Wrapped up, so consumed
By all this hurt
If you ask me
Don't know where to start
Anger, love, confusion
Rolls the gold nowhere
x
Came to you with a broken faith
Gave me more than a hand to hold
Caught before I hit the ground
x
Jess Glynne - Take Me Home
Misery couldn't begin to describe the storm of feelings that hit Yuuri, all at once, without warning or mercy.
He was certain, so foolishly certain, that after years of that continuous loop, no one would actually claim him, that the day someone would find him desirable and good enough to keep would never come.
He hadn't allowed their empty words to pass through his barrier, he couldn't allow himself to believe that he was precious as they claimed, valuable like they always said, or beautiful as most of them called him.
He knew he wasn't any of that; he was just different to them, out of the ordinary; he merely had eyes that people weren't accustomed to see, but he was a dime of dozen all the same.
Yet, someone eventually proved them right.
And that someone happened to be the Tsar of Russia.
Fear like no other struck his frame, the night the slave merchant captured him and beat him bloody couldn't have compared to what he was now feeling, helpless, powerless, and so completely alone.
Painful recollections made their unwelcomed appearance in his mind, the most striking was of the first time a Madam called him for private training.
He remembered how she took him to a dark room, undressed him, and sat him down, her eyes swallowing his body whole.
He remembered how she never touched him, but forced Yuuri to follow her orders and touch himself, in places that had never been violated before that night, his own hands turning filthy on his skin with every defiling movement.
'Relax,' she used to say, ignoring the sight of his tears, his humiliation. 'You'll get used to it.'
'It's what they all want you for.'
'You have to know what to do, they will expect you to.'
'It will be painful, it always is, but you can never show it.'
'When the time comes, don't struggle.'
After so long, after so many sessions from different teachers, each one more repulsing than the one before it, he had convinced himself that the time would never come, that he would somehow keep his innocence as a former noble intact until he wouldn't be forced to hand it away along with everything else he had given.
But reality never ceased to bring him down.
His hands and knees trembled, his feet refusing to move even after all the other slaves had left the hall.
What will become of him? How long will it take? Will it ever end?
Will he finally reach for that knife?
'Don't ever attempt to follow my footsteps, little one.'
Minako, he chanted desperately, Minako, Minako, Minako.
Minako.
Minako.
Minako.
"-ss Minako."
His breath hitched.
Russian filled his ears from various sources, sounds varying from hushed to loud that he couldn't pick their exact meaning; they never taught him beyond basic words and phrases before he was sent there.
Yuuri's body stilled, his eyes struggling for focus but to no avail, they seldom helped him with anything but turn his life into a misery, they couldn't even help him see well enough.
But his ears helped, his ears that were now filled with a long, torturing ring, helped.
Because amidst the destructive thoughts and whirlwinds of fear, Yuuri failed to notice a very important detail.
The woman, the woman with the burned face.
She had spoken to him in Japanese, clean, pure, unaccented Japanese.
And just then, merely a few seconds ago, someone had called her name.
"Miss Minako."
Again.
Someone was calling her in the present and it wasn't coming from the voices inside his head, not this time.
"Miss Minako, you are needed in the north wing."
"Aye," it was a voice he had long forgotten, but the memories were thundering back in when the woman turned, her Russian flawless, but tone unmistakable. "I'll head there after I finish with this."
He heard footsteps behind him, and Yuuri, for the first time since he came there, finally lifted his head, and turned around shakily, his eyes widening at the sight before him.
"Oi, pretty one," she forced a smile, nodding toward the exit. "It's time to go."
"Minako…" Yuuri spoke, tone chocked and eerie, "Minako…" He walked toward her slowly, knowing from the expression taking over her features that he looked absolutely insane. "M-Minako… Minako… Minako-sensei?"
Her eye went wide, her pupil dilating three times as large at the name, "Yuu-"
"Minako-sensei," Yuuri almost shouted, his voice echoing through the space around them. Desperately, his hands flew to her direction, covering her cheeks tightly with his trembling palms, forcing her head to bend upward. His hold was harsh, despite himself, "W-what are you – how did you - your… your face - oh, my god… you're beautiful face – who -"
A strong, forceful hand came in between them, pushing Yuuri away from her roughly, almost making him stumble backwards with the strength of it.
"You are a property of the Tsar." The guard said, his voice cold as ice, his dark eyes livid. "Know your place."
It was easy to forget, it was easy to see a light of hope and forget the situation he was in, but nothing failed to remind Yuuri of what he was, of who he belonged to, of who he was allowed to touch and who was the only person allowed to touch him.
Because for a concubine, intimacy toward anyone but their owner was merely a sin.
Only then did he see her clearly from the short distance. Not being blinded by emotions any longer, and the guard's short height not blocking the view entirely, Yuuri was able to to see one of her eyes, permanently closed, a net of burns stretching from it and toward the side of her forehead, exposing a part of her scalp. Another trail started from under her clothes, moving toward her neck, across her jaw, and ending at her lower lip.
One of the most beautiful women of the Japanese empire was gone and replaced by a form Yuuri could barely recognize.
Because what was beauty against the cruelty of the world?
Minako blinked, the combination of her pink, red, and pale face turning into nonchalance. She smiled warmly, her hand resting on the guard's arm between them.
"Ah, you protect me in such tactical ways, Otabek." She said, "It's alright, I know this man."
The guard lowered his arm, yet his eyes didn't leave him, nor the coldness in them. He was frightening, Yuuri thought, despite how young he looked. "Are you sure, Miss Minako?"
Her smile dropped. "Yes. Yes, I am."
Yuuri stood still, his heartbeat escalating to the point of pain, his mind a jumble of maddening realizations. His hand reached out to his armlet on instinct, and her eye followed it, the emotions warming the brown color into a glassier shade. He froze, suddenly feeling utterly ashamed.
"Come." Minako said, her tone hardly as leveled as she tried to make it sound, the devastation in his former dance teacher was clear as day. "Follow me."
She exchanged a couple of quick whispers with the guard, avoiding eye contact with him as she then moved toward the exit, faster than was considered necessary, Yuuri having no choice but to trail after her, the eyes of everyone present piercing holes into his head.
He watched her back, and remembered, once upon a time, when he had to look up to see her clearly, since she was always above his level of sight. But now, even with the fact that Yuuri was considerably taller, he still had to look up.
He was still beneath her, and this time, it had nothing to do with height.
It was just human identity now.
A few years, almost a lifetime ago, Yuuri could have never known the true value of affection, something that he had taken for granted since birth, something he was accustomed to and would have never thought would be denied from him for so long.
She had broken down the moment she took Yuuri to her private quarters.
Her arms around him were warm, warmer than the fireplace in the corner of that dark, small room.
Her hair was soft, softer than the fur rug under his freezing bare feet, its scent divine and a reminder of home.
Her voice was painful music in his ears, filled with sobs and exclamations of sadness and despair.
"Yuuri," she whispered, pained and helpless, her tears soaking his clothed shoulder. "Oh, Yuuri, what have you done?"
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry… I'm so-"
"I told you… I told you not to, I had told you so many times."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He repeated, again and again and again, not knowing what else to say. "I'm so sorry. Sensei, please forgive me – please, please…"
"Yuuri," she gasped softly, painfully, "How can I forgive myself?!"
It might have been hours, or mere minutes, but he couldn't tell, he didn't know how long they stayed like that in each other's arms, with endless streams of tears, with endless hurtful conversations about the past, its cruelty, and its mistakes, as Yuuri recalled all the series of events that had gotten him to the state she found him in.
He didn't know who was more broken after it, Minako, or himself.
At some point, she couldn't take it anymore, her feet giving out until she forced herself to detach from him and sit on the desk behind them, suddenly looking years older than she was before the conversation started.
"They think that I'm evaluating you, so don't worry; you'll be safe for the night." Minako finally spoke, after long minutes of silence, "Yuuri," she sighed, her voice gruff from crying, "What am I going to do with you?"
"I can dance," he said, his fingers playing with the golden armlet unconsciously, only when Minako looked at it the same way she did before did he stop. "I can sing, I speak four languages fluently and can understand almost eight. I can read, I can write, I can clean, cook, garden, draw, scalp, sew," he paused, sinking into the chair in front of her. "Anything," he gulped, his voice turning into a weak whisper. "I can do anything, just don't send me there."
"Yuuri…" she rubbed a hand down her face, "If you have been in the trade for so long, then you should know that it's not in my hands." She frowned, but not at him. "There is not much that I can do."
"I know but-"
"The Tsar saw you and assigned you in the harem himself," she interrupted him, "His wishes are law, you understand that, don't you? Disobeying him is a crime against the empire. You will be hanged if you even-"
"Then so be it." His hands clutched into fists on his lap, his words venomous. "I'd… I'd rather die anyway."
"Don't say such things." Her good eye narrowed at him in poorly disguised anger. "Don't say such things to me, not after all this."
"Then what do you expect me to do?!" Yuuri exclaimed, "Sensei, I-"
"There's not much, but there's some."
"Huh?"
She groaned tiredly, rummaging through the papers on the table in front of her. "I can't stand by as they turn you into a whore, now, can I?"
"You won't?"
She smiled thinly for a second before her glare returned to the papers, "A banquet will be held in a week, in the honor of the Tsesarevich - the heir of the empire," Minako started, "He's the Tsar's cousin, and they will be celebrating his permanent move into the castle-"
Her hands stopped their rummaging in sudden realization. "You have to dance there, Yuuri," Minako clinched her teeth, "I'm afraid there's nothing I can do to prevent that." She looked at him determinedly, her next words filled with reassurance. "After you manage through this, I'll do everything I can to keep you safe. I'll hide you when it's necessary and reassign you all over the castle every time I can, but you have to stay in the harem, I don't want suspicions drawn to you."
Minako must have seen the fear in his eyes as her posture changed to a stiffer one.
"He chooses a concubine once every fortnight, on the days of the Taking, I'll find you excuses to keep you away then, I know I can do it." She said, "The Tsar prefers men, but lately he lays with women so people won't accuse him of not wanting heirs, and also, there are new concubines coming in into the castle almost every week, it won't be hard to remain unseen."
"Dancing in a banquet will make it hard." Yuuri replied bitterly.
"The Tsar already knew you were a dancer." Her eye met both of his in serious contemplation. "Originally, I was going to recruit you for that reason only, you see, your previous owner claimed many things about your talent, I've heard all of it myself." The statement was almost laced with pride, but worry dominated it, "That's why I was there, I don't come to see new slaves often," she put a hand under her chin, uncertain, "I don't know why the Tsar did what he did, but he indicated you… almost instantly."
"S-sensei…" Yuuri pursed his lips, each new information more scary than the other. He didn't know where to even begin, let alone process what she was telling him, it seemed important, but he couldn't focus any longer. "I… I can't dance. Not in front of a large crowd like that. Not yet. I can't. It was only that one time-"
"You have to." Her burnt jaw tightened, as if what she was hearing was nonsense. "Your previous owner told him that you're the best dancer he had seen, and the Tsar is expecting to see just that." She sucked in a long breath, "Yuuri, I don't want any surprises, good or bad; he does unexpected things when he's surprised. At least, if you danced like they said you would, he will be more forgiving when I tell him that you're sick or unable to be present in the harem during the Taking, if he ever noticed, that is."
"I – I –" his gaze glued on his lap, the fear and anxiety returning, crippling his tongue.
"Yuuri, listen to me, don't be scared." She put her hand on his, "This is all just for precaution, you understand? The Tsar is very forgetful, and there are so many concubines in the harem he probably won't see you even if you were there. I'm only making sure you're safe, little one, just do as I say." She laced their fingers, smiling. "No surprises, alright?"
He nodded stiffly. "No surprises."
But then again, Yuuri never knew what the Tsar considered as a surprise, and what he didn't.
Someday, he'll come to regret not knowing.
The imperial harem was everything that Yuuri expected it to be, and everything he wished it wasn't.
Slaves, young, lively, and the prettiest he had seen in one place, dressed in expensive silk and covered with jewels, serving as the dishes that were waiting to be feasted on, competing with each other on which one looked more appealing to the eye.
He had never mingled long enough to understand the true nature and mindset of those slaves, since Yuuri spent most of his days as a special case, a gift that was being prepared and isolated from the rest, a dish that was getting cooked slowly so it could be sent to another table; he was never a part of them.
But now he was, now he was where he belonged, where he would stay until his body was useless.
And they weren't like him.
They never feared to be devoured, they were never afraid of what was coming, of what they presented to the rest of the world.
Quite the contrary, they all seemed buoyant in regards to their position, and anything that compromised it was a danger to them.
They stared at him with pure hatred and resentment the moment he stepped into their space, for merely being there. They kept their distance and whispered spite behind his back whenever he as much breathed in their direction.
When they were not busy seeing him as a threat and glaring begrudgingly his way, they were preparing themselves with massive excitement, finding the perfect dresses to wear, the shiniest jewelry to decorate themselves with, and debating in utmost seriousness on the style of their hair for the banquet.
Soon he learned that in the mind of the concubines around him, being chosen by the Tsar was one of the greatest privileges of their lives.
It fit, but Yuuri tried to not believe it, he tried not to believe that they were fancying themselves as bodies of sex and pleasure, and nothing else.
He, incredulously, began to realize that he was the only one who was scared and revolted by the idea of being there.
'Not many could be royal concubines, Yuuri, they are probably being treated better than they ever were before slavery,' Minako tried to explain to him, albeit Yuuri knew she didn't quite understand it fully herself. 'Many of them were trained from a very young age; it's their purpose of life to serve the Tsar, to be in his bed.'
He also realized, in absolute relief, that his biggest fear was not reasonable to begin with, because there were so many pretty faces and desirable bodies inside the walls of the harem, so many he couldn't count, colorful, unique, attractive and all willing, that Yuuri knew the chances of him being chosen one day was practically none at all.
The Tsar never picked a concubine more than once, he learned, yet the ones that were chosen, especially the women, were considered lucky, blessed, and they were easy to distinguish from the rest, with the way they walked with pride, wearing twice the amount of jewels, dressed in the more expensive silk, and radiating with the widest smirks.
One of the biggest reasons for the insanity surrounding him was the fact that the Tsar was, presumably, quite gorgeous.
Yuuri had never seen him, having avoided exposure like it was poisonous ever since he arrived, but Yuuri had heard so many things from so many different people that he began to believe that the man must've looked unimaginable, he was nothing short of a god in their eyes, judging by the poetry told about him on every waking minute.
'The Tsar?' Minako didn't even think too hard about it when he asked her, 'Honestly speaking, he's more beautiful than the whole harem combined.'
Minako didn't exaggerate or fawn over him, she never did, not as far as Yuuri had seen, his looks were completely irrelevant to her.
So Yuuri already decided that it was true.
The Tsar was young; twenty four as of last winter, with eyes that were bluish, green, turquoise, teal, or sapphire – everyone described it differently – he was graceful, as expected, charming, as everyone claimed, and most desirable feature of all, was that he was the ruler of the Russian empire, one, if not the most powerful nation in the world.
And he was frighteningly lustful, Yuuri knew that even if no one told him; his concubines were constantly replaced, removed, and recruited from every country around the world; there were new faces almost every day, countless bodies for one man to use.
It was disgusting.
The most irrational part was that their hatred for Yuuri was ever present and not fading; in costume, only Madams chose new concubines for the harem, based on the amount of training each of them received and their physical appeal, hence it was a rare occasion that their Tsar would pick one himself.
And Yuuri was picked, for his eyes, and they loathed him for it.
He constantly wanted to shout at them, tell them to look at the mirrors, notice what they all had and he didn't, compare themselves to him and see that he was not one of them, that he was not even close to being handsome, let alone presentable when he stood in the same light as these men and women.
'Why is he here?' The whispers never failed to reach his ears, from every mouth and corner around him. 'His eyes are so strange and horrid.'
'He thinks he's special.'
'The sight of him sickens me.'
'When are they going to get rid of him?'
'He doesn't deserve to be here.'
'Did the Tsar really choose him?'
'Look at him.'
'Cocky.'
'Arrogant. '
'Undeserving.'
'Worthless'
'Ugly.'
'Hideous'
'Ugly.'
'Ugly.'
'Ugly.'
One day, he began to think, one day, he would bring that knife he so badly craved, and instead of sliding it across his neck, he would stab both of his eyes so all this could end.
"Here," Minako shuffled into the room hurriedly, a bundle of black silk in her hand, "Wear this, it's the best I could find."
Yuuri sat there, in Minako's private courters, anxiety rubbing her ugly hands around the surface of his mind, the loud sounds of music and chatter outside the room making everything seem worse.
"Yuuri?"
He took the outfit from her unwillingly, his palms trembling and sweaty. The music turned louder. The chatter was deafening. "I can't do this."
"Here, look at me." Minako grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her in the eye. "Relax."
'Relax, you'll get used to it.'
His lips trembled.
She noticed the almost dangerous shift of his aura and pulled away, standing with her hands still and gaze thoughtful.
This shouldn't have been happening, not now; he knew Minako had far more important duties to attend to than his pathetic dilemma, Yuuri still didn't understand what her role in the castle was, since they avoided that subject willfully, he didn't ask what had happened to her face and body, or how she was captured and enslaved, but he knew that the whole banquet was organized by her and that she was far more important than he comprehended.
Furthermore, his panic was unreasonable; Yuuri knew that, he had spent the entire week listening as the choirs practiced the music in the halls, his piece already memorized, his dance choreographed and ready, every movement polished to perfection.
But the sounds were so loud.
There were so many people outside.
And he had to expose himself, to them, to him.
He spotted the red from the corner of his eyes, the color inviting and seductive. Yuuri quickly grabbed the large container of wine with shaking hands, pulling the head of it into his mouth and sipping down the alcohol with fearful gulps, hoping that it would work like the last time they forced him to perform in front of a crowd.
The liquid was spilling over his chin, and Yuuri barely calmed himself down to swallow any of it, the bitterness too harsh on his tongue.
He heard a soft sigh, and the glass container was taken away from him. Minako gently placed it on the table, a small smile on her lips. "I'm selfish, Yuuri."
He looked at her uncertainly. "W-what?"
"I'm not the woman I used to be," she said, "Now, now I can barely stretch my leg," she lifted her leg ever so slightly as a demonstration, the movement not even resembling a large step, yet she winced in pain and it proved that yes, Yuuri's suspicions were right, and it wasn't only her face that was burned beyond repair. The gods were crueler than he thought. "I haven't danced in years," her leg returned to the floor shakily, "But I was excited for tonight, more than I should be."
Yuuri understood what she was telling him, and he closed his eyes, his breathing returning to its stable crescendo.
"I want to see what my oldest student can do, aren't I selfish?" she said in amusement, "But you will show me, won't you? Maybe I could get a glimpse of my old self tonight, or who knows, maybe even something better."
"You will." Yuuri found himself saying, his words a promise. "You will."
Her smile broadened. "I'm looking forward to it, little one."
If freedom was a lover, then Yuuri was completely heartbroken.
The piece he was given to dance on wasn't unfamiliar, he had danced for it times before and he found the true meaning behind every beat and lyric corresponded too fittingly to what he was experiencing, it was always easy to display longing and despair, when Yuuri felt those emotions so often and without fail.
He muted the sounds, he blinded his eyes and refused to face the hundreds of people around him, gazes harsh and expectations high on the dancer in the middle of the hall, giving them the display of art they demanded.
The chandelier above him was sparkling and animated as Yuuri broke into his opening pose, his neck bent upward and the back of his hand brushing delicately across his forehead, his body twirling in sync around its axis, he swayed to the side, the steps of his dance done almost unconsciously as he lost himself with the music of the violins.
The piece was originally an opera, but there was no singer this time, just easy, enchanting strokes of melody, picking up speed smoothly as Yuuri stretched his arm forward, grabbing for the love that was taken away before he had a taste of it.
He was dancing for freedom, longing for it, pleading for it to return, to stay close to him and never leave.
With his eyes closed, he could imagine it, him, dancing without a golden armlet, on the biggest stage there ever was, where people paid to see him perform, to see him dressed in an outfit he himself chose, an outfit that wasn't so strikingly feminine, not hugging his waist too tightly, restricting his movement, the loose straps on his shoulders not revealing so much skin, the pants he wore not so wide and difficult to dance with, and the golden chocker necklace around his neck, matching his armlet, not there at all to make it hard for him to breathe.
He could imagine it; a suit, sparkly, comfortable, graceful, and blue, he loved wearing blue… no one gave him blue to wear, they always dressed him in black and red – the colors of seduction, but Yuuri didn't want to seduce anyone, he just wanted to dance, to dive in blue, and silver, not gold, he didn't want gold anymore.
The picture was so vivid he was smiling, sadly and mournfully, both of his hands were in front of him, beckoning for his forbidden love to join him, and Yuuri opened his eyes.
Blue.
That blue, exactly like he imagined.
He could dance for it now, without closing his eyes, it was right in front of him, bluer than anything he had ever seen.
And he danced, his gaze returning to it in every turn and sway, so easy to find, always on him and never leaving even for a fraction of a second. The music was reaching its peak, but Yuuri could barely hear it; he didn't need the music to guide him, when he danced, he made his own music, the melody followed him and not the other way around.
He was soaring, because how couldn't he? When he had just seen the most bewitching blue that ever was?
His arms crossed around each other, his spine bending into an arch and his palms resting on each of his shoulders. Yuuri's eyes found the chandelier again, and it turned blurrier, the sparkles not as intense as they were before. His body was aflame, his face turning red from exhaustion, the flush no doubt spreading down to his neck.
Yuuri's vulnerability returned, stronger than ever, the fear doubling in strength as the entire hall filled with silence.
He heard a clap, singular and powerful, and suddenly the whole medium around him erupted in the loudest noise in pursuit, deafening applause and various fiery exclamations, in all languages he could recognize.
And Yuuri was scared.
He was scared, because the Tsar's eyes were so blue, his hair was so silver, his clapping was so loud, and he was the most beautiful man he had ever seen.
