Moon - Yuri Plisetski

Lēoht

II.

His radiant smile,
His bedazzling light,
His intoxicating voice--
She needed all of him.
After all, she was merely a mirror to his fire.
It was only if she borrowed his blaze,
Then she would posses the capability to illuminate.

---

"What the hell are you doing here?" Freya nearly tripped from the winding stairs that led to the townhouse dining room. Her green irises widened by a fraction as she gaped at Yuri, Mila, and Yakov slowly chewing their breakfast. Upon hearing her, they wore the same confounded expressions as she did.

Mila took her question as an opportunity to let out her overly cheery voice-- the kind that annoyed Yuri to shreds. "Shouldn't we be asking you that, Freya-dear? Well, Madame Lilia did mention another guest staying-- I just never thought it would be you."

Yuri rolled his eyes at the older woman's statement. He already had everything figured out. She was, after all, a Baranovskaya. He might not have had the chance to truly get to know both his new mentor and his designer. However, it didn't take a rocket scientist to see their resemblance.

Both had the same aura of sophistication and prestige. Although Lilia Baranovskaya was known to flaunt her regal-likeness, Freya clothed herself in a way that would create the perception of maturity in spite of age.

Apart from the distinction of talent and riches, they physically did look alike. Freya unconsciously holds her head high; indicating authority just as her aunt does. The embossed skin of her prominent collarbones were lightly covered by the knee-length satin of her peach nightgown. They looked soft. Almost too soft for a woman who emanated great strength.

Her overall presence was overwhelming, but her eyes were the ones that truly stole Yuri's complete attention. The bright shade of lemon green irises held vigor and a stronger fire than that of Lilia's. Unlike her aunt, Freya's eyes showed a fire burning hungrily. Using confirmation to his hunch as an excuse, Yuri inconspicuously gawked at Freya before rolling his eyes at Mila.

"They have the same surnames, baba." Yuri grunted while sticking his spoon to his mouth.

"But still... How would I have known the guest would be her?"

Freya blinked thrice and made her way to the seat opposite to Yuri. The blonde figure skater and Mila were still caught up in their dispute when Freya poured cereal into an unused bowl. If she hadn't sat down earlier, she would've fallen as her legs felt like jelly. Her heart was ready to beat it's way out of her chest but she knew she had to calm herself down.

An audible sigh escaped her lips as she clarified, "I'm technically not a guest here. If it wasn't for it's distance being relatively far from the city, I'd probably live here."

For the sake of her reputation amongst the three, she tried her hardest to act demure. In reality, however, she couldn't stand being in the same room as him for too long. Yuri made her feel things she never wanted to experience-- the art of unrequited infatuation.

"See, Yuri! She's not a guest, she's a resident. Case closed, kiddo!" Mila's hand reached out for Yuri's hair and ruffled it. Platinum blonde strands stuck out on different sides of his head and his eyes shifted into a murderous glare. If it weren't for Yakov's firm grip on the back of his black shirt, the townhouse kitchen would've been a crime scene there and then.

Deciding she didn't want to get involved in the rowdy atmosphere, Freya took her bowl of milk and cocoa puffs back to her room. Striding back to the winding stairway, she smiled to herself while serving herself an overfilled spoon with breakfast. With the way his hair messed up in undebriefed directions, Freya realized that Yuri Plisetski's almost resembled a sun.

---

Freya spent the rest of the day undisturbed as she started building up Yuri's soon-to-be costume. A black base color was laid out on the mannequin while she based the measurements on Yuri's previous outfits. Her nimble hands fidgeted from time to time while she worked. She hadn't completely worked the design out. But she had a pretty good idea as to where it was going.

Aunt Lilia had already told her the piece she would be choreographing for the Russian skater. Piano concerto in B minor Allegro Appassionato. Freya had heard the song beforehand and instantly noticed its intense feel. It was fast paced like fire eating through paper. She had already thought of putting little detail on the whole ensemble and focus on giving the illusion of a flame.

Her sketchpad laid flat on her desk. It was brimming details to pertain tulle and the gloved sleeves. The little feathery accents, however, still didn't have a color. Instead, she marked with a pencil, 'orange?' ; an arrow pointed to the design. She hummed to herself as she worked in her own pace. Just then, a voice interupted her fluid motions and replacing it with a surprised jolt.

"If I didn't know any better, it looks as if the costume itself was burnt and mended." Freya had been too concentrated in her own little world, that she hadn't noticed the familiar blonde skimming through the pages of her sketch pad. A dash of amusement was read through his stony voice façade.

"Y-yuri?" Freya was at loss of words and a darker shade of red was splashed in her already-rosy skin tone.

Yuri's fingers gingerly dabbed at the crisp pages. His attention seemed to be in full throttle towards the portfolio as he felt the different textured within the worn leather notebook. There were thinning areas of when watercolor met paper, the deepened lines of pencil scratches; and sometimes, he'd see squares of cloth taped to the papers.

Freya stood absolutely stunned at Yuri's spontaneous visit. Her mouth hung slightly agape as he flipped through each of the pages on her drawing journal-- her life's work. Maybe it was the way the sunlight peeping through her curtains kissed his pale skin, lighting his hair into a white beacon. Or perhaps it was the way he gave each artwork the recognition like they were parts of her. Freya couldn't reason out why, but her heart clenched as if it was being tickled.

Yuri's youthful yet masculine voice shook her from her thoughts."Make it pink-- and maybe a bit of red."

"P-pink? What?"

"Yeah," Yuri smilingly hummed at her. It wasn't like those arrogant smirks he gave away to the media. It had a teaspoon of appreciation and gratitude mixed in a tiny facial expression."I'm not sure if you know this, but orange isn't my color, Frey."

Freya nodded in understanding as her hands fumbled with the hem of her shirt. She shifted her gaze to her fuzzy bunny slippers, trying to avoid looking at him. His attention once again gravitated towards the drawings. She silently wished she would see his smile once again. And although his sea-green irises had focused towards her masterpieces, his peripherals were very much engrossed on their artist. At that moment, Yuri Plisetski's heart skipped a beat.