"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?"

Her vision blurs, her mouth opens and closes, but nothing seemed to matter when Yuri through his arms around her waist and cried into her chest. Yui feels her tears slipping down and wrapped her arms around him, stroking the blond hair and made a promise to herself never to let go— Not again. Never again.

* * *

"You'll come again, right?"

"Yes. I will."

She won't give out those false promises any longer.

* * *

https://youtu.be/uLFtmJlzKvE

Suddenly, the world is almost lit alight. They hadn't recoloured fully, like they had been when she was a teenager. But the lines slowly focused, and the colours slowly bled into the buildings, the street, the sidewalks. Yui might never be able to appreciate its beauty again from her own eyes or the camera lenses, might never shake off that feeling of walking inside a dream, but she was recovering, healing, from the pneumonia of the ice storm that had shoved her off the moving train that never stopped. 

Stepping into her apartment building, she glances at the dark sky outside, she gets into the elevator that takes her up to her penthouse. 

As she enters her home, flicking on the lights, she realizes suddenly that its empty. The furniture were cold and futuristic with a hint of warmth with its colours. But it was bare, the walls hung with only paintings of trees and simple designs. The countertop was clean and empty, and if she opened the cupboard, she knew there would only be neatly stacked dishes that were identical in all size, shape and appearance. Her fridge would be empty, so would her bookshelf and drawers filled with materialistic items she almost always chose at her random or passing fancy.

The hallways light up, each door open, and Yui bites her lips at the single locked door. Her storage room, the wonderland of all lost treasures. She steels herself and opens it.

Inside, the cluttered mess was like a surprise return to her childhood bedroom. 

At one end, messes of boxes each stacked atop another dictated their territory, at another corner, paper piles were strewn across the floor. Yuri looked around for a single cardboard box full of memories she had wanted to forget but couldn't destroy. 

Her eyes land on it. 

Writings were scrawled onto the cardboard box. She sank down next to it.

Good luck at Grand Prix, ♡ 
-V

Viktor's free and happy scrawl.

we're both proud of you, darling. be sure to scratch out your mother's cussing for me.
~tou-chan

Her father's lowercase cursive.

don't forget to eat healthy, get proteins and stretch before you go in. we love you lots! kick their ass!
-mama

Her mother's wild, chicken scrawl she inherited. Yui hand shakes as she traces their writing, breath shallow.

She opens that box— Worn and weathered from the covering of tape and its removal. Barely restraining herself from crying, she takes out each photo album and flips through them painstakingly slowly. She looks through them again and again, until she can't cry anymore and only until then, does she pack up the box.

She picks it up and takes it out, leaving the lights on, she goes into her study.

Setting the box down and taking out an album that her parents had given her for her twentieth birthday, she brings out a line-piece of paper and takes out her fountain pen. 

Her hand no longer shakes when she begins to write a letter she should've written two years ago. 

Dear mother and father,

* * *

writing this chap actually hurt me physically, T_T

#saveyurio

the first part of this book was about her pain and the hurting

now, her reconciliation with yuri and breaking her deal with viktor is her healing

in the end, it will conclude with the loving

so basically, i'm finally moving onto new territory and i'm really happy yay!

xx sophie