Rosy Skies (Otayuri)

Daybreak

Curled up in bed, Yuri listened intently as Viktor animatedly recounted his trips out to sea. At five years old, Yuri still had another thirteen years ahead of him before he would even be allowed to venture out to the beach. He was bursting with excitement, hardly able to contain himself. How on earth could he be expected to wait that long? He wished that he could just be all grown up already so that he could experience the ocean for himself.

For the time being, however, he would simply have to make do with his cousin's vivid descriptions.

Yuri could glimpse the glittering water through his window, but he had never stood on the actual shore. He oftentimes let his imagination run wild, picturing what types of creatures might flourish in the ocean's depths. He frequently ate fish, so that part wasn't too difficult, but Viktor spoke of beasts with eight arms that had suction cups on them! Yuri was in awe. How could such a creature exist?

Viktor also told him about aquatic plants with wavy tentacles, giant fish with sharp teeth, and colorful slugs that inched over the frilly reef. What intrigued him the most, however, were the tales of the merpeople; Yuri liked to picture what it would be like to swim among them underneath the glittering waves.

As much as Yuri loved hearing his cousin's stories, his eyes were slowly sliding shut. Viktor's words gradually came to a gentle halt. The last thing that Yuri felt before he drifted off was a soft kiss pressed onto his forehead.

"Goodnight, Yuratchka."

~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Yuri was around twelve years old, he had slowly become withdrawn. He hid his loneliness with a brash exterior. The only people that he confided in were Viktor and his beloved grandfather. They seemed to be the only ones that could empathize with what the weight of royal responsibilities on someone's shoulders felt like.

Yuri was expected to be the next king, but he had no desire to be a leader.

"Just let Viktor be king," Yuri would grumble, always prompting firm lectures from his grandfather about how the monarchical system worked. Because Viktor was Yuri's cousin on the other side of his family, he would only ascend to the throne if both Plisetskys died.

Which was a shame, because the pressure of ruling a country was the last thing that Yuri wanted.

The only time that he was able to find some peace was when he was in his garden. Although he would never admit it out loud, he loved his little plants. Every day they seemed to grow stronger and taller, extending towards the azure sky like they were reaching up to heaven.

A little stream cut through the land, and a weeping willow hung over it like a guardian. Its peridot tendrils brushed against the water, and the current tugged at them tenderly. In the shade cast by the tree, tiny daisies poked out of the grass.

Along the creek, amethyst-hued irises gently swayed in the breeze. Patches of sapphire and diamond chamomile looked up at the sun with their little yellow heads. An arch stretched over the stone pathway leading down from the palace, and ruby-colored roses twined up it.

Yuri spent hours there, sometimes from dawn until dusk. He would gladly kneel in the dirt, even if it was sweltering, and lovingly tend to his flowers. He yanked up weeds that threatened to strangle his plants, and nourished them with fertilizer and water. Sometimes he sat on the bank and cooled his feet in the stream while reading a book.

"Your skin's going to tan and you'll look like a commoner!" people always berated him. Yuri didn't care in the slightest. In fact, he would often intentionally position himself in direct sunlight to spite them. Little freckles dusted his face like stars, garnering strange looks in court. They didn't seem to appreciate the poetry held in them.

Every other aspect of his life was controlled, so if this was what freedom cost, he was going to have as many damn spots as he pleased. All of the rules and regulations that he was supposed to adhere to were stifling, threatening to snuff out his light of individuality and choke him to death.

Still, he tried his very best to rebel against what was expected of him. Instead of putting on the elaborate and pinchy footwear that was fashionable, he went barefoot as much as possible. Grime frequently smudged his hands and cheeks, and his torn clothing bore fresh grass stains. Instead of being neatly trimmed at his hips like Viktor's was, Yuri's hair hung to his thighs and was still growing.

However, just because Yuri refused to cut it didn't mean he wouldn't complain about how tangled it got on his adventures on the grounds. Taking pity on him, Viktor spent many a night working a comb through all of the knots in his cousin's golden hair. As he did so, he would sing lullabies or tell stories about the ocean.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the years, Yuri's curiosity about the sea had diminished. After all, why would he want to go down to the beach when he could be spending time in his garden? He mostly brushed aside the strange tug that he felt occasionally when he'd see the water from his bedroom window. It was inconsequential, he told himself. Like it or not, his fate was laid out before him. He would become the king, even if he didn't want to.

Viktor gradually spent less and less time with Yuri, and by the time Yuri was fifteen, the storytelling had ceased altogether. He wondered if his cousin, who he'd regarded as a brother, simply didn't like him any longer. Eventually his sense of longing for the way things used to be hardened into a sense of bitterness and betrayal. Whenever he saw Viktor walking in his direction, he would glare at the floor and ignore him.

Yuri suspected that Viktor was seeing some lady, and was opting to spend time with her instead. He found himself hating her, despite the fact that they'd never met. It was obvious that Viktor didn't care about him anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~

On Yuri's sixteenth birthday, Viktor didn't even stop by to say hello. A servant did deliver a small package and an envelope, but Yuri didn't open either of them.

Instead, he slumped onto his bed and petted his cat. Left alone with his thoughts, his mind wandered to the pressures of what being king would be like. Clenching the sheets in his fists, his anxiety mounted. Stressed, he pulled the covers around himself and fell asleep, tossing and turning the whole night.

The next morning, Yuri was informed by a frantic servant that Viktor had eloped. With a man. The minute he found out, Yuri fled to his room and tore the letter open. He felt his heart tear in half at the same time as the blue wax seal.

The letter was a goodbye.

Infuriated, Yuri crumpled the parchment into a ball and threw it across the room. 'Trust Viktor to not think things all the way through,' he thought, eyes brimming with furious tears. He wept for hours, until his ducts ran dry. His eyes were incredibly sore and puffy. He collapsed onto his canopy bed, stomach and chest aching, and fell into a deep sleep. He was completely drained of energy.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The next year dragged by terribly. Viktor sent him an unmarked letter now and then, but Yuri refused to read any of them. How could he just leave him like that, without any warning? How could he let Yuri lose one of the only two people that he actually loved and trusted?

Seventeen-year-old Yuri was even more reclusive than his sixteen-year-old self had been. He had always been slender, but he soon grew sickly thin. He just didn't feel motivated to eat, although his grandfather begged him to do so.

To make matters worse, Nikolai Plisetsky's own health was steadily failing. It seemed that age was finally catching up to him. Whether it was his trembling hands, his incessant coughing, or his stumbling steps, it was an unspoken truth that his time was slowly running out. The grains of sand in his hourglass continued to slip.

Yuri felt helpless. It was as if he were drowning in everything that he was expected to live up to, and he just needed someone to throw him a rope.

Nobody did, although his grandfather tried.