Before- Yuri had just lost. Before he runs off for years.
I found myself looking around the crowded room, the flash mob blinding me. My muscles were sore, and a migraine was settling down on top of my head like a painful crown. Where was Yuri?
I decided to check in the men's bathroom. Oh, the paparazzi would absolutely love to see me go into a men's restroom. As soon as I walked in, I was hit with the sound of a soft sobbing and a bleach-blonde little boy. Wait-- that's the other Yuri. Yurio. He spun around, turning towards me. "God, you're here too? It's a whole party of morons."
I rolled my eyes. I hadn't even had time to change out of my outfit. My legs were cold and tired. "I am wayyyy too tired to fight like this right now, kid." I growled. "Now, if you'll step aside, comrade--" I pushed open Yuri's stall. "I'll be taking my brother home now." I grabbed Yuri's hand, but he just shoved it back. I furrowed my brows.
"Yuri, what's wrong?" He'd never pushed me before. "I just wanna go home."
He looked up at me, tears rolling down his cheeks. "You're not mom! Stop treating me like a little kid! I'm your big brother for Godsakes!"
I took a step back. "Yuri. . . I just--"
He got up, brushing past me. "Face it. We'll never be as good as anyone out there. Not even you. I. . . Have to go." Yuri walked out quickly.
I followed him, grabbing onto the tail of his costume. He snapped around, and yelled. "Y/N! Leave me alone, you brat!"
I let go quickly, bowing my head. "I'm sorry."
His face softened. "I love you."
The world disappeared around us. I quickly wrapped my arms around him. "When're you gonna be back?"
He let go after a few seconds. "When I can look myself in the eye in the mirror."
Yuri walked off silently.
"Seems like you can't even keep a healthy relationship with your brother." Yurio spoke up from behind me.
I spun around, furrowing my brows. "What're you talking about?"
He chuckled. "Even though the original video was take down, it doesn't mean some people like me don't have it." He shook his phone at me. There was a paused video of me from last year.
It was in December, around this time. I had been disqualified from the Grand Prix on account of not showing up to any rehearsals. My boyfriend of five years had broken up with me suddenly, after telling me my best friend was more of a woman than I'd ever be. The video enclosed the paparazzi recording me throwing all of his clothes out the window into a puddle of mud, and setting fire to all his schoolwork. He was already cheating on the course. It wasn't his work. The video had plagued me wherever I went.
I bit my quivering lip, and let out a soft sob. "You're such an asshole!"
"And you're a clingy bitch." He pocketed his phone. "Have fun with life."
I wiped away my tears, and got dressed in the locker room, in a pair of grey joggers, and a hoodie. I plugged some earbuds into my ears, and walked out, my head hanging low. Everyone was gone from the rink and its lobby. I stuffed my hands into my pockets, and started walking.
After a few seconds, I bumped into a very fit body. It knocked the headphones out of my ears, and made me stumble back. A large hand grasped at mine. I steadied myself, and looked up at him. Viktor?
He had long, silver hair, tied up into a ponytail. He was clad in a form-fitting coat. His bright blue eyes were filled with polite concern.
"Are you alright, ma'am?" He asked in simple Japanese, his Russian accent thick.
"Y-yeah." I quickly let go of his hand. "I've got. . . business to attend to." I sniffled, speed walking away from him.
"Wait!" He started, but I was out the door.
What I didn't know was that he had a locket, with picture of my real parents in it. I was adopted at the age of twelve.
That locket was my prized possession.
