WHO: Viktor Krum WHAT: Contemplating choices. WHEN: Saturday, October 13th, 1998. WHERE:Viktor’s cottage, Wales. SUMMARY: Viktor wants a way out. RATINGS/WARNING: SFW. STATUS: Closed, complete
No one else knew. No one. His family knew. And they were completely out of reach. Viktor stood on his porch, staring out at the twilight. Maybe it had been a mistake to come here. A mistake to leave Bulgaria. Not that he’d had too much of a say in the trade, or that he’d have been able to change anything, even if he’d tried. As he contemplated the rising dark in front of him, Viktor wondered if maybe it wouldn’t be best to see if he could talk the management into trading him again. Not that he was likely to be successful. He was a little too big of a catch for that. He rubbed a hand absently against his injured shoulder, brows lowering and his face settling into a mask of resignation. No. He was stuck. And that meant that Emlyn was stuck with him. Unless she left.
His eyes closed against that thought. He was out of his depth. And he didn’t know what to do about it. There was a reason he kept himself compartmentalized, separated from his friends and people he loved. Em was a symbol in living flesh of exactly why that was. Had nothing changed? Was he just deluding himself? Deep down, was he even capable of being the man he knew he should be? Were four years of hard fought control and effort for nothing? Viktor’s face twisted into a rictus of defeat. Every time he saw Emlyn, he was really seeing himself. Looking into a mirror that showed him ruthlessly the person that he could never escape.
Viktor sat down on the steps of his porch, long legs drawn up and his arms resting on the tops of his knees. Head bowed and shoulders hunched, he stared down at the wood beneath his feet. He should have just kept his mouth shut. Left her alone. Wouldn’t it have been better for both of them? Viktor’s eyes shut again, fighting back the rising tide of despair. As much as he wanted to show her that he wasn’t the monster that he was sure she thought he was, Viktor himself wasn’t convinced that he could. Wasn’t convinced that it was better for her to know. How much of his need for her to understand had to do with reassuring himself that he wasn’t unredeemable? And if that was why, wasn’t it selfish of him to force her to endure his presence?
With a growl, he shot upright and jogged down his stairs. He needed to do something, anything to distract himself. Thankful that he had on the right shoes, Viktor took off at a dead run. He would run until he physically couldn’t anymore. Maybe then his mind would be exhausted enough to sleep, to shut down, to let him be.