

"I didn't ask you to." He bit out.

He hadn't meant to snarl, but her empty words brought out the childish snark hidden beneath his thickened skin. Reel it in, Viktor. She was trying to extend an olive branch. The least he could do was contain his exhaustion and keep his commiserations to himself.

She set her cup down, deflating.

"When did you become so proud?"

Proud?

"Is that supposed to be an insult?"

She sighed, lips pursed. A few wrinkles peeked out from beneath her concealer, whimsical testaments to many years of threaded smiles and sewn grimaces beneath a dancehall spotlight. A thought danced beneath her irises, taking ten years off of her complexion.

A paradoxical thought tickled Viktor, who felt too young to be as old as he was, who felt dwarfed by the armchair he was settled in, as he awaited her reply.

She too was young once. What did her visage look like before the partitioned curtains took their toll? It's nigh impossible to imagine a naive version of the woman before him… or maybe she had been born this blistered and buffed, made for a life of glory and glamor.

Lilia cleared her throat.

"In the current context, yes."

"You've lost me. Care to elaborate?"

"No. I needn't waste my breath telling you what you already know. Denial doesn't suit you, dear."

Viktor had nothing to say to that… cause she could see right through him, having been his primary caretaker for so many years. It was embarrassing. He hardly knew this woman as he was, their bond stretched so thin that it was at risk of disappearing entirely. Tin foil crumpled to the point of fragility, ready to tear apart at a moment's notice.

"I'm not here to argue with you."

"Could have fooled me."

"Surely. Let me know when you are ready to behave like an adult. I already care for two children, a third is a bit overkill, wouldn't you say so?"

Almost as if to prove her point, Viktor rolled his eyes, crossing and uncrossing his legs. She wasn't amused, face devoid of any and all emotion as if she were training an unruly dog.

"Patience is a virtue, one I possess. Take your time."

"What am I supposed to do? What can I say to get you to stop kicking me when you know I'm down?"

"Ah. So you admit it"

It was then that Viktor realized had him right where she wanted him. The cat was already out of the bag. He may as well cut his suffering short and give her the abridged version of what he'd been dealing with, not that it's what she wanted to hear. Whatever convoluted sob story she'd drawn up for him wouldn't translate into reality.

"You know about Yuuri?" He breathed under his breath.

"Katsuki?"

"Mm."

"Da. He should have been a dancer. I've never seen a man with a form as lithe as his. Figure skating always steals the good ones. Make up with him. I need to see what he can do on a bar."

Oh, he desired to know him more than she could ever understand.

"It's more than that." He shuffled his feet until his sneakers slipped off offering him sweet relief before delving into the story.

Lilia sat and listened patiently. At times she pointed out his missteps, scoffed at his ignorance, and winced upon hearing the gory details of his internal turmoil. She could have passed for a doting mother, but only if the lighting was just right.

"These feelings, the 'glimmer' you speak of, the misery… Why are you so hesitant to admit you are in need of assistance? Your state of affairs is sordid."

"I can take care of myself. It's temporary, ok? Everything's just, like, fucked right now."

She didn't chastise him for his slip. Her cool palm met with his emotion flushed cheek, a swan coddling it's young during a violent hailstorm that shook the leaves free from every tree above.

"Oh, Vitya…" She took a sharp breath, averting her gaze and clenching her jaw until the muscle's below her ear rippled beneath her skin.

"What your mother turned into…Some of it is genetic."

Seeing Viktor's cross scowl, the woman backtracked.

"I'm not accusing you of using, you know better than to do something so shortsighted. All I'm saying is that the illness can often worsen with age, and I don't want that for you. She wouldn't have wanted that for you."

"Oh, thanks, so you just think I'm a basket case? You think I'm gonna start running from things only I can see, is that it? Wow, great, I feel so much better. Thanks, Lilia."

"Viktor! Listen to me!"

He sat back against the upholstery, beating down the swelling flare of panic that sent a flash of heat over his sweat-sticky skin. That makes two. Two people can see the shift. That is proof enough that it's no mere figment, but a concrete prophecy of mama's likeness.

"No one thinks you're a 'basket case'. You're scared, and there's nothing wrong with that, but it's not the same. You have resources, and a support system, and-"

"And half a million people who want to see me fail!"

"Even that is a privilege." She curtly opined.

As if shaken by their unrest, specks of archaic dust floated amongst the evening sunbeams that crawled through the room of glass. Sage and leather, rosemary and thyme. The colors would have been calming were they not radiating condescension.

"Acting contumacious and blind won't fix it. Ignoring it won't make it go away, and neither will taking it out on me."

She was right, and he knew that, but admitting it to himself would leave him as good as dead.

"I'm not ignoring it. I'm trying to keep it low key. You may not think I'll turn into mama, but I fear, if I don't play my cards just right, that it is an inevitability. What you're not understanding, Lilia, is that I was there. I didn't just hear about it, I grew up with it."

He had long accepted her for what she was, so no torrent of emotion castigated his tone. Steady was his voice, unbelievably so.

"I saw what it did to her. You think you know what it's like to be scared? We know nothing of fear, not the way mama did."

Lilia knew all of this already. She was the one who packed all of mama's stuff up as he cried.

"There's a reason I'd never speak poorly of her character, and it's because she was made of steel. Stronger than anyone that's ever lived. She loved, and loved properly, despite living in a rapture of her mind's own conception. God damn it, she loved me as I was, more than anyone will ever be able to love me again."

She already knew, so why was he still talking?

"And, like, the worst thing about insanity is the way people react to it. She was treated as if she were of less worth than dirt. Everyone talks about her like she was an animal. Well she wasn't. She was a woman, a beautiful, loving mother who was unlucky enough to be born wrong, raised wrong, and then she died wrong."

She deserved so much better.

"Zaichik moya, If you understand, then why do you refuse to see the residuals of her within you?"

"Because, unlike her… I'm not strong. I can't survive what she did, not even a fraction of it. If I lose my mind, that's it for me. I can't- I won't live like that. Not after seeing what it did to her. Lock me up and sedate me until I can't remember my own name."

"Do you realize what you're saying?"

He could have laughed. He might have, softly enough to go unnoticed by the both of them. Viktor smiled.

"Of course I do."

"You selfish boy.."

Lilia's lips were trembling. Viktor wasn't angry. He'd felt the same way towards his mother, but only for a short time.

"No, Madame. Mama had every right to do what she did. Why should anyone be forced to suffer like that? Even someone as strong as she was couldn't stomach it cold turkey."

Articulation unraveling, Viktor began to lose himself in the explanation. A game of play pretend that had lasted ten years was long overdue for curtain call.

"You saw her arms, the pinpoint marks. I was young, but not stupid. I knew what she was doing to survive, and I knew that with every second of temporary relief, her delusions would worsen tenfold because of it. As if she were being punished for wanting to exist."

Viktor remembered standing at the foot of the old leather armchair as she nervously sorted through a jar of bottle caps, unsticking those that had rusted together and squinting to decipher something she would never find. All she'd wanted was peace, and the ability to care for her son.

"You talk as if I didn't care for her, too."

"She was my mother !"

"And she was my first love."

An admission said with a cloying tone, one that no one had ever spoken aloud before, if he were to guess. Lilia's face betrayed her furtive body language. He was locked in disbelief, scripture inked into a page, unable to be erased.

"What?"

"Do you hate me for it?"

"God, no, but aren't you and Yakov- don't you like…men?"

"Have you never heard of favoring both? In old Russia, it wasn't an option for me to act on my feelings, however. I didn't dare speak my preferences aloud. It would have been suicide. You're the second person to be made aware of it. Not even Yakov knows."

He'd been correct in his prior assumption, then. Was this his future?

"Why did you tell me?"

"Because I need you to see that you aren't alone in your suffering. I am here, as I have been for the entirety of your life. When you were born, I wept."

He had only known her since he was ten. How long had she known him…? Why hadn't she come to their aid sooner, if she loved mama as much as she claimed? Lilia must have seen the gears turning behind his eyes. She sighed, sipping at the now lukewarm tea.

"Selfishly, I cried as she slipped you into my arms. Not because you were a blessing unto this world, but because he had given her something I never could, and taken away the only connection we had left. Dance."

"Why, then? Why did you leave us to rot? I'd never seen you a day in my life before she died. Not an exemplary show of love on your part."

"It's a long story, Vitya."

"Then tell me. Tell me about mama. Tell me why you let her die, and left me to join her."

The lavender now overpowered the sage. A different kind of shift was taking place.

"Alright."