In the swirl of conflicting feelings, Yuri Plisetsky's blood does not boil. Instead, it chills until it is solid ice, encasing his heart in a frozen cage. Icy shivers trail down his spine and reverberate throughout his body, reaching the very tips of his fingers and toes. His shoulders tremble violently - a result of fear or anger? Yuri did not know. But it did not matter. Here he is now, his hardened, stormy eyes meeting the taunting brightness of brown, soulless orbs. They mock him, remind him of his imperfections, remind Yuri that he is, and always will be, inferior.

Yuri Plisetsky, the young, aspiring figure skater, did not like Yuuri Katsuki, his savior, the only reason his life will have meaning.

"Yurio," Yuuri coos, the sadistic venom dripping from his tongue. The sickening tolerance Yurio had for the raven-haired man diminishes with every word spoken. "Why are you looking at me that way? What have I done? You are the one who has asked for my help."

Hatred churns within Yurio's chest, begging to taste freedom in the form of sharp-tongued insults.

"Don't call me that idiotic nickname, you bastard." Calling Yuuri Katsuki a bastard was such an understatement, and Yuuri proved that he knew that with a pleasant smile.

"Such foul language. Angels shouldn't use such sinful words." Yuuri chuckles. He speaks poetically - nothing more than reminding Yurio that he is one step below him.

"Angels that have fallen can do whatever they want," Yurio retorts. His voice cracks, an indication that he is unsure of himself. He mentally kicks him for showing weakness.

"Angels that have fallen have limited power than the good ones, do they not?"

Yurio rolls his eyes. This conversation is pointless; too flamboyant, too distracting. He wants to get to the point, quick and simple.

"Just tell me what I need to hear."

"Need to hear," Yuuri repeats. He chuckles again, raising his hand to move his dark bangs from in front of his eyes. "Needs are not the same as wants. Do you really need to win the competition? Or is it just a desire, a void that would only be temporarily filled with superficial glory and false happiness?"

Yurio exhales heavily. He hates the way Yuuri speaks - cryptic and mysterious, a swirl of schadenfreude that caused Yuri's eyes to darken further with hatred.

"You know, all you have do is promise me." Yuuri extends his hand, a signal of friendliness that Yurio knew was fake. "Dear Yurio, promise me."

"Promise is an extreme word, piggy," Yurio remarks with another childish insult, staring apprehensively at the hand.

"What is it, then, Yurio?" Yuuri raises an eyebrow, seeming genuinely confused. "You want me to help you? Then just promise me that you are mine. Anything that you do, I own. Anything that you feel, say, or think belongs to me. Promise me, Yurio, that no matter what you do, that you never consider yourself the better skater and that you always follow me. Give me your everything, and I'll give you all that you want and more. Take my hand and complete the promise."

Yurio gulps. Take my hand and complete the promise. There was a sense of dreadful finality that he was not too fond of, and the more cautious part of him kept his hand at bay. Honestly, Yuri Plisetsky seems like an excitable little boy, a young fool who knows not what he does. Yurio is aware of the consequences; he knows of what lies before him, the predator in the darkness waiting for him. In the past, he would have eagerly made the promise if it meant having the gold medal in his possession. Losing himself was just a sacrifice he'd have to make.

But now, doubts plague him. Doubts plague him and he does not know why. But he keeps his arm by his side and simply looks up at Yuuri like a small child turning to an adult for the next line of instruction.

"Don't keep me waiting, Yurio," Yuuri complains after a few moments of silence. "You want to be the champion, don't you? Don't you? Without me, you'll fail. You'll be nothing. All that you've wanted will slip through your calloused little fingers like sand. I see it in those blue eyes: I see the craving to win Allow me to make that happen. Just give me a simple promise."

Yurio slowly raises his arm and places the tips of his fingers against Yuuri's. Warmth immediately washes over his skin. His blood grows hot. A small smirk forms on Yurio's face.

"Piss off, piggy," he says, taking delight at the look of surprise (and a flicker of anger) on Yuuri's face. "I don't need someone who's below me wasting my time anymore."

Yuri Plisetsky slaps Yuuri Katsuki's hand away and turns on his heel, ignoring the low laughter that pierced his back. He takes one steps forward and leaves.

okay okay okay, allow me to explain this.

for ap lit we had to write a faustian bargain (we're currently reading the picture of dorian gray). i was allowed to take a few creative liberties with mine, mainly in the form of that the bargain is suggested but the character ends up rejecting it. i guess it's not quite a faustian bargain at the point but my teacher said it was okay so yeah.

so everyone's ooc on purpose, especially yuuri (i'm sorry for that; imagine it's like corrupted eros or something...i actually like the sound of that lol). i really wanted to write the assignment involving yoi characters because i am yoi trash, and the nature of this story required some tweaking of their personalities. i probably should've switched the roles around, or used different yoi characters, but i still got a good grade on this. everything wasn't perfect, but at least i didn't fail.

maybe one day i'll take this and make it into a way better, more thought-out chapter story.