.

.

There had been a boy.

Many years ago.

Viktor often traveled for ice-skating in his youth, but this is the only memory he wished to purge from existence.

He met a boy with the red spider lilies. He presented a gigantic, flowery bouquet of them to Viktor, during Monday afternoon. They looked freshly grown, bundled and knotted and tied together in a satin, black ribbon. "I thought about you, when I saw them," the boy said, offering a timid, lopsided smile. "They're so beautiful…"

Viktor had only began attending his senior classes, but he saw the boy around before at his educational academy, on the fringes of other groups. Never talking to anyone, never gathering their attention. He wore embroidered, patterned shirts — this one a deep turquoise and white button-up, piped in a lacy ivory-hue. The boy showed no athletic prowess — a skinny frame with little muscles — but an apricot-flushed, speckled complexion and hooded green eyes. He was pleasing to Viktor's eyes.

"You're so beautiful… …"

Flattered and being gracious about it, Viktor accepted them with a half-smile, exchanging their phone numbers after getting asked. The boy laughed giddily, taking off across the courtyard, nearly barreling into another student. Viktor adjusted his uniform's starched, pressed collar, walking past the bicycle rack.

Another boy shook his head and crouched down, unlocking his bike chain.

"I'd throw that out if I were you," he said loudly, knowingly, without glancing up to Viktor.

Viktor halted on the sidewalk, narrowing his eyes in polite bemusement.

"… Why should I?"

"He's trying to steal you." Viktor's classmate sent him a disapproving look — something that gave Viktor's spine a chilling tingle. "You're just letting him get what he wants."

"Steal?"

His classmate said nothing else, hopping onto his bicycle and pedaling furiously into the distance.

.

.

From then on, Viktor noticed the occasional staring.

But only when he was with the boy, holding hands or nudging shoulders playfully. Viktor also noticed the boy had a twin named Anton — identical curls of amber-red hair, their complexions and body type. Anton was mildly popular, surrounding himself with the tattooed, frowning girls and often the center of his friends' attention.

It made sense why the boy felt left out. Anton hardly even acknowledged his twin's presence, and neither did the boy mention him to Viktor either.

All the boy wanted to talk about is Viktor.

He praises his name like it's a hymn, pressing kisses to Viktor's mouth either shyly or maddened by the familiar, soft sensation. They were out by a cigarette shop's emptied parking lot, sitting on the asphalt, petting each other's hair and thighs, suckling and nipping against their lips.

Viktor tasted his peppermint gum, and an aftertaste he couldn't describe entirely.

It was almost like halogen. Like if you could drink neon and spit a miniature galaxy off your tongue.

When he pulled away for a breath, Viktor almost startled backwards off the curb. One of the boy's eyes morphed into the clearwater blue of Viktor's, his skin paler. Viktor squeezed his eyes shut, reopening them. "Did I do something?" the boy asked frantically, both of his hooded green eyes widening in shame.

"Nn—"

Viktor's throat clenched.

"No," he said quickly, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I thought there was an eyelash in my eye."

The boy reached out in a slow, awkward length of time, mocking a gentle pinch and tug at Viktor's left, blinking eye.

"All better now?"

"… Sure," Viktor told him flatly, offering a hand as they stand. He felt a twinge of sympathy and arousal, leading and encouraging the boy to his apartment.

.

.

Money and extravagance allowed Viktor to arrange his own living space to his tastes.

And he favored mirrors.

During a sloppy, naked make-out, Viktor's back hit against his silvery, embossed wall-mirror, with enough force to crack it. He squirmed in place, clenching his legs to the boy's waist and bucking against the erratic, too-shallow thrusts inside him. Lubricant dribbled and tacked between Viktor's buttocks.

"Viktor…"

The boy's voice quivered in his ear.

"Viktor…"

Viktor felt relief when he was back on his elbows and stomach, no longer concerned about being held up in too-skinny arms. A whine escaped his red-raw lips.

The boy ground against Viktor's ass, their wet balls slapping together. He started fucking into Viktor at a harder and more unforgiving pace. The mirror, only a foot away from the bedding a groaning Viktor humped, showed them for who they are: primal, heedless. Viktor's cock dangled towards the mattress when he lifted his hips, swinging in a pendulous weight, as reddened as Viktor's lips.

"Viktor…!"

A string of milky-translucent fluid leaked out of Viktor's cockhead.

He pushed his forehead down, ripping his sight away from the mirror images of themselves, crying out when his orgasm struck without warning. Viktor's ass clenched tightly around the boy, until there's fullness and warmth deep inside him. A condom would have been spared him cleaning out. Viktor only sighed into another greedy, harsh ramming against Viktor's hips, wiggling slightly as the boy's engorged, limp cock slipped out of him.

Viktor held himself up, breathing heavily, peering into the mirror.

Half of the boy's face was Viktor's—pale and shapely, full of ecstasy in that clearwater blue iris.

Before Viktor could roll over or flee, the boy's lips clamped over Viktor's stretched, sensitive rim, licking eagerly and sucking out a mouthful of his own come. He kneed Viktor until he was lying backwards, kissing him and prying his lips apart.

It was salty and warm and wet, tasting himself.

Viktor choked, punching the boy's nose and thrashing to get away. He succeeded, Viktor's hands jamming into his wall-mirror until a large, bloodied shard of glass could be removed. When Viktor spun around with his weapon held high, the boy was nowhere to be found.

.

.

Nobody reported the boy missing, or seemed to care.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have a twin," Anton said from the grass hilltop, a hint of fear crossing his expression.

Viktor's heart jolted in his chest.

One of the tattooed girls wrinkled her nose playfully, shoving out of Anton's embrace. "He's a freak; that's what he is," she drawled. "Good riddance."

In a way, Viktor hoped so, too.

.

.

A bouquet of red spider lilies, wilted and faded to a maroon-stain of a color, ended up on Viktor's doorstep.

He kicked it, horrified to discover a horde of living spiders erupting from its blossoms. They crawled onto Viktor's slipper, and he tossed it into the yard without hesitation, closing and locking his front apartment door. Viktor reset his alarm system, unable to fall asleep and curling up on his sofa with a glass of brandy and a kitchen knife.

It didn't make sense.

What the HELL was he? What does he WANT?

.

.

"Viktor…"

In the woods, Viktor witnessed his own face staring and grinning lopsided.

"I miss you," the boy murmured, combing his fingers into his straight, platinum locks. He approached Viktor without any uncertainty or unease. "Don't you want to be with me…?"

There was still glistens of rainwater on the blacktop. Viktor gazds into those eerily clearwater blue eyes, mentally steeling himself. "Of course I do," he replied, managing a realistic-looking smile. "You startled me. That's all. I didn't know who you were at first."

The boy laughed, a touch of maniac giddiness.

"I'm you. Or… soon I will be."

Viktor swallowed down his nerves, ignoring the ominous statement and grabbing the boy's hand. He lead him one last time, trekking into the woods, Viktor's backpack rattling. Weeds and prickle bushes scratched against their uniform pants. The sun set in the horizon, glowing a faint yellowish-gold against the lilac sky.

There was no galaxies or neon on the boy's lips, only the shine of blood. Only death.

Viktor shoved the large shard of mirror-glass into his doppelganger's guts, cringing and loosening his palms.

"Viktor, aah…"

He crumpled onto the ground, bleeding out, weakly grasping at Viktor's ankle.

And then became silent.

Viktor waited until the neighborhood woods darken, and the only light remaining extinguished from the boy's eyes.

.

.

"Why don't we get a mirror?" Yuuri asks, planting his hands on his hips and glancing up thoughtfully at their bedroom ceiling.

Viktor's jaw clenches.

"Some other time," he insists, petting Makkachin's head and rushing out.

It'll be another ten, twenty, forty years and Viktor will still not keep any mirrors in his home — by this, he swears.

.

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YOI isn't mine. This was highkey inspired by The Face Burglar - Junji Ito. Tomorrow is Halloween! Woot woot! I decided to do Yuri! On Ice Halloween Week again (I'm a day late) for Day Five: "Doppleganger/Sweet Tooth" and participate one last time in Kinktober 2017 under "creampie" and "snowballing" and "rimming" ooh! I'm filling up another space for YOI Ship Bingo under "Victor/Victor" which was a lot of fun to dream up! Any thoughts/comments appreciated! :)