The drops of water into the bathroom’s sink was the only sound within the Ice Castle’s bathroom. It echoes loudly in Yuuri’s ear, ( thump, thump, thump), like the sound of an approaching villain or the music in horror movies before there’d be a jump scare.
Because everything else is quiet, the small sounds of water overwhelms him. It blocks everything, overpowers all of Yuuri’s senses.
This was supposed to be his year . For the first time in history, the Grand Prix final would host both the senior and junior competition at the same, exact location. Yuuri would be on the same ice as him , finally.
And now, it’s all fucked up. Yuuri looks up at his reflection in the mirror and immediately closes his eyes at the sight. His face is red and splotchy, and his nose was unattractively runny, mucus dripping down his nostrils in gross tendrils.
Despite being only seventeen years old, Yuuri would bet everything that today is the worst day of his life. Past or future, nothing could top how utterly fucking exhausting today had been.
The door to the disabled toilets is promptly locked, and Yuuri hears the sound of Nishigori’s footsteps pacing in the outside hallway. He doesn’t want to deal with the awkward outreach of sympathy from his friend, so he does what he does best, and hides .
After all, Nishigori had been the one who broke the news that Nobu would no longer be coaching Yuuri, a week after he’d found out he qualified for the Junior Grand Prix.
“He’s not coming, Yuuri.” Nishigori’s face had been swathed in red. Yuuri had taken one look at his friend’s face and immediately balked at the sight, turning numb. He had curled up his hands, pushed all the emotion that threatened to explode out of him, and instead focused on the pain of his nails stabbing into his palm as a welcome distraction.
Nobu had left him, so he was effectively coachless. The question of why didn’t matter, but Yuuri asked anyway. “Why did he go?”
That single city’s name was enough for Yuuri to understand everything . There was only one reason to go to Osaka if you were in the skating community - Yamura Skating Club.
It was rich in history, elite, the best of the best, and nothing like Yuuri, Hasetsu and the Ice Castle.
Yuuko had been livid, expressing more emotion that compensated for Yuuri’s numb state. When she had finally gotten through to Nobu’s phone, after weeks of no appearances, his words cut through Yuuri like a knife.
“I”m sorry, Yuuri.” There was no remorse, and the apology felt stale in Yuuri’s mouth. “You know how it is.” No, Yuuri really didn’t know how you could abandon a skater mid-season. “I need to be spending my time with skaters who actually have a future- not that you don’t, Yuuri-kun. But...I can’t spend my days play-skating with you and everyone in Hasetsu. I need to move up.”
“He’s just spouting bullshit!” Yuuko had exploded. “You’re the national junior champion and you got into the Junior Grand Prix finals! You’re literally the best of the field, how is that play-skating? ”
But Nobu was right, in some twisted way. When he first debuted, Yuuri had somehow snatched a silver at Junior Worlds when he was thirteen, and Nobu had come running to teach him. But, Yuuri soon proved that he was not Japan’s best hope for international stardom - ever since he was fifteen, it had been three years of constant decline of performances that were below his debut-level.
“It’s gotta be some politics in the field.” Nishigori had said, eyes blazing. “Yamura has to know that you wouldn’t be able to go to the finals without a coach, and who do you think will take that empty spot?”
“If it’s not Yamura, then it’ll definitely be one of the Musashi or Osawa. Even if they’re at each other’s throats, it was always a stick up the ass that Yuuri succeeded without them.”
“Fucking elitists. Only sticking up for themselves. You’d think they’d be more accommodating to Japan’s only chance at placing internationally.”
“Yeah, well they’ve always been gunning after Yuuri when he refused Musashi’s offer. They’re just closing ranks-”
“P-please.” Nishigori and Yuuchan had frozen at the crack in Yuuri’s voice. He could feel his throat constricting, as he gripped the edge of the ice rink, pushing the gate open. “Let me pass.”
So that’s where Yuuri was now, locking himself in the disabled toilets so he could hide from Nishigori and Yuuko’s sympathetic gazes.
He should’ve known something was wrong when Nobu didn’t return his calls, but there was no way he could’ve expected him to just leave without telling anyone. He should’ve been in the middle of training for the Grand Prix final , but instead, he’d been chasing after his dead-beat coach for over two weeks.
How bad of a skater was he that his own coach had no hope in him? How was he even supposed to train without a coach? Who calls their student five minutes before their session to say that they weren’t even in the city anymore?
Yuuri rubs his eyes until they turn red. He just wants to go home and sleep, but he knows that everyone will wonder why he’s back from training so early. Breaking the news to his parents is too much for him to even handle - he doesn’t think he can see their disappointed faces.
The embarrassment of everything that’s happened crawls underneath his skin; they had thrown so much money for Yuuri’s career, even waiving Nobu’s boarding at the inn in exchange for a discounted coaching fee - Minako-sensei even became his weekly drinking buddy!
Dejection fills him, and Yuuri swallows his dry mouth in an attempt to control the overflow of emotions running rampant in his body. Yuuko would find him soon, and he wouldn’t put it past her to not break the door open.
Curling into himself, Yuuri wonders why he ever thought he could do well in skating to begin with. He’s a dime-a-dozen skater, a small fish from the coast of Japan trying to make it in the big leagues.
It’s no wonder he’d been abandoned. Maybe he should disappear from skating altogether. Like Nobu said, it’s not like he’ll do any better in the future. He’s seventeen and still competing in Juniors. In fact, he only scraped into the finals because another skater had to withdraw. Seniors would be a completely different ball-game, and if Yuuri’s struggling already at Juniors, then there’s no way he’ll do well in the cut-throat circuit. There had been junior world champions that had been flushed out immediately once they entered seniors. He’s not like other teenage prodigies, not like Viktor Nikiforov, who won an Olympic medal, ( silver , to match his hair) , at only nineteen.
Maybe Yuuri could take residence up at the Inari Shrine - a monk would mean he’d abstain from all forms of social media, and therefore, wouldn’t have to see his peers do so much better than him. It’s always empty - Yuuko was Catholic and the fox statues creep Minako out, so there would be no way that the two would come and force him out of hiding.
Yuuri attempts to stop sniffling by throwing some water to clean his face before he exits the bathroom. The fear of being caught by Yuuko and Nishigori means that Yuuri has to leave behind his things in the locker room, but he at least has his phone tucked into his jacket pocket. The walk to the shrine should be quick, only a ten minute walk even though it was uphill. He could evade Yuuko and Nishigori as soon as he left the building, even if it was only for a few hours.
Throwing the hood of his jacket up, Yuuri escapes through the emergency exit. It’s a warm September day, but maybe he would’ve felt better if it was raining; nobody would question his tear-stained cheeks then. The universe should’ve at least been nice about screwing him over by making the background ambience more dramatic-
Yuuri’s breath catches in his lung. Something heavy slams into his body, and suddenly, he feels weightless.
And then pain, so much pain, explodes from the right side of his body.
A sharp cry rips out of his mouth. He can feel the way his skin skids across the road, wincing at the pain that erupts. His body aches , from the ends of his fingers to his rib cage.
The only thought that filters in through his pain-riddled brain is fuck .
He swears on Viktor’s godly hair, he will find whatever cosmic deity decided to make his life a colossal shitstorm and punch them in their cosmic-sized dick. He should’ve known that just thinking the words ‘it could be worse’ was basically inviting the universe to fuck him over.
ESPN Figure Skating ✓ @ESPN_FS
Japan’s Junior skater, Yuuri Katsuki, injured in minor car accident just months before the Grand Prix Final, future updates to proceed
Yuuri’s head hurts like a bitch.
He whimpers, voice raspy and hoarse. He squints his eyes, vision blurring as he clamours for the glasses he knows should be on the bedside table. His hand falters as it glides through empty air.
Yuuri yelps when a hand grabbed him suddenly, curling around his wrist so tightly he could feel the blood circulation begin to stop.
“Not now, Viktor.” He groans, wondering if his husband was trying to play-fight with him again. He tugs his wrist back, turning on his side to snuggle closer into the pillow. “It’s too early, where did you put my glasses?” A female voice cackles loudly, but there’s an edge of relief to it. The sound is deep and gravely, and Yuuri recognises it immediately.
“Mari-neesan?” His eyes snap open, but the lights burn and make him snap them shut just as quickly.“What are you doing in Russia? Where’s Viktor?”
His throat feels like he’d eaten his weight in sand. It’s like sandpaper, and he coughs loudly, hand lifting to touch the base of his throat to see if it would alleviate any of the pain. His mother interrupts whatever Mari was about to say, wailing as she clung to his side.
“Yuuri!” She cries, and it took a moment for Yuuri to realise that she’s sobbing into his neck.
“Kaa-san?” His vision starts to swirl, which doesn’t help his pounding head. “Where are my glasses?”
“Yuuri-kun.” Yuuri turns to find his dad sitting next to him. It’s his father that’s holding his hand. There are huge tears falling down his cheeks, and he looks as if he was moments away from passing out if he cries anymore.
“Oh, my baby.” His father traces his thumb over Yuuri’s wrist softly, as if he’s fragile, as if he’ll break. His mother doesn’t let go of him, still crying into his neck.
Yuuri looks up at Mari, eyes pleading. She snickers in response, rolling her eyes. “Kaa-san, tou-san, you need to let Yuuri breathe. I’ll go get the doctor so one of you give him a glass of water, please. He sounds like a frog.”
“Doctor?!” Yuuri squeaks. Without his glasses, he can’t see anything, but even his blurry vision can sense that the white walls are not the same as his and Viktor’s tasteful grey. He could however feel that the scratchy, uncomfortable bedsheets under him were not Viktor’s one-hundred percent, pure silk sheets imported directly from Egypt. Fuck. He’s really at a hospital. “What happened? Where am I?”
“Oh, Yuuri-kun.” His mother rises, pressing a warm hand against his cheek. She sniffles, wiping away tears that fall down her cheeks. “You don’t remember the accident?”
“A-aci- I was in an accident?!”
His dad wails by his side. “My son, he doesn’t even remember !”
Mari finally intervenes. “Kaa-san, please stop crowding him. Tou-san, stop being dramatic, the doctor said he’s fine. He’s probably just loopy from the drugs. I mean, he thought Viktor Nikiforov was waiting on him, like a little maid.”
“Viktor’s not here?” Yuuri frowns. If he’s been in an accident, why wasn’t his husband here? Oh my god, did Viktor… Did he-
“-Why the hell would Viktor be in Japan?”
“What- I’M IN JAPAN?!”
Yuuri blinks as a nurse rushes into the room at the sound of his parents screaming. He looks between Yuuri’s bewildered face, Mari’s obnoxious laughter and his parent’s tearful streaks of sorrow, and promptly runs out of the room in fear.
Nakamura however, his childhood doctor, walks straight in after.
“Sensei!” Mari’s crying actual tears, trying to hold herself up despite being bent over from laughing. “You’ll never believe what Yuuri dreamed about!”
“Sensei!” Hiroko grabs Nakamura's sleeve, eyes dripping with tears. “My son, my poor son, he’s gone mad!”
“There, there, Katsuki-san.” Nakamura pats his mother awkwardly, looking uncomfortable. “I’m sure that’s just an exaggeration. Yuuri-kun, I’m so glad you’re awake. You had us worried for a moment then, kid.”
Nakamura-sensei had known him since he was a child, and ruffles Yuuri on the head whilst he runs through some tests. Yuuri follows the sight of his finger, looking left and then right as the doctor flashed a light into his pupil. He listens attentively as he is told to lift his arms above his head, and responds when asked if there was any pain, which there wasn’t .
There is no pain anywhere on Yuuri’s body. In fact, he felt lighter, lighter than he’s ever been. There is none of the constant hum of soreness in his ankles, none of the cracking joints of his knees. It doesn’t even feel like his body.
So, Yuuri comes to the realisation of three facts as Nakamura continues with his examination.
Number one - He was just in a car accident.
Apparently, as he was crossing the road, a truck had hit him from behind. Luckily, as they hadn’t been moving fast because they were trying to park, Yuuri didn’t have any serious injuries. However , what had been serious was the fact that Yuuri had been unconscious, for over four hours.
The driver had waited by his side, calling an ambulance immediately when he was unresponsive. Then, he had been taken to the hospital where scans had shown there was nothing wrong with him.
After the extensive array of tests, Nakamura-sensei had no other option but to send Yuuri home, signing off on a clean bill of health.
“It’s a miracle.” He says, smiling to both Yuuri and his family. “His scans came back completely clean. No fractures or broken bones, no concussion or brain issues, just some mild bruising on his side that'll heal up within days.”
His mother had looked enraged on his behalf. “But what about when he woke up? He thought he was in Russia!”
Nakamura smiles patiently, trying to calm her down. “That’s probably a side-effect of the anaesthetic we gave him. It makes the best of us loopy. I remember a time when a patient believed he was on the moon and I was an alien out to eat him. The effects should wear off in the next few hours.”
“But, what about his skating?”
At that, Nakumara became eerily serious. “I still recommend staying off the ice for two weeks at the very least. Whilst he doesn’t have a concussion, he was still in an accident, and sometimes, symptoms may appear at a later time. I will schedule another check up before you are given the go-ahead. Before that, here is a list of symptoms to keep an eye out for. If anything changes, bring him straight to the emergency room.”
His eyes turn to Yuuri, and he points at him directly, eyes narrowing. “I know how you are. No strenuous exercise, especially skating. The spins and jumps are just asking for a repeat injury.”
“But I don’t even have a headache, senseil”
Nakamura tuts like Yuuri is a child. “I’ve had to deal with enough of your skating injuries. If you don’t listen, I’ll have you admitted and chained to a bed.”
“I’ll help,” Mari winks.
Yuuri bites his tongue from retorting, stopping from digging an even larger hole for himself. He wasn’t lying though - he really didn’t have a headache, although he was still squinting up at everyone to see. The sole casualty in the accident had been his glasses, so Yuuri resigns himself to being blind until he’s able to get a new pair.
Number two- Despite feeling no pain, Yuuri is 100% sure he is having an out-of-body experience.
They had chalked off his sudden lapse in memory as a side-effect of the anaesthetic, and with some quick thinking, Yuuri had agreed readily with the others. He didn’t need to be locked up or looked at like he was insane, not when his mind was still jumbled. He needed time and safety to figure things out, and to have that, he needed to be left alone.
His mother continued to worry over him as they left the hospital. And in his confusion, Yuuri found it prudent to just shut up and let his parents fuss over him.
He didn’t know what kind of anaesthetic could make his body and mind feel so sluggish. It’s like he’s wading through water, everything is moving slow, rearranging itself through the ripples.
It’s even weirder that, for all intents and purposes, Yuuri should be feeling some sort of pain, considering he was in a car accident. It’s even weirder that he doesn’t feel anything, but he does feel something , he just can’t put his finger on what it is. It’s like a phantom pain, like his body is confused because he isn’t in pain.
It’s only when the beautiful, familiar sound of a dog yapping greets him as he enters the inn that Yuuri knows why he feels so weightless and disorientated. It’s not because of a side-effect.
Number three - Yuuri swears five minutes ago he had fallen asleep in St. Petersburg after celebrating his four-year anniversary with his husband, and now, he had woken up as a seventeen year old.
Yuuri tries to calm his erratic breathing, sitting on his childhood bed. He could hear the sound of his parents walking underneath him, the age-old floorboards of Yu-topia Katsuki squeaking at every footstep.
He closes his eyes and thinks .
Nobu leaving was a defining moment in his life, and Yuuri remembers it like the back of his hand. Twelve years ago, Yuuri’s coach had left him to join Yamura Osaka Skating Club, leaving him coachless in the middle of his last junior season. Eight hours ago, Nobu-san had left him to join Yamura Osaka Skating Club, leaving him coachless in the middle of his last junior season.
Both statements are correct. Both statements are a reality.
Because Yuuri can feel the underlying current of nerves humming underneath his skin, travelling through his body and leaving him on edge. He can feel the thrum of his gut, his instinct , telling him that both of his thoughts are right.
Three hours ago, Yuuri was crying because he had been dropped by his junior coach. Three hours ago, Yuuri had gone to bed, cuddling up to Makkachin and Viktor, in their shared apartment in St. Petersburg.
“Shit.” Yuuri covers his face. His heart speeds up - what if everything was a dream? What if he never actually married Viktor and it was just some elaborate concoction his brain made up?
But there’s no way that actual, lived years are fake, no matter how unrealistic they are. There are two versions of the same time frame slamming itself into Yuuri’s head, but Yuuri knows, in his bones , that he is twenty nine years old.
Vicchan whines next to him, licking his hands. Immediately, he removes his hands and let’s Vicchan smother him in kisses and licks.
He can’t even find it within himself to not feel grateful because Vicchan is here . His heart thumps as he relieves the grief of losing him, breathing in the deep scent of the discount, dog shampoo Mari always lathers Vicchan in. It’s familiar and warm, and smells like mulberries and Yuuri knows that this isn’t a dream.
He pulls the small body into his chest, running his fingers through his soft, chestnut fur. His baby’s still alive, still here. There’s no way that Vicchan is sitting here, alive and well, for it to be anything other than reality.
A sharp ring floods through his room, and Vicchan jumps off his chest in a yelp. Scrambling to stand up, Yuuri looks for the source of the noise and finds an outdated flip phone. It’s definitely not the smartphone he knows. It’s old and familiar, and there’s a rush that floods through him at the familiar ring of his ringtone.
“This is way too elaborate to be a dream.” Yuuri groans as he grabs the phone, flicking it up and bringing it to his ear.
“ Moshi moshi ?”
“Erm, hello?” The person is speaking in English, but the voice is heavily accented and Yuuri’s heart stutters. It’s sort of familiar, but Yuuri can’t pick out why. It takes him a second to realise there’s a French tilt to the English and immediately Yuuri can place the voice to a face.
“Oh thank god you answered!” Yuuri blinks at the obvious relief stemming from Christophe’s voice, who sounds resoundly relieved that Yuuri answered. “I just saw the news article about your accident! How are you? Are you okay?”
It’s insane how much comfort Yuuri feels from listening to a friendly voice. “I’m fine, Chris, thanks for calling. The accident wasn’t even bad.”
“That’s not just you saying that, right?” Christophe asks. “Because a car accident is still a car accident. And you’ve released absolutely no statement at all. The skating community is going a little crazy.”
Yuuri laughs, hoping he sounds reassuring. “Trust me, the car was trying to park so it only bumped me slightly. No bruises or concussions.”
“That’s a relief.” He sighs. “I’m glad you picked up anyway, you never respond to any of my texts or calls. I’m still waiting for you to move up to seniors.”
Yuuri tries to think of a time when he and Chris were close enough for them to talk over the phone before Viktor. He can’t ever remember this happening before. Although, he was never in a car accident either. The two of them knew of each other. But Viktor and Christophe were a package deal, and so once Yuuri and him started dating, Christophe was a constant fixture in their lives.
And then it hits Yuuri suddenly, this stomach-churning sense of deja vu.
He has had this exact conversation before with Christophe. At his Junior Grand Prix, when the two of them sat and watched Viktor Nikiforov at practice.
It was the first time that the Grand Prix decided to hold the junior and senior competitions in tandem, and Christophe had taken it as his chance to rope Yuuri into meeting with him. It was Christophe’s second year of competing at senior level, and both had taken to sitting in the audience seats to watch Viktor Nikiforov in the second practice group.
They had oohed and ahhed as Viktor threw himself into a quadruple flip or did a simple y-spiral. They had simpered about his long hair, pulled back into a crown of braids, and Yuuri had wondered out loud if the shampoo he used smelled like roses. (It was a few years later when he found out that Viktor preferred the smell of chamomile.)
Christophe had laughed out loud and begged Yuuri to hurry and move up to the senior division. “ It’s too boring without you,” he pouted. At the time, Yuuri had thought it was Christophe just being Christophe. He had hundreds of friends in the senior divisions, Christophe was well liked and Yuuri had seen all the tagged pictures he had uploaded on his instagram. It was that same season that Christophe became friends with Viktor, and Yuuri felt himself slip into obscurity, never reaching the same heights as his peer.
But now, all Yuuri could think about is the fact that the only person who Chris had known prior to seniors was Yuuri.
Despite never beating him, it was only ever Yuuri who competed with Christophe in juniors. The two had stayed together, far above the rest of the playing field. Of course, when Nobu had decided to coach Yuuri, Christophe had moved up to seniors and Yuuri had fallen from the top.
Yuuri had thought it was a friendship of convenience, but now he’s not too sure.
Yuuri, consumed by his anxiety and doubt, had ignored Christophe once he had debuted in the senior field and failed spectacularly, not even qualifying for a second Grand Prix event. Christophe instead was flying up ahead, and Yuuri had watched on in jealousy as he made friends with Viktor, competed on the same ice as Viktor.
Now, Yuuri can’t help but think how lonely Christophe would’ve been before that. A whole year of being alone. Like Yuuri.
“-uuri? Yuuri! You still there?”
“Yes.” Yuuri rushes to say, his throat constricting. “Yes, I’m here Chris. Thank you. For checking up on me.”
Chris is quiet for a moment, and in the silence he can hear Christophe thinking. “... Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I am!” He cringes at how loud his voice went, winces when he realises how late it is. He quietens down, hoping Mari doesn’t slam the walls of his room and tell him to shut up. “Sorry, my head’s still muddy from the painkillers.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re alright. You should probably rest though.” Yuuri can hear Christophe’s voice turning into something more like himself. He can hear the smirk playing on his lips. “Think you’ll still make it to the finals? We can have a late birthday party-”
Chris gasps, cutting himself off. “How could I forget! You’re finally turning eighteen! Yuuri! I can take you out drinking! The final’s in Beijing, and I’m pretty sure Cao Bin said the age limit is eighteen-”
Yuuri intakes a sharp breath. Eighteen. Shit , he doesn’t even remember his programs. What season is this, again?
Vicchan yips beside him, bringing Yuuri back to the present. “Sure, Chris. I’ll take you up on that offer.”
“Oh, how exciting. An untouched liver.” Chris purrs. “That’s so unlike you to make promises of going out. Think you can handle it?”
“Only if you’re paying.”
“Ha!” Christophe laughs loudly. “I shall wait with bated breath for the finals, mon cher .”
“See you then, Chris.” He hangs up when he hears Chris making the obnoxious sound of a kiss through the phone, laughing to himself.
He loses all sense of comfort as soon as his eyes meet the wall opposite to himself. His mouth drops open. He pinches his arm. There’s a sharp pain. There’s no way this is a dream.
The space next to his wardrobe is empty. The space next to his wardrobe, where his signed poster of Viktor’s Saratov Olympic win, is empty.
“Okay, Vicchan. I’m going to tell you something insane.” His paws are stretched out on either side of Yuuri’s shoulder, his tongue is poking out. Vicchan licks his chin, settling his head on Yuuri’s chest as he looks up at his owner.
“I think I’ve travelled back in time.”
He cringes at the sound of his voice. It sounds ridiculous. It is ridiculous. But, there is something building inside Yuuri, call it intuition or belief. But Yuuri knows that it’s the truth.
He jumps from his bed, apologising to a fussing Vicchan who glares up at him as he falls from Yuuri’s chest. There’s only one way to prove if he’s right.
The computer on his desk is an antique , and this is when Yuuri knows that he couldn’t have been dreaming. There’s no way Yuuri had conjured up designs of futuristic technology like Apple watches or Samsung tablets.
It’s a full three minutes of Yuuri impatiently tapping his finger as he waits for it to boot up. His heart drops as his eyes zoom to the date displayed at the bottom of the screen. It’s two years till the Olympics. That’s ten years in the past.
He types in ‘Saratov Winter Olympics’ and is met with articles about a new rink Russia is making in preparation. There are threads on Reddit about who will win, most of the polls placing Viktor as the undisputed favourite. Everyone thinks he’ll win the Olympics. Yuuri knows that he does.
He groans, covering his face. Of course he’s missing the poster. The Olympics haven’t even happened .
Following his silver at Montreal at nineteen, Viktor would go on to win his first Olympic gold at Saratov, breaking three world records in one night. It’s the beginning of his streak of world dominance. He continued this success until Tokyo, his last Olympics, where he became the first person to win consecutive Olympic titles since the 1930s.
Yuuri clenches his fists tightly. It was also Tokyo when Viktor finally started figuring out it wasn’t normal to feel apathetic all the time. (He didn’t go to see a therapist until after.)
Yuuri opens up another page, types ‘Is it possible to travel back to the past?’ and hits enter.
There are thousands of hits, but all comments are about Back to the Future or reddit posts. He scrolls down impatiently, looking for any articles about cases of actual time travel, but none of them seem to be credible.
And then he sees an article written by NASA. It’s in English, but his eyes adjust to the sudden change of letters and he’s reading through it quickly.
‘... for all intents and purposes, time travel seems to be theoretically possible, but only in quantum mechanics or wormholes.” Yuuri reads out loud, sounding each word out with hope. “In any case, cases of time travel would be a…”
Yuuri takes a sharp inhale of breath, his hands shaking as he reads the next line.
“...Due to the nature of wormholes, cases of time travel would solely be a one-way ticket.”
All at once, he crumbles.