PRESTO

nine. "aurora."

"So take, 

a piece of my heart,
and make it all your own,
so when we are apart,
you'll never be alone."

—Shawn Mendes, Never Be Alone

aurora:

dawn,
both a beginning and an end— 
the leaving of the night and the return of day, bringing new hope

***

Yuri. The little boy she left behind in St. Petersburg.

He had taken to her with shining eyes and a determined heart. 

Yuri was like Yuuri. He worshipped her. But the blond spitfire was different from the piglet she grew up with. 

Yuri had idolized her more than he ever did Viktor. Better terrible truths than kind lies. She didn't offer him dreams of sunshine or shine of stars. She gave him shields and daggers and taught him how to craft a sword from metal. 

And then burnt him with that fire.

And Yui wishes, wishes, wishes so hard that it the person who was supposed to teach him the passion of skating, the types of love, the friendships and comrades wasn't her. Wasn't someone's damaged puppy or a glass heart wrapped in thorns. 

Because Yuri didn't deserve that.

"Hi Yuratchka," she said, smiling faintly. "Come. Sit."

By then, most people had departed from the shopping area and began looking for beds in the waiting area. He stares at her for a moment. Then obeys. He collapses onto the cushioned seat beside her. His cheeks are pink with exertion and his golden mane framing his face. 

"I hate you," he said, raising his head and glaring at her with eyes of the brightest emerald. Those emeralds looked wet and filled with angry tears. Those eyes hit her like a punch to the gut. Her own eyes burn, tears searing the edge of eyelids as she looks at Yuri.

Yuri. Yuri who insisted on triple loops when he wasn't ready yet jumped all the same.

Yuri, who scarfs down food she gives him but glares when she laughs at him.

Yuri, who practiced longer than Viktor and loved skating more than Yui ever did. Who clung to their every word despite his demeanour of callousness and fire.

Yuri, who never, ever gave up no matter how much anyone mocked him, put him down or disregarded him. 

Yuri, who's crying and vulnerable and young and alone. And Yui wishes she could return time. Wishes she didn't leave. Not because of Viktor and whatever they had— If they had anything at all. Wishes she didn't bury herself back into black and white music and Keiliy, who would've been fine with her friends and her experiences. Wishes she didn't choose to protect Yuuri— Who, in the end, still had Minako, Yuuko, Takeshi, Mari and his parents.

"I waited. I waited," Yuri said, head bent, face covered by the hood of his leopard printed jacket, a single angry tear slipping down his cheek. "I waited so long, for Viktor to acknowledge me, for you to come back. But then he comes," he spat, more tears slipping down his cheeks, "and I wondered why, why, why it was him and couldn't be me." He raises his head, lips trembling and green eyes so, so hurt. "Why? Was it because I wasn't good enough, Yui? Is that why Viktor never acknowledge me? Is that why you never came back?"