PRESTO

six. "sillage."

start music when i tell u to okay

* * *

They call her Adonis now.

Of the handsome boy who was once loved by the Queen of Death and the Goddess of Love but then tragically fell to a wild boar.

Who was the Queen of Death?

The Goddess of Love?

And who was the wild boar?

* * *

"You talk too much," he whispered, once. "I can think of better ways to use that mouth."

Fuck love. It ends when it ends. Yui thinks. But for a moment she thinks of those dressing room kisses, those caresses on the ice and the suggestive looks on screen, watched by millions and millions of people from around the world.

But gone is where he is. The Viktor she loved; the idea of him that she saw. She looks into the amber liquid in her glass.

( And she wants nothing more than to go with him. )

And there is a field of red roses in her dreams. They all prick her with their sharpened thorns, all except for that single white rose in the centre. It only stands idly, swaying in the wind, but the white one is the one that hurts most when she crushes it beneath her heels in her desperation to wake up.

* * *

Her silence seems to shock them back into their game of abandoned castles and monochrome lenses.

Yui is back to the fake smiles and wicked grins — the ones she's always been good at, just as Viktor is back to the suggestive smirks and amused chuckles that the media never seemed to get enough of. And those fiery touches, the brush of his hand by her hips, the way he leaned down a little too close to talk to her are still there.

Ulterior motives, Yuri thinks. Hidden desires. She wrote a song for him and left her career because of him.

But today, as he slides closer and hands her a pair of gloves, she knows he wants something more.

"Our dearest Yuuri is having some trouble... Feeling." He purrs, "Wouldn't you be so kind as to set an example for him, Yui? Considering that he's based a part of his routine on some of your old ones."

He slides close to her; cold hands on her hips, fingers drawing up untraceable patterns on her arms before eventually ending above her head, pinning her against the rink wall. Lips drawing close to the side of her visage, the warmth of his breath against the shell of her ear. The voice of sirens, sweet and haunting, meant to be used between sheets and bare skins, warm and small spaces where there it was wonderland for only two, treacherous and full of forbidden promises, sweet and haunting, drawing men and women alike to watery graves, into sunken cities of untold treasures and leaving behind ghost towns and dusty roads that were no different. Each move is calculated and timed to deliver the maximum effect for the perfect audience.

Why?

Why?

Why did she crave a man as unattainable as Viktor Nikiforov?

Because Yui is selfish. She is every bit as selfish as Viktor Nikiforov. She wants every bit and piece of every single heart in this world, just solely for the reason she can.

Because like Viktor, she can't settle for second best; it was either all or nothing. She won't take only a sliver, a single slice. Yui is selfish; she doesn't need, she wants, craves, demands to reclaim every part of Viktor Nikiforov's mind and soul and body.