latebloomingeros (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
latebloomingeros) wrote2010-01-19 01:33 pm
latebloomingeros) wrote2010-01-19 01:33 pm
Entry tags:
Death Memory [The Far Shore]
[[Trigger warnings: Traffic accidents, hospitals, major injury, death, sudden loss of a loved one]]
"No, Makkachin, stay. It's too cold for you today, go on and keep Viktor company while I'm out..."
Yuuri felt a smile tug at his lips, as he reached down to stroke the poodle's curly brown fur for a moment.
Makkachin whined a little, but complied. For a moment, Yuuri watched the large brown poodle through the bedroom door as he climbed back into bed next to Viktor, and felt a familiar swell of fondness in his heart at the sight of them both curled up together, soaking up the thin, pale winter sunlight coming in through the window. Viktor's hand came up to rest in Makkachin's fur, the ring on his finger glinting softly.
If he stayed any longer by the doorway, he realized, he was probably just going to get right back into bed again.
Maybe after his run.
Yuuri left, slipped his earbuds in and made his way out into the streets of St. Petersburg. He had a few regular routes figured out for his morning runs already, but he thought he might try something different this morning. Down through Petrovsky Park and along the river for a while, maybe...?
With his headphones in, he didn't hear the squeal of tires spinning out of control on the icy street, only barely heard the blast of the car's horn. There was just a flash of motion coming towards him on the left -- blue -- and then the feeling of the impact, more shock than pain.
Horrified people crowding around, someone on a phone. Paramedics speaking in shaky English when he didn't respond to Russian.
He still couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe enough to answer.
Blackness, then a hospital room. Pain in every inch of him. Fading in and out of consciousness, mostly "out". Brief flashes of Russian, mostly incomprehensible to him.
"{Mr. Nikiforov, he's in critical condition, he isn't in any shape to take visitors --}"
"{Let me in! Let me see him, damn it!}"
Another voice, some time later -- Yuri's, laced with panic under the obvious fury. "{That goddamn idiot, he couldn't even pay attention to where he was going?! Listen, you bastards had better be doing your fucking jobs -- I don't want to put up with all the moping this moron's going to do if he... If... Anyway, he needs to be alive to see it when I beat his stupid record, so just hurry up and fix him!}"
Another blink, more lost time. Moonlight through the curtains. Yuri, curled up in an armchair across the room, out like a light. Viktor's hand holding his, as he sat in a chair pushed close to the hospital bed, his head resting on the side of the bed, his eyes closed. Asleep.
No. Not quite asleep. Close, but still awake enough to be singing to himself under his breath, a familiar tune. Italian.
"{Stay close to me, don't leave. I'm afraid... I'm afraid of...}"
Yuuri's heart ached, enough to feel above all the other pain. His eyes couldn't leave the ring on Viktor's hand, and he couldn't help seeing it for what it was:
A promise he wasn't going to be able to keep.
He tried to speak, but couldn't find the breath for it, though his lungs struggled to. He couldn't make his body move enough to even let Viktor know he was awake, couldn't do anything for him...
I'm sorry.
Viktor, I'm so sorry...
He faded out again, and he was gone.
"No, Makkachin, stay. It's too cold for you today, go on and keep Viktor company while I'm out..."
Yuuri felt a smile tug at his lips, as he reached down to stroke the poodle's curly brown fur for a moment.
Makkachin whined a little, but complied. For a moment, Yuuri watched the large brown poodle through the bedroom door as he climbed back into bed next to Viktor, and felt a familiar swell of fondness in his heart at the sight of them both curled up together, soaking up the thin, pale winter sunlight coming in through the window. Viktor's hand came up to rest in Makkachin's fur, the ring on his finger glinting softly.
If he stayed any longer by the doorway, he realized, he was probably just going to get right back into bed again.
Maybe after his run.
Yuuri left, slipped his earbuds in and made his way out into the streets of St. Petersburg. He had a few regular routes figured out for his morning runs already, but he thought he might try something different this morning. Down through Petrovsky Park and along the river for a while, maybe...?
With his headphones in, he didn't hear the squeal of tires spinning out of control on the icy street, only barely heard the blast of the car's horn. There was just a flash of motion coming towards him on the left -- blue -- and then the feeling of the impact, more shock than pain.
Horrified people crowding around, someone on a phone. Paramedics speaking in shaky English when he didn't respond to Russian.
He still couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe enough to answer.
Blackness, then a hospital room. Pain in every inch of him. Fading in and out of consciousness, mostly "out". Brief flashes of Russian, mostly incomprehensible to him.
"{Mr. Nikiforov, he's in critical condition, he isn't in any shape to take visitors --}"
"{Let me in! Let me see him, damn it!}"
Another voice, some time later -- Yuri's, laced with panic under the obvious fury. "{That goddamn idiot, he couldn't even pay attention to where he was going?! Listen, you bastards had better be doing your fucking jobs -- I don't want to put up with all the moping this moron's going to do if he... If... Anyway, he needs to be alive to see it when I beat his stupid record, so just hurry up and fix him!}"
Another blink, more lost time. Moonlight through the curtains. Yuri, curled up in an armchair across the room, out like a light. Viktor's hand holding his, as he sat in a chair pushed close to the hospital bed, his head resting on the side of the bed, his eyes closed. Asleep.
No. Not quite asleep. Close, but still awake enough to be singing to himself under his breath, a familiar tune. Italian.
"{Stay close to me, don't leave. I'm afraid... I'm afraid of...}"
Yuuri's heart ached, enough to feel above all the other pain. His eyes couldn't leave the ring on Viktor's hand, and he couldn't help seeing it for what it was:
A promise he wasn't going to be able to keep.
He tried to speak, but couldn't find the breath for it, though his lungs struggled to. He couldn't make his body move enough to even let Viktor know he was awake, couldn't do anything for him...
I'm sorry.
Viktor, I'm so sorry...
He faded out again, and he was gone.