Chapter Summary: "I found you too late."

Viktor falls to his knees before the headstone, shock stealing the life from his limbs. It feels as if years have passed since he last felt warmth and now, as he leans against cold grey, shadowed by a blinding white, all he can feel is the ice prickling into his clothes, his skin, his heart. Yuuri is gone. His spirit slipped through Viktor's fingers. Again.

"I was too late," Viktor whispers into the frost, numb to the words even as they gouge into his soul. "I found you too late."

His gloved hand shakes as it reaches out, trembling fingers sliding along every character of his beloved's name. As his first tear falls, drifting down a winter-worn cheek, Viktor clenches his teeth before ripping off the black leather barrier keeping him from feeling what is left of Yuuri, his husband, his one and only. It doesn't matter that they had yet to meet within the present timeline. Yuuri would always be his love. Always.

Now bare, his fingers meet stone once more, but it does little to assuage the ache in his heart. He pushes himself past the flowers and lantern left in front of the headstone, uncaring as the goodbyes of others spill into the snow. He has to get closer. He has to feel what is left. His forehead presses against Yuuri's name and Viktor allows himself to fall apart. An ugly sob tears from his throat, a feeling of emptiness both hauntingly familiar and startlingly new blossoming in his chest.

This time, he didn't even get a chance to see Yuuri. To hold him, feel him, love him. They had been perfect strangers in this lifetime. Katsuki Yuuri lived the bulk of his life in Japan as Viktor Nikiforov lived his in Russia, separated by land, sea, and anonymity.

It had to have been better than being separated by death.

Viktor woke up in this life too late. After leaving his last attempt at saving Yuuri behind, he awoke in a new world, still himself as far as the mirror and his family and peers were concerned.

He didn't allow time to pass. He didn't stop to think about who he was now or what his current life held for him. His one thought had been of Yuuri and nothing stopped him from seeking the younger man out. Not a word from his parents or friends could halt his steps. He was a man on a mission.

The only thing that managed to tie him down, like poisonous vines that gripped him with unforgiving thorns rooted in reality, was the information that Yuuri had already died. Yuuri died in Detroit as he'd been studying abroad, going for an ecology degree or something of the sort. It had been a freak accident, or so the online paper had said, but Viktor knew it was just death's cruel idea of a joke. Yuuri's body was shipped back to his family in Hasetsu where he was cremated and buried in a cemetery amongst his ancestors.

Viktor hadn't believed a word of it. He hopped on the next flight to Japan, sure that everything he'd read had been wrong. Yuuri was fine. He was alive. The only way Yuuri died was in his arms.

How could Yuuri die if Viktor had not been there to hold him? To see it? To witness it? To burn the memory deep into his soul where his sanity had shattered?

The truth cut into Viktor like a jagged piece of glass. Yuuri's headstone was real. The look on the Katsukis' faces had been real. Viktor had never wanted to scream so badly in his life. Not since his first Yuuri had been taken from him, all too soon and far from willing.

Falling against the stone, Viktor lays there, the snow flurries melting along his flushed face and lost expression. His gaze trails over the objects strewn across the ground, left in his haste to feel Yuuri again. His mind falls back to the Katsukis and he gasps out at another wave of pain that overtakes him. They didn't know him. He showed up at Yu-topia, beyond relieved to at least see Yuuri's family, his family, but all he'd gotten were blank stares filled with sorrow, their voices withdrawn as they told a 'friend from Detroit that had been out of the country during Yuuri's accident' where he could find their son's gravesite. It was easy to remember just how much of a stranger he was then, even though the inn felt more home to him than any other place within this world.

The air is quiet around him, empty, and yet in the whistle of the winds there is a ballad that speaks of loneliness and loss. Viktor has experienced this song often enough, most times when he is in the same position, limply splayed against his lover's resting place.

"Well, Yuuri," Viktor says, words rough and tight with longing, "I suppose it's nice to meet you." He laughs, a heavy, self-loathing chuckle that makes him cringe. He hates this, the fact that this was a Yuuri he had never known. He grieves for the man, for what could have been. "My name is Viktor Nikiforov and I'm your-" His words stop there, tangled and bunched in his throat. He can't say husband, lover, partner, friend, or acquaintance. Even the word stranger holds too much familiarity.

He laughs again and this time it's lighter, like birds taking flight from his chest. "You probably think I'm a weirdo, huh? Some random guy falling apart on your grave. Yeah, I'd think I was a weirdo if I were you, too." He turns to face those etched characters, wiping the snow from the crevices as gently as he would brush away stray tears. "I know we don't know each other, but I would have loved you, Yuuri. With every breath I took, I would have loved you… as I have loved every other you that I have known."

His lips meet the stone and for a moment he can almost feel a warmth there, something sweet and strong and undeniably Yuuri, but the moment passes as quickly as it comes. Viktor's eyes mist as he pulls away, stepping down to sit more firmly on the ground with his back to the Yuuri of this world. It is time to leave. He can't remain any longer. His mission had been over from the beginning. They weren't meant to be together in this world, and now it is time to go on to the next, to grasp at another chance, no matter how heart-breaking the outcome.

Viktor would die a million times just to get one more moment.

The blade shakes over his wrist, as if resisting its purpose to take his life. Or maybe it is his hand that is shaking and he is the one wavering with his decision. It never got any easier. At least, not yet. Viktor imagines that one day, after he has seen Yuuri die enough times, killing himself will be without pain or hesitation.

"Goodbye, Yuuri. I wish I could have known you. You were a beautiful person, just as you always are."

He holds no guilt in leaving this world behind. He doesn't know these people. This life is not his own, and he can't make it his own, not without Yuuri. Makkachin doesn't even exist in this world, which serves as a relief. His dog is the only thing he ever worries about leaving behind.

Viktor stares up at the sky and waits through the pain. His life will be tugged from his body, but he won't die. He never does. Instead, he listens to that ballad, full of sorrow and woe, and watches as a multitude of colors dance in his vision, ready to take him to the next world. His last breath is one of release as he slips forward. His last thought is one of hope.

Yuuri, don't be too far out of my reach this time…