Regrets collect, like old friends

Here to relive your darkest moments

I can see no way... I can see no way...

x

Every demon wants his pound of flesh

But I like to keep some things to myself

x

I've been a fool, and I've been blind

I can never leave the past behind

x

I'm always dragging that horse around

All of his questions, such a mournful sound

x

It's hard to dance, with a devil on your back

And given half a chance, would I take any of it back?

x

I'm damned if I do, and I'm damned if I don't

So here's to drinks in the dark

At the end of my rope

x

Florence + The Machine - Shake It Out


The yard at the back of their palace in Hasetsu had the most beautiful view of the sea, Yuuri remembered, his wretched past taking advantage of the slightest crack in his walls and forcing its appearance behind his closed eyelids once again.

Yuuri, barely eight years of age, had allowed himself to admire the reflection of the sun across the waters that late afternoon, for it was such a pretty thing to look at during that time of the day.

His hair that had then reached a little below his shoulders - something his mother would have loved to see - was bouncing with the wind in its loosely tied ponytail. Yuuri was trying to brush the strands away from his face when his ears detected a collection of familiar, comforting sounds: the tension of a string, a twang, and a loud thud.

Mari's eyes were sharp, and the shine in them was dangerous as she released another arrow into the air, unsurprisingly hitting the middle of the target across the yard in perfect aim. It was a scene that Yuuri had witnessed countless of times before, a scene that rarely had any other outcome.

His teachers had praised Yuuri for being somewhat a decent dancer for his age, but Mari, Mari was one of the best archers in the empire.

Yuuri didn't understand the joy she found in it back then; the whole practice seemed uneventful, boring, and with Mari's skills, it was one of the most repetitive and predictable things to watch.

Mari's arrows were at least decorated with colorful feathers that Yuuri liked to follow with his eyes when they were shot, creating a fascinating red flash for fractions of a second every time. His older sister was fond of the color red, and had a hobby of collecting every feather with a similar shade and attaching it to the head of her arrows as her signature. Yuuri requested her to at least use one blue feather, for once, but she had refused, and thus Yuuri lost interest in that too eventually.

In those early, clueless years, he did not see many things. He did not notice that nearly all the feathers, although collected from different birds, had the same dark intensity of color when the arrows attached to the target. He did not take any time to observe how they were dressed with an additional pigment, rendered only by the blood from Mari's tired and wounded fingers due to her excessive, brutal practice that day.

'What's the matter, Yuuri?' Mari had asked, not bothering to look at him. She was busy grabbing another arrow without even checking where the previous one had landed.

The target was overflowing, with little to no space left for any more assault, but she did not seem to care.

'You didn't come with me to the Meinichi today.'

'I know. I'm sorry.' She lowered her bow, her lips thinning. 'But Ane-sama does not like it when people see her cry, Yuuri. It's a sign of weakness. Though, I'm sure you did well on your own, didn't you?'

'I didn't cry, either.' Because he did not know where he was taken that morning, or why. But Yuuri did not admit that. 'Everyone else did.'

'I hope you never have to cry from sorrow, Yuuri.' She sighed, softly adding: 'I hope you never become old enough to understand what it is.'

'It was about Oka-sama and Otou-sama,' Yuuri explained, showing her that he wasn't completely ignorant, even if he was only repeating what he was told word by word. 'We went to the cemetery and I put flowers on their graves. We then prayed to honor their souls and for the Buddha to protect the rest of us from Aki.'

Mari did not respond to that, but only turned her head away and shot three more arrows with unmerciful speed.

'Ane-sama?'

'What is it?' her tone was harsh, harsher than he expected.

Yuuri looked down nervously, fiddling with his own fingers and remembering, with dismay, the whispered conversations that flew back and forth that day when people thought he wasn't trying to listen. 'Are you… are you going to leave me too?'

Yuuri couldn't remember the last time Mari had missed, but the moment he voiced his question, her arrow had flown as far as it could from where it was supposed to land.

Mari looked at him straight in the eye for the first time during that conversation. 'Who said that nonsense to you?!'

Yuuri looked away. 'The clergy.'

'The clergy also said that I wouldn't reach enlightenment because I have scabs, Yuuri.' Mari chastised, although he didn't understand what that meant. 'I would never leave-'

'That's what Minako-sensei said,' Yuuri cut her off. He was tired of everyone constantly lying to him. He had enough of it. 'That's what Oka-sama and Otou-sama said.'

'You're too young to understand what's happening.' Mari fixed her bow in place once again, sliding an arrow fluidly against her index finger, the battered finger that was covered with the blood Yuuri did not see. 'Listen to me. Right now, his Majesty is scared.'

Yuuri gasped. 'E-E-Emperor-heika cannot-'

'Yes, he can. He is terrified.' Mari added, closing one eye to focus her aim. 'He thinks he needs me. He thinks that by having me near him, he would be less scared. But I'm not fit to take over our parents' duties. I will never be.' The pointy end of the arrow she shot went straight into the one that was already attached to the target, splitting it in half like a peel of a rotten fruit. 'Emperor-heika will realize this very, very soon. And people will stop saying such things. I won't leave you. I promise you this with my honor.'

Later, he would realize that Mari was a liar like everyone else before her. And everyone after her.

Yuuri had come to familiarize with it. Promises, after all, were only made to be broken. Yet, he never took it to heart. Not really. He didn't blame any of them; if he could, he would have gone with them too.

Yuuri would spend more time in the yard after his sister was forced to live in the capital against her will, far, far away from him.

From thereafter, she would come back so rarely that he'd slowly begin to forget the tone of her voice, her sharp features, and her proud character in between every short visit. Each a few years apart, at the very least.

The remainder of his life in Japan would be spent entirely alone in that palace, surrounded by dozens of residents that lived to serve him, but never lived with him.

They would never see anything past his titles, or consider him anything other than their young, orphaned noble master. They would never see how his eyes started turning blank, how his voice became less rich by time, or how his face seldom changed from its neutral, cold expression. And none of them would ever hear the echo of Minako's name in his private chambers late at night.

Needless to say, the yard would become quiet, and the familiar, comforting sounds that he grew to love would disappear and never play again.

And he would finally note the exact point of intersection where the sun disappeared into the sea, and he would begin to wonder, curiously then yearningly, what lay beyond.

And he would wonder if he could, by any miracle, see the remaining portion of the world and leave everything behind, too.


A gentle hand shook Yuuri awake, bruised lips mouthed his name quietly in the darkness, and long fingers brushed the sweat soaked hair away from his hazily opened eyes.

Yuuri wanted to shout, to slap that hand away and break something out of despair when he saw the regret on Victor's face and heard another whispered apology.

Yuuri felt like a puppet that had just been brought to life by sorcery, contrived blood running through his veins that hadn't felt anything other than hollowness for so many years. With this new life came a cyclone of emotions that shrieked inside of him, demanding to be unleashed in the open and never get stifled again.

Victor was talking, but Yuuri wasn't sure what he was saying, for his core felt so lively and lush that nothing else managed to grasp his attention. The Tsar held his hand out for him, and Yuuri took it in a powerful grip, praying that whatever his mind was starting to formulate wouldn't come true. At least not this night, not when Yuuri finally found some sort of salvation.

Victor did not meet his eyes, however, and Yuuri was already feeling the weight of everything he had done crashing down on him.


With his knees tucked together, his arms wrapping around them tightly, Yuuri savored the fogginess around the washroom and allowed it to blind his senses. Little bits of foam fell on his shoulders as Victor's hands moved behind him, the Tsar's fingers running through Yuuri's hair delicately as he spread the pleasant smelling soap around his scalp.

He wasn't really cleaning his hair properly, and Yuuri wasn't surprised by that, for the Tsar must've never bathed anyone else his entire life. He had probably never bathed himself, even. Victor was slowly massaging Yuuri's head if anything, rubbing the pads of his fingers against the raven hair he seemed so fond of.

And that time, alas, gave Yuuri the opportunity to think. He was starting to understand why Victor seemed so remorseful, so reluctant with him since the mist that had engulfed both of their minds from sex had begun to dissolve.

Yuuri was starting to understand, and he wished his mind would silence and never repeat its conclusions again.

Not now, he told himself, tilting his head back so he can feel Victor's calming touch a little more. Let me relish this a bit longer.

At the sudden shift, Victor's hands faltered their rhythmic movements. Instead, they slid down to rest on Yuuri's upper arms. One hand held him in a gentle grip, whilst the other tightened once it wrapped around his golden armlet. Yuuri then felt the heat of Victor's lips against his shoulder as the man laid a kiss on the flushed skin there. It was ghostly and almost hard to feel, unlike how he had kissed him earlier that night with so much passion and force. Victor seemed drained and resigned, and it made Yuuri's fears intensify; there could only be one reason for that abrupt shift in treatment, he knew that.

"Yuuri," Victor said against the side of Yuuri's neck. The washroom was almost becoming too hot with the heat and moisture of the sizzling steam, yet Yuuri was still shivering. "Darling, I am so sorr-"

"Stop it."

Yuuri snarled as he said these two words, not wanting to hear another wretched apology coming from that man, an apology that would surely mean nothing once the aftermath of this night's events began to unravel.

Mari had apologized to him, too, before she rode on her carriage, out of Hasetsu and Yuuri's life. It didn't bring her back, it didn't recover their siblinghood that broke beyond repair that day, and it didn't make the rest of Yuuri's life more endurable. It didn't prevent her from turning into a stranger, a face that only existed in his murky memories.

Yuuri knew that he had crossed a line that he shouldn't have even dared to touch. He had talked back to a man who expected nothing other than utmost respect and exaggerated courtesy. He had barked a command at his very own master, the emperor he wasn't even able to look at in the eye without hesitance and fear of accidental disrespect.

But Yuuri did not care anymore, at least not then. Not when a part of him that had been caged for so long finally freed itself, demanding its own respect and regard.

Victor took his time to react to the sudden backlash. After a few moments, heavy and taut, he resumed washing Yuuri's hair, this time more carefully. He could barely hear what the man said next in a quiet response.

"... As you wish."


When they emerged, Yuuri noticed that someone else had been inside the room. It was a handmaiden, most like, for their clothes that were haphazardly flung on the floor were gone, the bed sheets were replaced with clean ones, and the chair next to the bed was now occupied with a collection of garments.

It was very late, Yuuri realized, since he had lost track of time. He took a quick glance at the wooden clock at the corner of the room, and saw that it was three past midnight. Yuuri wondered how long he had slept, drained and spent, after their lovemaking. Victor had surely stayed true to his words, because Yuuri did, more or less, faint once they finished.

Victor, the man who was nothing short of an animal a few hours ago, driven merely by lewd passion and thirst, with a substantial intent on making Yuuri experience the peak of pleasure, was wearing an entirely different face now. He had a white towel in his hands, and after looking at Yuuri with the same expression of pity he had been giving him since he woke, he resumed to dry Yuuri's hair, grinding it against the folds of the towel with absolute care, as if he was scared that Yuuri would burst into tears with as much as one wrong rub.

Which might have been true, Yuuri wasn't entirely sure himself.

Victor was wearing a bathrobe, but in front of him, Yuuri stood as naked as the day he was born. He didn't mind it, not really. After all, his nakedness had been exposed to many others before him, so many that he couldn't find it in himself to be ashamed of it anymore. Other aspects of the situation were far more daunting. He was revising the night in his head, looking into every move he made, every word he spoke, trying his hardest to pinpoint the exact moment he ruined everything for himself. He wondered if it wasn't a particular moment at all. Perhaps his undoing was an outcome waiting to happen, an outcome that had been delayed significantly due to his stubbornness, but it was inevitable nonetheless.

But it didn't matter; the reasoning meant nothing. It wasn't as if Yuuri would be able to fix it. He had given Victor the only thing that kept him attached, that kept him interested and unwilling to pursue anyone else. Now, Yuuri didn't have that anymore; he had given it up foolishly to satisfy his own needs. So of course, there was nothing left to keep Victor there all for himself. The game that they were playing had concluded, and Yuuri, as always, was powerless and unable to win.

Victor brought the towel to rest around the back of Yuuri's neck, finally granting the shorter man a clear vision. His hands that were still holding the cottony material covered the sides of Yuuri's jaw, the touch burning even through the barrier of fabric. Yuuri wondered how his skin hasn't melted yet.

Victor's face was too close to his, and the heat from his lips was as evident as ever when he kissed Yuuri's forehead, the movement wavering and faint. After a few moments of unsettling silence, their breaths heavy, yet inaudible, he pushed their foreheads against one another, allowing Yuuri to feel the water droplets on Victor's hair as they slowly fell onto his own cheek, moving down to form a small stream that exhibited the tears Yuuri refused to shed in front of the other man.

Yuuri decided to stop staring at Victor's collarbones and look up, high enough for their eyes to finally lock together. Victor must've not wanted to even face him, because he took a sharp inhale and looked away instantly.

"I have something for you." He smiled duly, falsely, and let go of Yuuri at last. He tossed the wet towel on the floor without care, then grabbed one of the garments the handmaiden had brought. Yuuri saw a brief flash of gold and black linen before Victor reappeared in front of him. "Though, I'm not sure if it would fit you."

Victor slid his arm above Yuuri's shoulder, then used the other to slip the garment on him from behind. Yuuri stood limply as a doll, not resisting when Victor grabbed his arms and moved them as he wished so that they could pass through the sleeves. It was a long robe, Yuuri noted, a very familiar one. Upon a quick glance he recognized it as a Turkish Entari, embroidered with golden patterns that covered more surface than the raw black fabric underneath.

"I haven't given you any gifts before," Victor explained, as if Yuuri wanted any of those mundane things, the gifts which other concubines took so much pride in. "This is one of my more expensive garments. All yours now."

It sure looked that way, Yuuri thought. He had seen countless men and women wear that style of clothing when he was in the Ottoman empire. He saw plenty of it to be able to differentiate between what the people of high status and what the commoners wore. This was even more extravagant than most of what Yuuri's owner at the time - a Sultan known for being passionate about his wardrobe - normally chose to wear. The golden parts weren't only a specific type of fabric, they sparkled brightly and reflected the light on them easily, proving that the Entari had real gold on it. Plenty of the gold he loathed with all his heart.

Victor was fastening the front of the robe with unpracticed hands, slowly closing the gap that revealed Yuuri's chest until it was all covered, the bottom overlapping on itself so that even his legs were concealed.

It must have been a lavish gift from one of the Sultans, Yuuri concluded, for the size seemed more fitting for a man of Victor's build rather than himself. Not to mention the strong scent of roses and lavender that still clung to it, a scent he could distinguish so easily by now.

Yuuri did not care about any of it. He cared less whether Victor dressed him with clothes worth more than the annual salary of some commoners, or nothing but a woolen sack. All the outfits and jewels Sara had chosen for him were already bought with Victor's money, so it wasn't as if Yuuri lacked any of that privilege. And his eyeglasses, which were the most expensive item Yuuri owned, were still, after all, a gift from Victor.

This, though, this hurt. It hurt so badly.

All the chosen concubines left the Tsar's quarters with such gifts, although he doubted Victor ever went as far as to give them any of his personal belongings. Yuuri would have heard of it if he did.

It was as if he was congratulating Yuuri for reaching that far, for putting in much more resistance than all the others before him, and for entertaining the man in a way no one else did.

And it hurt. It hurt because Yuuri finally admitted to himself that he was special, only to realize that he was special in the most filthy way imaginable.

It was not supposed to go this way. Yuuri had thought that the voices were only manipulating him and feeding him lies, but they were right all along. They were trying to help his cause and rescue him from his possible doom. He shouldn't have ever doubted them. All he did was prove to everyone that he was nothing other than the fool they saw him as.

He regretted it. He regretted it all. He wished Victor had dismissed him like he feared he would. At least it would have spared him from this. At least Yuuri would have left without giving Victor a part of him that he would never be able to take back.

At least, at least Victor wouldn't have treated him like a wretched harlot. At least he wouldn't be paying him for sex as if he was nothing more than a prostitute at his disposal.

"It's rather large." Victor smiled, looking pleased with himself. "Is it to your liking?"

Yuuri looked down to take a more careful look at what he was forced to wear. The sleeves were embarrassingly too long, making him look even more feminine with how his hands disappeared inside them, and leaving only the tips of his fingers to be seen. The hem of the Entari that should have traditionally reached his calves were instead on a level with his ankles, his feet barely looking visible under its shadow. Anyone who would look at Yuuri would instantly know that this wasn't meant for him to wear, that he was dressed in another man's clothing. It was nothing other than another sign of ownership. It seemed like even his golden armlet wasn't enough for people to know whom he belonged to.

'All mine.' Victor had called him, 'Mine. And no one else's.'

Victor was also a bloody fool, because who else in the entire world would want him? No one. Four years of Yuuri's life were wasted to prove that.

"I want to leave."

It was an often occurrence that Yuuri received a specific reaction from people, a reaction he was never able to explain. Sometimes he gave off a sort of aura that made concubines look away and retreat, that caused Michele to gulp in fear and even Bianca to turn to the opposite direction just to avoid him. He never knew what it was, exactly. He never managed to control it or use it when he needed it the most.

Victor reacted that way, Yuuri noticed, he froze in place, the hand that was adjusting the last knot on the front of the Entari stilling. The Tsar hesitantly lifted his head.

"Is… is that so?" Victor asked slowly, as if he did not believe what he had just heard.

"Yes." Yuuri said without skipping a beat.

Victor pulled away and stared at him with furrowed eyebrows, confused and angry, which was understandable, given the disrespect Yuuri was showing so openly. But Yuuri didn't care, he had no interest in delaying his owner's plans, not anymore.

Taking a step backward, Victor turned his head to the side, covering one eye with his hand then running it through his hair, something Yuuri learned that the Tsar did when he tried to calm himself.

"You're upset with me." Victor said, making the statement sound like a question.

I am! Yuuri wanted to shout. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!

"I'm not upset, your Majesty." Yuuri said instead, his voice not sounding like his own with how cold it came out.

Victor looked at Yuuri as if he wanted to slap him, yet he didn't. Rather, he tried, in complete vain, to work a smile on his face that was nothing but a small arc, forced and wavering. He stopped trying to seem nonchalant after a few moments, since it didn't seem to fool either of them, and chose to cross the room in quick, angry strides, passing by Yuuri without giving him a glance and reaching toward the washroom door. Victor opened it with a click, shutting it after him with a loud slam, not uttering another word .

Such a reaction would have scared him once, but not this time. Since Yuuri had come to realize that Victor never sought actual, physical violence. It was similar to how Yurio acted, all bark and no bite. Yuuri had experienced harsher treatment before, and the Tsar's tantrums weren't as scary as what most of his owners did when in rage. It would've had some sort of effect if Yuuri wasn't so completely numb by then.

He wasn't granted permission to leave, but Yuuri headed toward the front door anyway, wanting to reach his room as fast as he could.

In his blind urge to escape that bedroom and never come back, Yuuri failed to see that on the chair behind him lay two sleeping garments made from the finest of material.

One was black and broad in the shoulders, and the other was smaller in size, fitting a shorter, thinner body, and its fabric silky, delicate, and so very blue.


Yuuri's mind, for as long as he could remember, was nothing other than easy prey to the voices and thoughts that enjoyed tearing him apart at any given chance.

He closed the wooden door of his room so roughly he wondered how it did not break, and didn't even spare the time to open any candles before his hands clutched at his clothed chest.

He twisted, he panted, and he gasped, breathless and suffocated as he ripped the knots of the Entari, pulling it away from his burning skin to get rid of the garment he was wearing. A garment which might as well been woven by spiders.

One knot refused to loosen and Yuuri screamed in desperation.

Victor was apologizing, the voices chanted, freely and loudly as Yuuri heaved and whimpered like a wounded dog. Because he got what he wanted from you and he doesn't need you anymore. Because that's all what you're good for. All he needed you for was to use you as a tool to satisfy his pleasures, and you're a fool for ever expecting otherwise.

He's finally going to get rid of you. And he thinks an apology would make it easier for a weakling like you.

He gave you a generous gift to keep you quiet.

He bathed you because he pities you.

You're a whore now, and you will never be anything else.

You took away your worth by your own hands.

You've doomed yourself.

It's all over.

No one can save you this time.

No one.


Yuuri did not know how he woke the next morning.

Not that he had a second of sleep that night, but the fact that he managed to stand on his feet, dress, and walk toward the west wing without falling on the floor like a corpse on the way was astounding.

He sat in a dark, lonely corner the entire night, wrapped in a cocoon of his own naked limbs, suffering the rampage inside of him that had unleashed in full force and refused to quiet down even after what seemed like eternity of time.

The sound of his pleas muffled against his thighs as he reached the peak of his undoing, every fiber of his existence slowly being washed out with utter despair. Yuuri had lost track of the time he spent mumbling incoherent prayers in his mentally unstable bubble, every detail of his character detaching from his skin and crumbling to pieces around him.

Yuuri's ears had turned deaf after hearing so many shrieks and bellows roaring inside his head. His eyes were blind after witnessing so many scenes of what would happen to him next, the unmistakable dark fate that would befall on him, worse than anything he had ever experienced before.

The tingling numbness that engulfed his fingers and toes, however, was the start of the worst of the night. He had been through it before, those nightmarish episodes, but never in such intensity.

His rib cage constricted, leaving no space for his heart to rest as it abnormally and painfully raced until he wanted to rip it out of his chest just to make the pain cease. His head became heavy, almost like it would fall from his shoulders and onto the floor at any second. Bit by bit, his vision was getting consumed with blurriness and his body with physical, crippling vulnerability. The sense of impending doom was the worst of it all, the loss of control and helplessness as he was certain, certain that he would die, that danger was nearby, ready to take his life - that, if he completely didn't lose his mind before it would

He couldn't breathe. He could never breathe when it happened.

Yuuri didn't know when, exactly, the episode had ended, which he could consider one of the worst he had ever experienced.

He might be having heart strokes for all he knew, but it didn't matter. No one saw it happen before. No one cared. No one would care. Not even Yuuri did, for all he wanted was to be left alone and to stay away from anything that triggered it. Diagnosing one of the dozen mental problems he had was the least of his concerns. It wasn't of any importance.

Denying its existence and hiding it from people was important. He didn't want anyone to discover how truly ruined he was. He didn't want to know how he will be treated once anyone saw a glimpse of his insanity.

He didn't want to give Victor another reason to pity him or make Minako even more saddened than she already was. He was sick of it. They looked down on him enough as it is. Even Yurio, who just entered the practice room with a shine in his green eyes that had been absent before, would look down on Yuuri if he knew.

Otabek didn't even get to close the door after them before the Prince moved toward Yuuri with rushed strides.

"You!" the Tsesarevich exclaimed. He didn't look angry, exactly, which Yuuri had feared. He looked completely determined. "You are going to show me how to dance just like you did last night!"

Yuuri, mentally exhausted and spent after everything that had happened the night before, thought that what he heard was nothing but a cruel hallucination. He raised his head slowly to face the boy, disbelief lacing his voice. "What?"

"Last night's dance," Yurio repeated, "I want to learn every step. And I want to perform it when-"

"No." Yuuri interrupted him immediately, without trying to soften the rejection. He needed Yurio to dismiss the idea completely, to never even consider it or ask it of him ever again. "No, you won't."

The Prince was everything Yuuri wasn't. He was the only aspect of Yuuri's life that was still pure. Yurio was the person that, when compared to him, seemed like a symbol of innocence and untainted youth. Yuuri never felt filthier than when he stood in that boy's light.

Anyone or anything taking that away was one of Yuuri's worst and most dreaded nightmares.

Yurio was speechless for a couple moments, standing frozen in place, as if none of his demands had ever been declined like that in his entire life. He recovered, however, his eyes narrowing in anger.

"I sure will!" his voice was loud enough to echo around the room. "You serve me, pig! You're going to do as I say!"

"No." Yuuri shook his head stubbornly, his tone dismissive and chill as ice. "That style of dancing is not appropriate for someone like you. You're a twelve year old boy, and a Tsesarevich to boot. No."

Yurio visibly flinched, taking two steps back unconsciously. Whatever Yuuri had said must have hurt him in a way he did not intend.

"You're acting just like them!" Yurio seemed so angry, so betrayed, that his entire body was shaking. Yuuri did not expect him to react so violently, but he did. Truthfully, he had never seen Yurio this furious before. "You're just like all the other bastards who told me I cannot do anything because of my position! It must be easy for you, isn't it?! Not having any titles anymore and being free to-"

"Are you out of your mind?!" Yuuri responded with an incredulous whisper, Yurio's anger transferring into his own being and multiplying in intensity. "You think I want to dance like that? You think I don't want to wear a mask and dance about unconditional love and innocence? You think I enjoy dancing like a goddamn-"

"That's enough." Otabek chose that moment to interfere, his voice stern as he glanced worriedly between the two.

"You're going to teach me." The blond haired boy said slowly, in a way that would have scared Yuuri to death if he hadn't been so used to it by now. His chest was moving up and down from all the shouting he did prior. "You're going to shut your damn mouth and teach it to me, whether you like it or not. Do you understand?!"

"Alright." Yuuri said, making Yurio blink in surprise at the dark tone of his voice. He walked deliberately toward the shorter boy and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing harshly until Yurio winced. There, there it was. That familiar reaction. Victor might have looked surprised and uncertain the night before, but Yurio, Yurio genuinely looked scared of him. "When you decide to become a worthless sex slave that's treated like dirt, it will be my pleasure to teach you how to dance like one. Like me. Like a desperate little whore. Would you like that, Yurio?"

Yurio pulled away from him violently, turning his head to the side and looking anywhere but his direction. His entire face turned red from shame and embarrassment. "I- You- You didn't have to say it like that!"

Yurio sounded so small, so yielded, and so unlike the person he tried to portray himself as. He didn't wait for Yuuri's reply before he clenched his teeth, turned around, and left the room. No doubt wanting to never see Yuuri's face ever again.

Otabek moved to follow him before he halted, glancing back and forth between the door and Yuuri, as if he still couldn't believe what just happened.

"His Highness is just a child," the knight said, his face revealing nothing, but his voice filled with concern. "I didn't want you to teach him that, either. But this was unlike your usual self."

"Unlike my usual self?" Yuuri replied bitterly. "You don't know me." Before Otabek could say anything or follow the Prince, Yuuri had already passed by him and headed outside, not looking back when he spoke. "Tell his Highness that it was a pleasure being his teacher."

It was. It truly was. Only if Yuuri didn't ruin it like every other pleasant thing in his life.

First, it was Minako, then Yurio, and now even Otabek. Yuuri wondered, like the insane man he truly was, who it will be next.

Who will he punish for being good to someone like him, someone who didn't deserve any of it?


Yuuri, consumed with loathing and detest, all directed at himself, tried to get back inside the harem as fast as he was able to so he could suffer alone, where no one could see him. Where he could not hurt anyone else he loved.

If he was half sober and not so blinded by the gale of madness that took over him and was still growing, Yuuri might have noticed the pair of guards standing outside the harem and staring at him directly.

"Where have you been?" Michele appeared in his vision all of a sudden, but Yuuri passed him by, not bothering to stop.

"Taking a walk." Yuuri answered vaguely. Even after three months, Michele never figured out what he did at every dawn, since Yuuri made it seem like his day usually started at a normal hour, not at five in the morning when the majority of the castle was sleeping soundly. His guard certainly wasn't, in any way, aware of his private lessons with the Prince.

"You know it's dangerous." Michele chastised, "If something happened to you, I'll be the one to blame."

Something like what? Yuuri wanted to ask humorously. Like a man attacking me in a dark hallway?

Emil was also present, for some reason, and before Yuuri could disappear inside and hide for the remaining of the day, the much taller man blocked his path.

"Sir," once again Yuuri was being addressed with a title he did not deserve. He hated it. He hated that manufactured respect that was only there because he opened his legs for the right person. "The Tsar said to bring you to him once you wake up."

Ah, Yuuri thought. That's why.

He turned his head toward the large window to his right, which was opened to the sky that was still dressed in a coat of dark and dismal gray. The sun hasn't even grazed the horizon yet.

It seemed like his Majesty couldn't wait to get rid of him if he wanted to do it so quickly, if he couldn't even wait for the break of dawn.

He stepped around Emil and continued his path. "I'm not coming."

His answer was met with utter and confused silence. Soon enough, Yuuri heard rushed footsteps and the clacking of armors behind him.

"I- I beg your pardon?" Emil chuckled nervously. The rustling loudened until he was walking next to Yuuri.

"You've been summoned by his Majesty." Michele appeared on his other side, sounding as confused as the other man.

"I'm aware." Yuuri muttered.

"Sir-" Emil's blue eyes darted between him and their path, his hands moving frantically as he spoke. "Yuuri, what will I tell the Tsar if I came back without you?"

"Tell him I refused to come." Even Yuuri couldn't believe what was coming out of his own mouth so freely.

Perhaps if he managed to anger Victor some more, he considered, then maybe his Majesty would stop wearing that lovely mask and finally reveal his true self to him. Perhaps he would finally act the same way he felt, not the opposite. Not kiss and bathe him, then give him lavish gifts whereas he wanted nothing to do with Yuuri after taking what he wanted. A direct and honest dismissal, perhaps accompanied with insults and profanity, would be so much easier to handle.

"Are you forgetting who he is?" Michele grunted at him, "You might be punished severely for-"

"So be it." Was Yuuri's nonchalant answer.

"What's gotten into you?!" Michele exclaimed in disbelief. "You never act like this!"

Yuuri halted for one second, only one second so he could look at Michele in the eye with a hard glare. "How would you know?"

And he continued his way, not caring to absorb his guard's reaction to those venomous words.

"Yuuri," Emil said softly, the smile that never left his face reeling. "We… we still haven't found your attacker; Michele and I are already in a compromising position. Please, don't give his Majesty another reason to berate us."

He was too opened, too genuine, that it almost brought Yuuri back to his senses. Even as the tallest and broadest of the guards, Emil was the most pleasant of them all.

Even though the guards changed constantly, faces alternating back and forth every fortnight, Yuuri still recognized every single one of them due to his constant visits. Emil was the only one who didn't look at Yuuri in contempt, as if he was nothing but a pile of filth in front of him. He didn't look at Yuuri as if he was thanking the gods above for not granting him similar fate, for not stripping away his masculinity and human worth, leaving nothing but dishonour in a form of flesh. And most importantly, he never looked at Yuuri with darkened pupils and a clenched jaw, as if the infamous Japanese concubine was a forbidden asset he wished to use, only if a single touch didn't kindle the Tsar's wrath and cost him his head.

No, Emil, admittedly, was none of that. He was the guard who always smiled kindly at him, who exchanged friendly pleasantries with Sara and tried to include him, who laughed and cooed at Makkachin whenever she tried to follow after Yuuri when he exited Victor's quarters.

Emil was also the guard who stood outside his Majesty's door the night before, who didn't seem fazed or abashed when Yuuri emerged, every portion of revealed skin covered with bruising marks that Victor had left on him, unlike Michele, who looked away the entire time he walked Yuuri back, his face not losing its red tint of embarrassment.

He stopped at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor of the harem, which was a long distance from the entrance. Although it was too early for the harem to wake, their loud conversation still attracted some unwanted attention. There were a couple of concubines standing hesitantly at a far corner of the balcony above them, staring down with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, trying their hardest to overhear what was being said.

"He won't." Yuuri told Emil, reaching a resolve and hating the mere idea of someone else taking any blame for his own demented actions. "I'm taking full responsibility."

Yuuri was breaking, he knew, he was breaking both himself and everything he had built. Everything that Minako had built. And it felt oddly liberating, accompanied with a sense of disheveledness and emotional release, which strangely enough, not only sex seemed to bring, but also utter and absolute chaos.

His tendencies to self-destruct had reached their climax, and all Yuuri could do was imagine the bittersweet aftermath and climb the stairs to reach his room, the two men he left behind watching him with unhidden apprehension.

One of them, however, seemed much more concerned, afraid, and relentless. Yuuri once again failed to see something that might have helped him anticipate another unpleasant outcome.


He lied in his bed for hours, time passing by like a cryptic phantom that haunted him, a phantom that changed shapes with every blink, short one moment, then long as infinity the next.

Yuuri told himself to be brave, to be brave once the guards came back, once they broke down the door of his room and forcibly brought him to Victor, yelling and screaming as they paraded him around the whole castle, humiliating him raw so every eye could see what happens when a nobody like himself dared to defy a direct order from the Tsar.

But Yuuri wasn't brave, not once, not ever. He flinched whenever he heard the faintest of footsteps and sounds outside his room. He felt his heart sink to the depths of his guts every time he felt any movement or human presence nearby. Some of it was real, he knew, but most of it was nothing but anxiety driven hallucinations.

But that knowledge did not help his situation since, after all, a big part of his vision of the world was corrupted with such illusions. At some point, he went as far as to secure his closed door with the back of a chair. It was like he was expecting a raging beast to burst inside and devour him.

A paranoid madman, that's all he was. On the other hand, however, Yuuri's reasons were somehow valid, since in his current state, he knew that no one would leave him alone after everything he had done. What else was there to expect?

He didn't have a clock in his room, but a sharp ring filled his ears, pulsing with every second dutifully and compensating the lack of the continuous ticking with something far more eerie, something that fed his anxiety to a point where his fingers and toes couldn't stop shaking throughout the whole night. The only thing that helped, or rather, the only thing that distracted him from that horrible sensation was curling around himself, wrapping his arms around his legs and trying his hardest to feel as small as possible.

And he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

So without a doubt, he was utterly shocked when it was close to midnight and absolutely nothing happened.

As the sun went down and long hours passed, as the night took over the sky and the lively rustle around the castle quieted, no one forced their way into his room, no guard came to take him, and no beast jumped from the shadows to end his life.

In fact, the only person who came close to his door was one of the servants who announced that the food was being served. Yuuri didn't come out then, he did not even vocally respond to her call in fear of it being a trap, not even when his stomach growled after many hours of neglect.

Once the danger went away, Yuuri once again became the receiving end of his own mental assaults. It was so powerful, so overwhelming, so unmerciful.

The wait was the hardest of all, not knowing when it will all start, not knowing when he'll receive his punishment and having to sit down and anticipate the worst. A blink of sleep was becoming too precious, and Yuuri had none of it, no matter how many times he tried or how hard he prayed.

And soon enough, a romantic thought of death made its presence known in his mind.

Almost immediately, he jumped out of his bed, crouched on the floor, and slipped his hands under the hard mattress, searching in blind thirst for the knife he stole from the kitchen many months ago, the sharp, luscious, and beautiful blade that held so much power, that awakened all of his adverse cravings every night as he stared at it in the darkness, wondering when he'll find enough courage to end his life, wondering when he'll reach the tipping point and finally release himself from the accumulated sin that was his existence.

Instead, as his fate would have it, the knife was not where it was supposed to be.

Yuuri groaned in helplessness, running the palm of his hands frantically everywhere he could reach, but his fingers made no contact with any sharp metal.

Yuuri didn't understand, couldn't find any reasoning behind its sudden disappearance. The last time he brought it out of that hiding place was weeks ago, but he couldn't comprehend how it would vanish all of a sudden like that.

He remained kneeling on the floor, his hands curling around the sheets of the bed with his face buried against the mattress. It was fascinating, how staring at a tool that could end his life stopped him from considering it, but once it wasn't there, the urge grew even stronger.

In an attempt to find a way to unleash that sudden leaping energy, Yuuri stood on his feet, the fear of approaching the door and coming out of his room suddenly not competing with the urge to emerge and find an alternative to the blade he couldn't find.

He found himself walking around dark hallways at one past midnight, like a ghost, like a wounded creature looking for any method to put an end to his suffering once and for all. Everyone else in the palace was long asleep and curled in their warm beds, unaware of the man so close in proximity, the walking figure who was slowly getting consumed with embedding darkness, his mind flooded with unpleasant thoughts and ears deaf to anything but the wicked voices in his head.

It will be tonight, it must be tonight. The desire had never been this loud and compelling. And Yuuri didn't want to miss the opportunity. Not when he finally lost all the hesitance that stuck to him like a leech since he first thought of suicide so many years ago. There will never be a better chance. There is nothing holding me back.

However, the hesitance flourished once again when the heel of his feet touched a frozen surface.

He looked down, surprised to see how far the distance was to the ground.

Yuuri was somehow standing on the railing of one of the castle's balconies, the garden below him indistinguishable due to the lack of light and the absence of his spectacles, the only thing he could see was a coat of white on top of the trees and bushes under him.

He did not remember how he reached there exactly, but he knew that he certainly wasn't dressed for it.

His bare feet grazed the snow that had fallen unpredictably, what remained of it having been collected on the surface of the railing. His entire body instantly shivered at the realization, as though it was waiting for Yuuri to snap out of his mental cloud so it could respond to the cold properly.

They haven't entered the coldest months yet, per se, but there was no way to tell when snows fell on St. Petersburg. It was, however, the first time he had seen it in person, since he almost never found the time to go outside and witness it by himself. They were somewhere in the middle of November, that's all he knew. Yuuri, after all, had no reason to keep track of the calendar; there was nothing to wait for, nothing to miss, nothing to celebrate, and nothing pleasant to remember.

Yuuri knew his position seemed dangerous, for he was standing on a stone railing that was thin enough to only support half of each of his feet. But in reality, Yuuri could stand on his tiptoes, even on one leg without falling. His balance was simply too established after all these years of vigorous training. Even if he waited long enough for the snow to melt, the possibility of him slipping and meeting his end was highly unlikely, he knew.

It was sad that years of dancing had prevented the chance of him dying by accident. It was either intentional suicide, or none at all. Yuuri had come in terms with his decision and found himself calmer than he thought he will ever be. He allowed himself to stare at the ocean, a view he rarely saw since he never had any chance to admire any landscapes when he first arrived.

St. Petersburg was truly beautiful, even during the night where Yuuri could barely discern any shapes so far away. The ocean he heard so much about was nothing but a gigantic area of a bleak and shapeless forms. But it was a breathless sight, nonetheless.

Yuuri remembered the days when staring at the waters stirred the hope and excitement within him, and felt saddened by the overwhelming contrast of emotion that all these years had created.

A harsh brisk of wind glided in his direction, causing the hem of his tunic to flap with the disturbance. Only then did he come to the conclusion that no, it wasn't a dream. He was finally, finally close to his finale.

One sway. One sway across the edge of the balcony and the deed would be done, quickly, instantly, and it will be over before he knew it.

Yuuri took a moment to reflect on every single reason that pushed him to this moment. There were so many he could barely count them. It all started the day Minako had left, shattering all the illusions and lies he was surrounded with and leaving him to face the harsh reality on his own when no one had ever prepared him for it.

And it all just spiraled disastrously from there, when his parents had left and returned inside two wooden coffins. When Mari was sacrificed to the imperial court in their place, returning every few years a whole different person until he stopped seeing her completely.

He remembered years of stifling loneliness. He remembered breathing in the fresh air of the outside world and admiring the docks of Russia, his heart almost bursting out of his chest with the happiness that came with his newly acquired freedom, only to be captured and enslaved that same day.

He remembered the torture, the punishments, the constant disgrace and loss of his dignity as a human being.

He remembered how he lost Minako for the second time for the sake of his own selfishness. He remembered how he ruined his friendship with Yurio and Otabek for nothing but a misplaced grudge.

He remembered how Victor took advantage of his naivety and did nothing but lie, lie, and lie since the very first night Yuuri was in his room. Accepting the fact that he was bathed in such lies during his childhood was far easier, because at least back then he had an excuse to be that foolish and believe them.

Even that wasn't the worst of it.

'You're his Majesty's favourite!' Minako had yelled at him. 'Do you know what that means?'

He didn't. He honestly didn't know what that meant back then. Yet, hours of reflecting helped Yuuri conclude that he would never dance again in front of a crowd, not in Russia at least. Yuuri had seduced Victor a long time ago, apparently, and his owner didn't find another reason to allow Yuuri that privilege anymore.

He would've come in terms of being used by Victor if it only meant his protection and the liberty to perform whenever he wished. But the night his passion had returned and Yuuri, for the first time in many years, had performed with no fear, only the desire to dance and impress, was the same night Victor stripped it all away.

'A dancer who hasn't seen the world doesn't have the right to claim that title,' Minako had once told him.

Yuuri had seen the world, but he would never allow himself to claim it, not as long as he lived. He didn't want to attach such shame to it. A whore who couldn't dance anywhere but in an emperor's bedroom, that's what he was now. That's all he'd be remembered by.

And Victor... There was nothing left to remember about Victor. The Tsar would punish him, maybe even kill him if Yuuri himself didn't beat him to it first, at least to save himself a little bit of modesty.

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh at what he had become, at how he had lost his freedom to dance, his safety, his friends, and Victor's attention, all in a span of a few anger ridden hours.

What was left to live for after all this?

Yuuri opened his mouth and released a cloud of vapor. He couldn't feel his lips anymore, and it wouldn't be too long until he couldn't feel his feet either. He examined the spot under him carefully, memorizing what his death scene would look like. A narrow path in the corner of the palace gardens, near a large water fountain made of marble. Will he break his neck with the fall? Will his skull shatter and his brain splatter across the concrete? Will he be bathed in a pool of blood before he was found the next morning?

Will Minako cry for him? Will Yurio mourn? Will they remember him for anything good he had done for them? Or will all their memories be of his gravest moments? His good deeds, after all, had never come close to compare with his wrongdoings, so he wouldn't blame them.

Will Victor feel sad? Or will he just sigh and continue his day like Yuuri had never existed?

"Pathetic."

Yuuri froze in his spot, almost losing his footing when he heard a familiar voice behind him, filled with scorn and displeasure.

He swallowed, his mental bubble shattering to pieces and his eyes detaching from the spot on the garden. Slowly, Yuuri looked past his shoulder, only to to lock eyes with two unique, violet ones.

"Go on. Do it already." Michele crossed his arms against his armored chest. "You've been standing here for half an hour."

Yuuri was speechless, having thought that he was completely alone. How was it possible that he had not noticed Michele's presence this whole time? Especially considering that his guard was standing so close behind him in the middle of the balcony, only a few feet away.

No, Yuuri thought, the calm that had consumed him vanishing and getting replaced with nervousness. Michele was going to prevent him from his sweet end, he knew. No, not now, not when I was so close.

"You won't do it." Michele raised his chin, "You're too weak. You would have done it by now if you weren't." He snarled when Yuuri didn't provide an answer. "You better step down before you get a cold then, eh?! Stop wasting our time!"

Yuuri turned his body around, easily changing his position so he could now face Michele completely.

He had always called himself weak, had always known he was, had always been sure that he could never be anything else. His whole life was a proof of his neverending helplessness.

But the fact that someone had said it to his face angered him immensely. It made his blood boil and his teeth clench in dismay. Yuuri hid it well, spent all his past years hiding his vulnerability so people won't point it out and take advantage of it. It was already enough for Victor to use him. What remained of his pride couldn't let anyone else look down on him like that; so openly and mockingly. He could deal with looks and whispers, but this was something that consumed his vision with a fiery red.

"You don't know me." The voice that came out of Yuuri's mouth sounded more like one of his demons' than his own. "You don't know a single goddamn thing about me."

And then, Yuuri finally, finally let go.

Michele was suddenly shouting in horror, but all Yuuri could remember was that just for one second, he felt completely weightless. When the tip of his toes left the railing, all his heavy bones, each of his muscle fibers, his organs and fluids, were turned into nothing but particles falling in the air.

The world turned upside down on its axis before him, then the imagery followed into complete and utter nothingness.

But the universe was laughing at him, because the last thing Yuuri saw, in a half conscious rush of imagery, was a pair of the most comely and enchanting eyes.

Their color was alternating between different shades of blue, as if god had hand picked ingredients from the corners of the sky, the depths of the ocean, and pieces of sapphire to create such an unforgivingly beautiful mixture.

And he was drowning, drowning in those abysses.


Yuuri's back collided with a solid, uneven surface, making him bounce back then hit it harder the second time. The impact was so hard that it instantly knocked the air out of his lungs.

"Bloody hell!" Michele yelled above him, the fear pouring out into his voice, making it almost sound like a sob. "Bloody fucking hell!"

Yuuri felt the skin around his ankle twisting and burning terribly, and a horrible feeling took over him when the blood rushed straight to his head and he could no longer breathe.

He opened his eyes, panting in pain and at the loss of breath. What he saw wasn't the night sky he predicted, or the gates of the afterlife he wished to see so badly.

It was still the same view of the palace gardens before him, the empty shores, and the sea. Albeit it was now lower. And completely upside down.

He clenched his jaw, lowering - or lifting his head to where he heard Michele struggling for breaths as well.

Half of his guard's torso was suspended in the air, above the railing, while the rest of his body remained on the other side of the balcony. His arm was extended impossibly long and what was connecting their bodies was a hand wrapped around Yuuri's ankle, holding it in a shaky grip, the grip that was the only thing standing between Yuuri and his impending death.

Michele had never been good with hiding his emotions, for he was very expressive, considering his untamed temper and quick outbursts. But Yuuri had never seen him this disheveled, angry, and so, so scared before.

Yuuri gasped for breath, bringing his hands to his neck and squeezing to relieve the pain. Even through all that mess, he purposely moved, aggressively so, hoping that Michele's grip would loosen. With every violent sway, Michele's hand released him for a split second, only to tighten painfully each time.

"Stop!" Michele yelled louder. It almost sounded like he was begging him. "Stop!"

Choking, Yuuri pulled his free leg away then used the momentum to hit Michele's hand, but it was in vain, for nothing seemed to be able to separate them. "Let... go!"

"You bastard!" Michele growled, "You crazy fucking bastard!"

Soon enough, Michele found his footing and held himself steadier, joining his other hand to the one keeping Yuuri alive. Grinding his teeth painfully together, he used the new liverage and support to lift Yuuri up.

With every inch that brought him back to the surface, Yuuri screamed in refusal, angry tears filling his eyes and his movements and kicks becoming more and more powerless.

"No!" Yuuri shouted when his back reached the railing and Michele was close enough to grab him by the torso. "No. No! No!"

Michele spun them around, losing his balance when Yuuri kept struggling harder each time he regained his breath. As a result, they both ended up falling on the floor of the balcony, Michele's arms protecting Yuuri's back from another harsh impact.

Michele was on top of him, trying his hardest to restrain Yuuri even though he wasn't fighting anymore. The loss was too great this time, and never before did life seem so worthless, never did Yuuri see it as such a heavy burden that he couldn't get rid of.

"How could you be such a fool?!" Michele spat above him, his entire face red from rage. "How could you let that happen to you?! Have you lost your bloody wits?! You could've died and the Tsar would have-"

The fiery red in Yuuri's vision intensified, turning into a dark, livid shade of crimson. His breathing finally stabilized, the blood in his body returned to where it belonged, and his anger, his great and shrouding anger took over once again.

Michele barely had time to realize what was happening before his eyes widened in surprise. Quickly, he tried to bring his hands together in order to push Yuuri away, but it was too late.

He grabbed the guard by the curve of his armor, pulling it with his hands until he was sure it was hard for Michele to breathe, then he used the distraction to flip them over.

The first punch felt absolutely exquisite, like a forbidden pleasure Yuuri never knew existed. The sweet, sweet feeling of soft meat crushing under his knuckles, and the sound of thudding when Michele's face twisted to the side, his cheek hitting the hard floor from impact, was satisfying to no end.

"Damn you!" Yuuri cursed filthily, landing a second punch as hard as he could, then another, then another. "Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!"

From under him, Michele groaned in pain, but somehow managed to bring his forearms in front of Yuuri and block the incoming punches. Yuuri didn't care to stop, and instead settled with injuring his own knuckles the more he hit the armor on Michele's forearms, leaving them dressed with bloody imprints. Which, as it turned out, was why he failed to notice how the man's legs tightly locked around his, and how it made him lose half of his hold.

"If you could hit like that-" Yuuri yelped when Michele used his chest to whirl them back over to their previous position, with the guard taking back his place on top of him. Michele grabbed both of his wrists, baring his teeth when he had him completely restrained. "Then what the hell do you need me for?!"

"I don't need you! I never even asked for you!" Yuuri spat back. "You goddamn idiot! You think women and men half my size can hurt me?!"

"Then damn you, you wretched liar!" Michele's hands tightened around his wrists. "So you let this happen to you?! Do you enjoy playing the role of the victim that badly?!"

"Rot in hell!" Yuuri shouted on top of his lungs at the accusation. "I'm not a victim! I'm not weak!"

Yuuri released one of his legs, brought his knee toward his abdomen and used all of the power in his thigh to push Michele away. It worked, for his hands were instantly freed from the guard's.

Michele was gasping before Yuuri took advantage of the distance and grabbed the conjecture separating the armor on his chest and shoulder. He started peeling it off of him, hearing the straps break and the silver metal rotating in the air like the lid of a crate. At the right moment, he planted the ball of his foot on the man's now exposed stomach, not knowing his own strength because the moment he used his legs to push Michele once more, the guard's entire body flew backwards and landed upside down, a fair distance away.

Yuuri got to his knees and watched how Michele was clutching his gut and looking absolutely agonized from the hit. The reminder of what the guard had just called him, however, made the anger swell inside Yuuri and demand a release.

He crawled toward Michele, throwing his body over him once again and resuming his earlier attack with vengeance. The first few punches were hazy and did not land straight, due to his violent panting and inability to hold himself or even inhale properly. But as his focus returned bits by bits, Yuuri was able see, in a clear view, how Michele was taking severe damage from the assault.

That wasn't unpredictable, since, after all, Yuuri knew more than anyone else where it would hurt the most. Where it would bruise the darkest. Where it would make you unable to breathe. Where it would break bones and cut skin. But this time, this time he wasn't the one on the receiving end.

And after that, he couldn't stop.

One, two, three, and he didn't bother to count past that. Under the eye, straight on the nose, at the edge of the jaw, in the middle of the throat, and he didn't care to note where else his punches landed. Pure, animalistic instinct took over, and Yuuri couldn't, didn't want to regain control.

Michele had lost all the fight in him, which was a solid proof that a guard was naked without a sword and a shield. Michele was a fool for not coming prepared to face a madman like himself.

But it wasn't Michele anymore, was it? Every time that blank, featureless head turned from one side to the other, it acquired a new face.

Aki, with her dark eyes and brown hair shrieked pathetically, then the first Madam who taught him in China cried in pain. The wrinkled face of the old clergy in his castle twisted for one moment, then the Noble, his first owner, was begging him to stop the next. Bianca was yelling in agony, but she came to an abrupt silence once her face collided with the floor.

The merchant's grey eyes narrowed as he dared Yuuri to defy him, then they widened into saucers a split second later, his crooked nose turning even uglier when Yuuri dismantled it with his fist; the hardest punch of them all.

"You killed Oka-sama and Otou-sama!" Yuuri cried manically, "You stole Mari from me!" he drew his fist back, then used all he had to hit each demon harder, "You took away my freedom. You defiled me. You ruined me. You humiliated me! And for what?!"

Then the face molded into perfect features, its nose straightening and slimming, the hair turning into an exceptional shade of silver, short and soft. The lips turned full and glossy, the skin became white as snow, the eyebrows thinned and arched, and the eyes, the godforsaken eyes, transformed into his loveliest dream and worst nightmare.

"S-stop." Victor coughed under him, little drops of blood staining his pretty mouth. "Please, stop. I… I didn't do any of that. Stop, Yuuri... Yuuri!"

But that wasn't Victor's silky voice. It was rougher, deeper, and it came from a man who seemed like he was in a lot of pain.

Yuuri pounced away like he was on fire, yelping at what he had just done. He dropped his eyes downward and spotted two quivering hands in a strange display, so detached and focused that it felt as if they weren't his own. He winced at the sight of ruined knuckles, an evidence that he had, indeed, done this with his own hands.

He tried to speak, but whatever came out of his throat was an incoherent stutter.

Michele was quiet, frozen in place, and motionless. His eyes were closed shut and not a single sound was coming out from his body. Yuuri had never seen a dead corpse before in his life, but this, this might've been the closest thing to it. It might've been a corpse for all he knew.

He watched, petrified, and felt his stomach drop in horror when several moments passed and the guard still did not move.

The outline of Michele's frame was still present in front of him, although blurry from the erecting hysteria that was slowly gorging in into his every vessel and bone. What have I done? he thought. What have I done?!

A strange sound, almost inhuman, came from Michele's direction: A series of chocked coughs that could physically hurt someone by their horrible pitch alone.

Michele was now heaving, his chest falling up and down frantically. He put a palm on his nose then groaned as he used the other to straighten himself and sit up, almost falling back over but preventing it at the last moment.

The sheer amount of relief from that scene could've made Yuuri faint right then and there.

"Where… where in the hell did you learn to hit like that?" Michele's tone of voice was notably different, as if he could no longer breath through his nose. He turned his face to the side, his once handsome, but now ruined face, then opened his mouth to spit out a trail of blood on the floor. "Ah… Bloody hell, is that a tooth?"

Yuuri looked where Michele was staring at, only to gulp when he saw that it was, indeed, one of the guard's teeth on the floor.

The sight was enough to finally trigger the last of his breakdown.

Yuuri clutched his hands to the sides of his head, trying his hardest to stop the incoming flow of tears. His mind finally cleared from the fog, and the horrible guilt took over in raging dozes. He had never attacked anyone in his life, no matter how angry and helpless he became. He thought that after all these years, he had become immune to any verbal and physical assaults, but he wasn't, he was only storing that anger somewhere inside of him to unleash at a man who didn't deserve any of it.

Yuuri couldn't forget the look on Michele's face before he stopped, the fear, the vulnerability, and the perfect reflection of his own features when he himself was under horrific abuse. He had done what villains would do, the villains he spent so many years loathing and despising.

This was nothing but another deed added to his long list of sins. A reminder that he was becoming a manmade monster.

"I'm sorry." Yuuri buried his face into his hands, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry! God! I'm so-"

"Don't." Michele hissed, ripping off the hanging piece of armor by his side, then using the fabric of the tunic underneath to wipe the blood that was running down his nostrils. "Don't beat me into a goddamn pulp in a fair fight then apologize, you bastard!"

He pushed his face deeper into his palms. "I... I..."

"Stop!" the guard yelled angrily. "Don't you dare!"

"I- I shouldn't have done that..." Yuuri whispered, mostly to himself. "I shouldn't have. This… this is not me. I don't - I don't-"

"The man who attacked you in that hallway wasn't me either." Michele ritaliated, curling into himself and groaning loudly. "Jesus Christ… it cannot get any worse than this, can it?!"

Yuuri inhaled sharply. "I'm sorry."

"Shut your mouth!"

He looked away, not knowing what else to do.

Michele hung his head toward the sky, taking in a deep breath, then coughing repeatedly after it. Yuuri heard him curse under his breath. "Why? Why in the hell would you do that?!"

Yuuri stilled at the question, hugging his legs and refusing to look at Michele in the eye.

"You're right," Michele went on. "I don't know you." He wiped his nose some more. "But who would if you choose to be such a liar?!"

"I'm not." Yuuri immediately said. "I'm not a liar-"

"Yes. Yes, you bloody are!" Michele growled. "And you're one of the worst too! Instead of outright lies, you hide the truth to fool everyone. Including yourself."

Yuuri looked down in shame.

"Listen here," Michele's tone turned less angry, yet more serious. "No one will bother to know you if you keep doing what you're doing. No one is obligated to. This behavior will do nothing but hurt you in this castle. Do you understand that?"

Yuuri closed his eyes, "I'm not staying in this castle."

His statement was met with utter silence, Michele taking his time to understand what Yuuri was implying.

"So this is it?" Michele asked suddenly, "This is why you tried to kill yourself?"

Yuuri chuckled dryly, feeling his walls crack little by little from mere agony. The odd situation he found himself in, the surreal things that had happened that day, and Michele's strange shift from being wounded to furious was slowly serving to push Yuuri further into an unknown territory.

"Not quite." Yuuri didn't think he was a liar, but he did feel self conscious with everything that came out of his mouth then. "There's simply nothing left to live for; there hasn't been in years."

"I don't know how to talk to you about this." Michele ruffled his own hair out of frustration. "I'm not that bright. Hell, I might've been the one who pushed you to jump," Michele tsked. "But even with my utter stupidity, I can tell that this sounds like crap." He shouted,"You're too young! You have decades left to live and discover, countless reasons you'd find that would prove otherwise. Do you ever think of that?!"

Yuuri shook his head. "Twenty one years were enough. Twenty one years were too much." He wiped his eyes, glad to realize that he did not let the tears fall after all. "You don't know what it's like." His throat tightened painfully the more he let out, "To be humiliated and insulted every single day. To be reminded, at every waking moment, of the dreams and ambitions that were stripped away from you. Please... Don't lecture me about this. You will never understand."

Michele did not reply immediately, only looked away, speechless and lost in thought.

The wind made its way into the balcony once again, making the chill creep into Yuuri's spine and rake through his whole body, reminding him that he was no longer numb.

"First, Minako expresses her disappointment in me last night." Michele muttered all of a sudden, yet it did not sound like he was aiming anything he said at Yuuri, or rather, it was at himself. "Then this morning, his Majesty threatens to discharge me the next time I fail to do my duty. Then I get overpowered and beaten for stopping you, my supposed defenseless subject, from killing yourself." He groaned miserably, his next statement uttered in mock delight. "What a day!"

Yuuri only stared at him, feeling confused and at the abrupt change in topic.

Michele fell awfully quiet after that. He stretched his arm to retrieve the heavy piece of armor that he threw earlier, then did nothing but put it on his lap and stare at it, completely neglecting the little amount of blood that was still streaming from his nose.

Yuuri started to feel anxious when he heard the sound of metal clicking, for the guard was now twiddling with it as a sort of distraction.

"Listen, Sara and I…" Michele clenched his jaw. "We've had our share of misery too."

The twiddling then stopped, and the man's reluctance along with it.

"We grew up in the slums of Naples… as child beggars." Michele started, "We were two orphans who had absolutely nothing. We fought to survive everyday, to escape from the slave merchants who were always navigating the streets, looking for fresh prey to hunt." He sighed. "His Majesty was as old as Prince Yurio when he found us one day, begging his guards for food and money." Michele's head turned to the side. Yuuri saw his eyes watering, but did not comment on it. "He took pity on us, the two lost children who were nothing but skin and bones and tears. For some reason, he convinced his aunt to take us back with them to Russia.

"To his Majesty, it was nothing but a sheer whim, but for us… it was a miracle, it was God finally reaching out and answering our prayers. Our lives had finally started to change; we weren't starving anymore, we had a roof over our heads, and clean clothes to wear. Sara was assigned as one of princess Mila's handmaidens. She was so clever for her age, so pretty and polite. I, on the other hand, became a servant.

"We also had dreams, you know? Foolish, fruitless dreams. Sara wanted to become a lady, and to help her reach that goal, I promised her to become a knight. With a knighthood, I would be able to buy our own lands and build our own noble house. Sara at least deserved that much." There was a pause. "But of course, I failed us both."

Yuuri itched to ask, but refrained himself.

Michele must have sensed his overwhelming curiosity, because he rolled his eyes, wiped his nose quickly, then clarified. "I'm illiterate."

Yuuri's eyes widened at those two words. It all started to make sense to him, as he suddenly pieced together the reason why Michele had never touched a single book even when they spent countless hours sitting in the library together. There was no wonder why Michele hasn't received his knighthood after so many years, because even though the guard's fighting skills and discipline had been acknowledged by many, he wouldn't have been able to become a knight without having the proper knowledge and scholarship of a squire, like Otabek had.

"I planned to learn how to read and write by myself," Michele explained, "Since the clergy and scholars refuse to teach servants, but I simply couldn't, no matter how hard I tried. And asking Sara for help… that's - that's a jab at my pride. I can't allow myself to admit my helplessness to her. She's the one who needs me." He scratched his head, irritation flowing back into his face. "And Sara... that reckless idiot. She got involved two years ago in a scandal with princess Mila, and look at us now! The Grand Duchess reassigned her as a concubine handler, and I'm still here, nothing but a useless guard!"

"A royal guard." Yuuri reminded him, since that title was honorable by its own and worth to be proud of.

"Not anymore." Michele held the armor piece in his hand, the silver piece, unlike the golden ones that Victor's guards wore. "I'm not blaming you for that. I deserved to be punished. I failed myself when I attacked you. I risked both my future and Sara's for nothing but a surge of anger!" he threw the piece across the balcony, then took a deep breath to calm himself down. "Listen, I'm not telling you this because I'm comparing our situations. You serve as a slave against your will. Sara teaches the arts of sex and loathes every second of it. And I… I'm a fool with unrealistic goals, who can't write his own name, who's always mocked and shunned by his peers, and who always disappoints his superiors. I don't know why, but you and his Majesty saved that fool. You spared my life. If you hadn't lied that night, I would have been dead and both mine and Sara's futures would have been ruined." Michele stared at him in the eye, looking furious. "So I won't let you kill yourself. What would the Tsar think of me? What would he do to me if he found out you died under my watch?"

Yuuri shook his head. "Y- you don't need to do this. I'm not going to stay here much longer, anyway." He rubbed his knuckles, "Even if I did stay, by any miracle, I can ask for a new guard. I won't force you to bear with-"

"Stop saying such nonsense!" Michele shuffled to his feet, clearly finding it hard to stand steadily but being too stubborn and forcing himself to. He pointed a shaky finger at him and suddenly spoke in Italian, his Neapolitan accent - similar to Sara's - was hard to understand clearly, but it wasn't incoherent to his ears. "Yuuri, I'm in your debt. Do you understand what that means to me? You'll take your life away on my dead body!" his arm shook, yet his finger remained upright. "I shall protect you until the day you dispose of me. And you better not, because I'm the only man who can stand you and the bloody madness I just witnessed."

Yuuri looked up at him in a daze, questioning his ears because Michele's words sounded so unlike the man he had grown used to. The man who despised him. The man who wanted to murder him.

"I… I-"

"Stand up." Michele raised his jaw.

Nervously, Yuuri did, worried that his embarrassment and confusion showed on his face, yet scared of infuriating the man even further.

Michele forcibly took his hand, interlacing it with his own and forming a firm handshake between them. "You and I, our livelihood are connected, so we have to trust each other."

Yuuri looked at their hands, pursing his lips together and lowering his head in shame. "I… I can't-"

Michele's hand tightened. "You can try to. I won't expect you to trust me this easily, either."

"You shouldn't trust me." Yuuri said, "No one should. You've seen how I am. You've seen how- how- I'm a liar." He finally confessed, the tears almost falling at last if he wasn't holding them back so hard. Michele was right, he realized, he was right about everything. "And I… and I mostly lie to myself. You have no idea what goes through my head, about you, about everyone. You can't trust me. No one should trust a man like me."

"I can try." Michele smiled faintly, the slight movement showing how bruised his lips and jaw were becoming. "As long as you promise me to stay alive."

"Even after I did this to you?" Yuuri whispered.

"I had braced myself for worse." Michele said casually, breaking the handshake in favor of clutching the side of his stomach - where Yuuri kicked him. He must have been in immense pain, but he wasn't showing it. "I haven't forgotten what I did to you in that hallway. It's an eye for an eye. I respect that."

"But I-"

"Why are you so bloody doubtful?" the guard snapped, "I don't care what you think you are. To me, you're just a coward who doesn't defend himself. A perverted man behind closed doors, perhaps, but not the so called witch. If people think you're wicked, then I can't imagine their reactions when they see how you so evilly spend your days reading books and helping the ones in need."

"I'm- I'm not-" Yuuri sighed, knowing that there was no point in arguing with that man.

"Promise me." Michele stressed.

"I- I promise you." He finally said, because promises meant nothing. Yuuri knew it won't help. Nothing ever helped. "But I don't know what will happen to me… The Tsar, he- he might punish me. He might send me away."

Michele frowned. "For what you did at the banquet?"

"What...?" Yuuri stilled. "How do you know about that?"

"I heard about it." Michele averted his eyes, looking slightly more uncomfortable. "You sure are bold... No one could stop talking about the bloody thing."

The only thing that prevented Yuuri's cheek from reddening when he heard that, was how his body was starting to feel numb from prolonged exposure to the cold. "What- What are they saying?"

Did the news of his mischief indeed travel so quickly, even before Yuuri himself could make sense of what had happened the night before? Were people mocking him? Were they disgusted by what he did? Did they wish death upon him for disrespecting their Tsar in front of his guests and relations?

Was it the reason Victor had summoned him so early that day, because his reputation had plummeted to a degree where his Majesty couldn't even handle their association anymore?

Unlike Yuuri, the entirety of Michele's face was turning into a rosy shade, even reaching far to the man's ears. "Uh, I'm sure it's nothing you haven't heard before."

Yuuri remembered how Phichit had told him the same thing so long ago, how he was too much of a coward to ask the lord to clarify and feed his curiosity, to tame his worry. But he couldn't do that now, could he? He couldn't be a coward in front of Michele, who had just accused him so, it wasn't an option any longer .

"Like what?" Yuuri inquired, feeling his heartbeat quicken in fear. "I want to know."

Michele grumbled. "Don't make me repeat the filthy things people want to do to you."

"Filthy... things?"

"Do you want me to tell you how some nasty men and women want you in their beds?! Do you want me to describe their fantasies?!" Michele said angrily, "I won't quote their words, I refuse to!"

The heat sizzled its way to Yuuri's cheeks despite the cold, his face matching Michele's in color. "Oh."

The guard put a hand in the air. "What is this night?!"

Yuuri's guilt resurfaced. "I'm sorry-"

"Enough of that." Michele turned his palm to face Yuuri's direction, demanding him to stay silent as the man contemplated what to say next. "Listen, Yuuri, are you sure his Majesty was upset with you?"

The question put Yuuri in a loss. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… he didn't seem too upset." Michele pointed a finger at him, specifically at Yuuri's neck. "You might be worrying about nothing. After all, he never-"

"That's what he does." Yuuri cut him off, venom lacing his words at the unwelcomed memory. He brought a hand to his neck, a useless attempt to hide the possessive marks that Victor had left on him. He knew it was pointless, for they were many. Yuuri still recalled every time Victor's mouth sucked and lapped against his skin, even when he didn't want such a steadfast reminder of that night. "With everyone. Why do you think all the concubines are so madly in love with him? I hear things… I know what he does with the chosen ones. He treats them tenderly, compliments their beauty, gives them splendid gifts and then-" Yuuri gritted his teeth. "He disposes of them. He forgets about them. He doesn't look at them twice."

Yuuri, unfortunately, knew exactly which step of the cycle he was in now.

"That's different."

"What?" Yuuri whipped his head toward Michele, almost missing that quiet mutter.

"He doesn't do that anymore, does he?" Michele put his hands on his hips. "How long has your reign been? Seven months?"

"R- reign?" Yuuri stuttered a reply. "I'm not-"

"I hear things too, you know." Michele raised an eyebrow. "Why are you denying things that most of the castle is aware of?"

"Three." Yuuri sighed. "Three months."

"Ah, well, he had gone celibate for the other four." Michele said dismissively. "He hasn't been with anyone else for more than half a year, despite all the temptations a man in his position has. Trust me, I'd know."

"It does not matter." Yuuri shook his head. "It's not like he did it for me."

Michele frowned so deeply his entire face twisted. "Then he did it for whom?!"

"How… how should I know?" Yuuri rubbed his arm. "It's- It's- Just think about it logically: A man like me, seducing the Russian Tsar to a point of insanity without ever attempting to… It's all too unbelievable. It's nothing but a tale. The concubines had despised me since the very beginning, and it was they who started spouting this nonsense and spreading it everywhere. The castle residents… they love to feed on such gossip, rumours, and outright lies." Yuuri pursed his lips, allowing himself to utter the words no one else took the chance to listen to. "All I am is a dime of dozen slave in a sea of many. I started like all of them, and I shall end up like all of them."

"Yuuri, do me a favor," Michele clenched his teeth. "Just… for the love of god, shut your mouth. I've had enough."

Yuuri blinked. "Huh?"

Before Yuuri could formulate a more coherent response, Michele was suddenly swaying to the side. Though the guard found his balance immediately after it, he still seemed shaken, perhaps times worse than before.

He motioned for Yuuri, stretching one of his arms in his direction. "Come closer."

Reluctantly, Yuuri did, knowing that he had no other choice. He anticipated Michele to hit him and braced himself for it, because why wouldn't he? Even with the fact that the man was getting angrier and angrier the more Yuuri talked, which was understandable, he also seemed in utter pain. And Yuuri knew whose fault it was.

Michele, however, caught him completely off guard by sliding his arm behind Yuuri's neck and around the back of his shoulders, putting Yuuri in a position he had never been in before in his life.

Suddenly, a huge weight attached on the side of Yuuri's body, which was gradually building heavier and heavier the more it settled on him, making his own body tilt to side as he struggled to keep standing.

"Are you - Are you alright?!" Yuuri asked frantically, but realized it was a stupid question the moment it came out of his mouth. Of course Michele wasn't alright; he had reached a point where he was forced to lean on him for support.

As Michele panted heavily against Yuuri's shoulder, he realized that although there wasn't that much of a difference between their heights, the guard still weighed considerably heavier. But Yuuri, feeling guilty and obligated, put all the force into his grip when he wrapped his arm around Michele's back.

"You… I need you to take me to the nearest infirmary." Michele confessed, and Yuuri knew it took a lot for him to show his vulnerability, which was, as he learned, something they both shared. To show your weakness to others required someone to either reach the breaking point, or have an immense trust in the other person who was seeing it. Yuuri didn't know which one he was. "And please, don't let anyone see me like this, I can't-"

"Of course." Yuuri promised, not needing to hear any reasoning behind the request. "I won't. I won't."

With a tight, yet careful hold, Yuuri started leading both of them toward the door of the balcony, adjusting to Michele's weight while simultaneously trying to avoid touching the lower half of the man's torso, where Yuuri knew he did lots of damage. Michele groaned quietly whenever they made a turn, but Yuuri was trying his best, pushing everything to the back of his mind and focusing on getting his guard to safety.

"Beaten into submission by the man I was assigned to protect… Wouldn't Emil fucking love to hear that." Michele muttered sarcastically, sniffing with a sharp wince. "You goddamn bastard... you might have actually broken my nose."

"I'm sorry." Yuuri said helplessly, looking around hastily and trying to remember the way to the infirmary. "I'm really sorry."

"You're a man." Michele snarled in distaste, "Don't apologize for defending your pride."

Sighing, Yuuri distractedly said: "Then perhaps you should stop trying to make me feel guilty about it. Make up your mind."

"But it hurts, damn it!" Michele snapped back. Yet, Yuuri swore he seemed slightly pleased by the change in attitude. He eyed the dark corridor in front of him, looking unhappy with the fact that were not even remotely close to their destination. Yuuri saw a shine in Michele's eyes blooming all of a sudden, as if he remembered a certain jest filled with irony. After a very dry chuckle, he turned to Yuuri with a raised eyebrow. "What lie will we come up with this time to fool the entire castle?"

Staring into the dim corridor, Yuuri saw a light that only existed in his mind. He turned back to Michele, adjusting the man's arm around his shoulder to continue moving, and smiled the faintest of smiles.

"I have an idea."


Dimbo Mikhailov was one of the stable boys in the imperial palace that Yuuri's heart went out to.

Yuuri didn't know much about the young man, not his age, not where he had come from, or how he had even found himself in his current position. But yet again, no one did. His whole existence seemed like a nebulous mystery that no one cared to look further into.

As opposed to the rest of the stable boys, Dimbo was not a slave, yet he was treated worse than any other in the entire palace, without a doubt. Another notable thing that separated him from the rest of his peers was how his job was not strictly in the stables, but almost anywhere else in which hard labour was involved. He did not look like one, but many speculated that he was still a teen, with an impressive height and a body that was twice as enormous as an average person.

He had a surname, yet not a single family member sought him out over the years, nor did any of his relations claim responsibility. Many residents, including Yuuri, didn't even know what his actual first name was.

The only information that was clear to everyone, the one open secret they all shared about Dimbo, was that the young man was mistreated in more ways than one, yet not a single person cared to fix it.

Whenever an animal was out of the leash, especially the wild, dangerous ones, Dimbo was given the task to chase them back, sometimes for hours to no end without being offered help, and often sustaining injuries because of it. Whenever a heavier delivery came for the kitchens or storages, Dimbo was the one who had to carry the dozens of boxes all alone. Whenever statues were made to be transported, Dimbo had to move the gigantic blocks, often to every single gallery until the artist was satisfied with the placement. Yuuri had seen the man spend hours digging and moving blocks in the gardens, even long after the sun had set and the weather turned cruel and merciless. He had seen him cleaning endless floors when no maid was in sight. He had even seen him walk up the stairs with people riding his back like a horse, just because they were too tired to climb up by themselves.

Dimbo was taken advantage of by the cooks, the sculptors, the maids, the gardeners, the librarians, and even the slaves.

It was as if the fact that he was a mentally disabled man was an excuse.

As if having a deficiency that prevented him from speaking and being able to understand many things, and him not knowing how to say no, meant that he was devoid of emotion and was susceptible to abuse. As if he couldn't get exhausted and cold. As if he couldn't hurt himself with all that work he was forced into.

As if being dimwitted was a reason to strip him from something as fundamental as his birthname, to instead refer to him by a derogatory nickname.

Dimbo was not just effortlessly obedient and gifted with above average strength - as many people only chose to see - but he also had fits that Yuuri had witnessed with his own eyes. There were times when Dimbo got scared and started screeching uncontrollably, clutching at his blond hair, hard enough to plug some of it out of the root, and crying his eyes out because of random triggers. There were times when he turned violent whenever groups of children cornered him and mocked him for his inability to speak, his size, and his appearance, for he was not the most handsome man, and only dressed in dirty rags that barely fit his large body. Lots of them called Dimbo a monster, a freak, a demon, and probably many more names that Yuuri was fortunate enough to not hear.

His behavior was extremely inconsistent, unpredictable, and as Yuuri gathered, quite dangerous, not only for the people surrounding him, but mostly to himself. With all the hard work he was forced to do daily, accidents were deemed to happen and Yuuri did not want to imagine what would occur if Dimbo had a fit at the wrong time and place.

Yuuri and Leo took pity on him constantly, for the two interacted with Dimbo and passed him by almost every day, struggling, suffering, and left hungry. But there were only so many things they could do to help when the work of more than two dozens of people were dumped over the poor man's head.

It saddened them, the fact that Dimbo didn't even understand why he had to do all these hard chores, why no one gave him time to rest, why nobody offered to help him, or why he was a laughing stock to the majority of insensitive residents who had nothing better to do other than pick on his flaws, the flaws in which he had no choice over.

He did not belong in a castle, let alone one as massive and as overly-populated. He should not have been put in such a dangerous environment, where he was mistreated and tormented most of the time, and neglected during the rest. And most importantly, he shouldn't have been taken advantage of by sloths who knew no consequences to their actions.

When he mentioned it to Minako a couple months ago, Yuuri had told her about all the instances he had seen Dimbo being used shamelessly because of his disability. Yuuri knew he was meddling with things that didn't concern him, but he felt extremely agitated about the blatant exploiting happening in front of everyone's eyes.

To his surprise, Minako was aware of it all. According to her, she had made a proposal to move Dimbo to a home where he could be taken care of and freed from all the unjust labour, but it was delayed due to the fact that they had more important matters to attend to.

'He never attacked anyone or had a fit where he put himself in danger. Or at least, no one reported it to the council.' She explained back then, 'So it was swept under the rug, like many other mundane issues that happen in this place. It's nothing new.'

There was nothing she could do when the abusers were so, so many, and the witnesses so silent and unresponsive. She also had no power to act when the higher officials paid attention to the more urgent issues, the ones that stood out, the ones that would provide a notable difference. They only focused on matters which they could be praised for, Yuuri learned, not on preventing people from exploiting their favorite puppet, their most submissive slave who only lacked an armlet to complete his uniform.

It was sickening, but Yuuri was not the one to talk, for he was also guilty of not caring enough. Minako might've hinted at it slightly, but Yuuri still caught the suggestion in her words. He had never interacted with any of the members of the Grand Council, save Doctor Cialdini, but he surely had endless chances of mentioning it to Victor if he really wanted to save Dimbo that badly.

But of course he didn't. He never even considered it. He simply didn't care enough. Yuuri was no exception from the rest of the lot; he was selfish, he was insensitive, and he only prioritized his own safety and convenience. Never did he risk any of it for the sake of others, and never will he.

He had no right to pretend to uphold virtue, when he himself had none of it. If anything, he was more corrupted than them all.

Yet, everytime he saw Dimbo struggling to carry four to five boxes at once, every time he saw Dimbo working additional hours for no reason, every time he saw him rushing to devour his food down because he was deprived of it all day, Yuuri's heart would sink, and his teeth would grit in dismay.

They used to be in the same boat, he and Dimbo, before the storm that was Victor Nikiforov convulsed his entire world. And if he was being honest, they would probably end up on the same boat again. The only difference between the two, was that only one of them was aware of the abuse and understood it, whilst the other was clueless and lost.

Yuuri wished he was the latter. He wished he could be physically able to smile and laugh as much as Dimbo did despite everything. Instead, he was too busy being hyper focused on his misfortunes and lost dreams, hurting no one but himself in the process.

Only if something happened... Yuuri would think every time he was in the same room with the stable boy. Only if something happened that would bring attention to this man…

"Dimbo?" Minako raised an eyebrow, looking back and forth between Yuuri and Michele, searching their faces for something they were both desperately trying to hide. "Dimbo did this?"

"Y-Yes." Yuuri confirmed, praying to every deity that he sounded convincing. Minako kept turning her gaze between the two, as if she just heard that they encountered a mythical creature. "I put the lantern I was carrying too close to his face. It wasn't his fault, I swear. It was mine.I knew that fire frightens him, but I couldn't think… Even as he was having his fit, I did not think of turning it off. He pushed me down on the floor to put the fire away, and that's when Michele tried to stop him..."

"Dimbo?" Minako repeated for a third time, her good and injured eye almost matching with how hard she was narrowing them.

Yuuri hesitantly turned to the side and locked eyes with Michele, who was currently being tended to by a nursemaiden. He did not look very convinced either. For someone who had just confessed to being a huge liar, Yuuri was surely horrible at being one.

"Say, where is that lantern?" Minako asked, her voice very passive, almost mocking. Yuuri knew Michele was a moment away from yelling at him for the sheer stupid approach they took, but they couldn't back down now. "Moreover, what the hell were the two of you doing that late at night?"

"We were talking." Yuuri managed to say, earning strange looks not only from Minako, but Michele too.

"Talking?" Minako said in disbelief. "The last time I saw you, you two didn't even bother to look at each other in the eye." She crossed her arms, "Do tell, gentlemen, what's with the sudden change of heart?"

"We were working past our differences." Michele was the one who answered her, wincing when the nursemaiden started cleaning the last of the scrapes on his face. Yuuri swore he could feel both the man's pain and annoyance at the same time.

"I think…" Yuuri turned toward Minako and tried to find his voice. "I think this is the best opportunity to send Dimbo away… somewhere where he could be taken care of properly." He fiddled with the bandages that Phichit had wrapped around his knuckles earlier. "The palace isn't a safe environment for him. You've told me this yourself."

"That seems rather convenient, doesn't it?" Minako told him, not looking pleased the slightest. Yuuri couldn't blame her; he knew too well how she hated being lied to. "Almost too convenient."

Her heavy gaze almost pierced a hole through both his head and Michele's, but if there was something they had that they could benefit of, was their shared stubbornness. Even after minutes of having to put through Minako's obvious displeasure, not all of it verbal, yet still patronizing all the same, both men refused to break or give in.

It was less than a minute after the nursemaiden was finished, when Michele closed his eyes and started to drowse off, whatever medication he was forced to swallow finally taking effect. Yuuri was glad his guard was finally able to lie down and rest, he really did, but the panic had started to rise when he realized that he was put under a magnifying glass.

"Are you sure you want me to send the guards to collect poor Dimbo this early in the morning?" Minako tried one last time, her question coming out as a threat. "Well, Yuuri?"

His eyes widened at that. "H-He doesn't need to be handled that way!" Yuuri exclaimed. The image of Dimbo sleeping peacefully, unaware of what was happening, almost made him break his resolve. "It wasn't his fault. It was mine!"

"It's not for me to decide what happens to him. He did, after all, try to attack you and ended up nearly crippling your personal guard!" Minako chastised. Yuuri sank deeper and deeper into guilt when she started yelling. "At any normal circumstances, Dimbo would've been sent to a home in an instant! But were you not present when I read his Majesty's instructions?!" he wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. "'Any harm done to my Yuuri, no matter how severe, will be not be forgiven and its punishment is death.' Were you not there listening?! Take a look at Michele's face! Look at your hands!"

"I'll talk to him!" Yuuri begged. "I'll talk to his Majesty! I'll do it... I'll do it! Please! "

"Let's hope he believes your story," Minako clenched her jaw. "Because I surely don't."

With that, she turned her back and headed toward the door of the infirmary, turning the knob quickly, her shoulders stiff and aura dark and unsettling.

Before heading out, however, she shook her head and faced him again.

"Shame on you. Shame on you both." Minako said through gritted teeth. It was turning into a morbid habit, Yuuri realized. Disappointing her. Angering her. Making her hate him more and more. "Blaming someone as harmless as Dimbo to protect the real culprit once again." She spat. "I just want to know why you're doing this! When will you reveal their identity, huh?! After the tenth time they try to kill you?!"

The real culprit. Yuuri put his head in his hands, almost laughing in misery. It was I. Take me to a home. It's where I belong.

"What is this goddamn ruckus?!"

Both Yuuri and Minako stilled upon hearing a thunderous voice behind them.

Beside her, Otabek suddenly emerged, looking around the room with a critical and careful eye. Only when Minako stepped aside to bow did Yurio's small frame come to view, his face dressed with a familiar flush of anger.

"Your Highness," Minako lowered her voice, masking the earlier anger she had. "There's nothing to worry about. It's just a slight inconvenience."

Yurio did not seem to believe any of it, which was nothing surprising. "Another slight inconvenience that would make Victor murderous?" even though he was asking her, his glare was fixated on Yuuri. "Another bloody inconvenience that left piggy in the infirmary?" he then pointed an angry finger at Michele's sleeping figure. "And left Ser Imbecile over here with a bandaged face?!"

It was less than a few hours, yet Yuuri found himself wishing that his suicide attempt wasn't unsuccessful after all. Anything, anything to save him from this mess he had created.

Helpless, Yuuri locked gazes with Otabek and wished the knight did not have such an expressionless face all the time. Whether Otabek had formed a grudge because of what he had done or not, Yuuri wanted to at least know.

Minako frowned at the Prince, "Ser Imbecile, your Highness, almost risked getting a critical injury in order to protect Yuuri." Her tone wasn't any less chastising than it was before, "Ser Imbecile has a broken nose, thus the bandages."

"So it's not a slight inconvenience." Yurio fired back.

"It appears to be an accident." She explained, "Unfortunate one indeed, but its fallout will be minor."

Yurio nodded, his eyes meeting Yuuri's once again. "I hope so."

"Do you want to talk to him privately, your Highness?" Minako offered.

"Yes." Yurio said. "Thank you."

Minako bowed once again and headed toward toward the exit, but not before looking past her shoulder with one last chiding look.

The Tsesarevich waited until she was out of the room, then crossed his arms around himself, absorbing the surroundings. Unlike Otabek, who did it earlier by instinct, Yurio seemed to do it because he did not know how to advance after being left alone with Yuuri.

Yuuri, on the other hand, did what he could do best; expect the worst. He wouldn't be surprised if Yurio started shouting at him and calling him nasty names, not at all, since that was not the frightening part. Yuuri reached a point where he liked being yelled at by the Prince. The odd, uncharacteristic silence was something he found far more unsettling.

God knew what the boy made up his mind on, god knew what he'll do to Yuuri regarding everything that had happened the last time they saw each other.

Yurio might have been rash, hard to satisfy, and extremely impatient, but he was nowhere near stupid. Beside being highly intelligent for his age, the Tsesarevich was also very prideful and entitled. To cross him almost guaranteed some sort of punishment, Yuuri knew.

"When did this accident happen?" it was Otabek who broke the silence, since Yurio was not speaking and the air was slowly becoming heavy with tension, especially with the dark, worrying looks his Highness was sending Yuuri's way.

"About an hour ago." Yuuri answered stiffly. "I'm just thankful Michele did not bleed too much… Lord Phichit said that his nose might not be permanently deformed after this."

The knight looked at Yurio to further the conversation, yet the boy was still not uttering a sound. Eventually, Otabek had no choice but to sigh and do it himself. "Were you injured as well?"

"No." Yuuri quickly answered. It's not that he didn't appreciate the concern, but the meaningless and forced chatter was almost painful. "Not at all."

"Are you sure?" the knight sharply eyed Yuuri's bandaged hands.

"Yes, I assure you," Yuuri said, smiling forcibly and waving his hands as indication. "They're only a few scratches, really, there's nothing-"

"You are not a whore!"

Yuuri blinked, his mouth clipping shut, and so did Otabek, as these very words almost exploded out of Yurio's mouth all of a sudden.

"I've already told you you're not, but you don't listen! And you - you didn't dance like one!" Yuuri felt so, utterly horrible. Yurio was shouting every word in a rush, yet all of it was somehow heavy with emotion. It was as if the Prince was practicing them all night, beating himself over what happened and thinking of a way to respond, so hard that the words ended up pouring out uncontrollably. "Why would I want to dance like one to begin with? It wasn't the style that I wanted learn! I-I wanted to learn how to make people cheer for me like they did you! I wanted them to look mesmerized by me too-"

"They weren't-"

"They were! You blind bastard, I was in between them! Maybe you should wear your godforsaken spectacles to see! Victor, that idiot, he was - he was completely-" Yurio took a moment to breathe properly, trying his best to sound coherent again. "I don't want to dance like a whore. I want to dance like you!"

A torturous headache made its presence known in Yuuri's head, so severe that it felt like his brain was drumming against his skull with every fraction of a second. His back still hurt, his chest still ached with every other breath, and his heart, his poor, forsaken heart, was blaring in agony, not used to carrying such emotional weight.

"You're unaware of many things, Yurio." Yuuri confessed with the faintest whisper, covering the side of his face with a hand and trying his best to not cry from the physical and the mental exhaustion. "Many things."

"W-what?" Yurio said, a hint of panic in his voice. "What does that mean?"

He sighed. "Listen, there are countless of other capable teachers that would gladly replace me. All you have to do is request one."

"I don't want other teachers!" Yurio yelled, stomping his foot in refusal. "I've had other teachers, but all they did was look down on my dreams! You're the only one who made me improve!" his face twisted for a second. "Is it… is it because I yell at you a lot?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Is it because I call you names?" the Prince took a couple steps forward, "I-I'll stop doing that then! I'll not curse at you… I won't call you piggy anymore… I'll- I'll-"

"No!" Yuuri raised his head, unable to hear any more ridiculous things. "Those things do not bother me like that."

"They might be very off-putting to people." Otabek said, defending his prince since the boy was helplessly looking at him for aid. "But it's just a part of Yurio's character-"

"I told you, it does not bother me!" Yuuri shook his head. "I don't want to fail you, your Highness." He clarified, revealing the fears he had hidden since the first time they met. "You might've seen me perform well at a couple of events, but I doubt what I'm doing with you most of the time. I'm not as great as they make me out to be. You're improving thanks to your natural talent, not mine."

What would Yurio think if he ever saw him having a panic attack before a performance? He'll mock him, surely. He'll regret ever idolizing him. Yuuri didn't want to wait unknowingly for that day. The day where Yurio would realize the mistake he had made in choosing him so foolishly.

"That sounds very nonsensical…" Otabek frowned, sceptic of Yuuri's words. "His Highness is gifted, indeed, but so are you."

"Do you think I'll ever say these things to an untalented prick?" Yurio added, his tone patronizing. "This was utter bollocks. Stop saying things that make me feel embarrassed for you. You're my teacher."

Yuuri opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, only to release a chuckle he couldn't hold.

Yurio and Otabek looked confused, yet they refrained from commenting.

"Where do you even learn these words?" Yuuri said with a tiny smile. "I simply can't fathom."

Something about that response made the tension visibly cease. He didn't know what it was, but he was glad that the two boys in front of him did not look as distressed anymore.

"You'll continue to teach me then?" the Tsesarevich asked. Yuuri should've known that the boy would never settle unless he got what he wanted, even without hearing the rest of the sentence. "Or should I force you to?"

Yuuri chuckled. "I'll do it as long as I'm here and you still want me to." He said, not mentioning how he might be sent away very soon. Yurio wouldn't want to hear that. And Yuuri didn't want to upset him again. "Also… I'm not ever going to teach you that style."

Yurio groaned. "Alright then!" he waved a hand dismissively, "But there are a couple of movements that I want to learn from that dance."

"We'll see."

"We surely will." Yurio bit his lips, clearly contemplating something in his head, which was very, very rare of him.

He looked at Otabek, then back at Yuuri, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"You've defied my command the day before. I understand why, but I won't tolerate it ever again." Yurio's tone was serious and authoritative, his words were chosen carefully, and everything he said carried lots of weight. Yuuri had never seen him act like a truer prince and future Tsar than he did then. "Especially with this command," he came even closer to the bed where Yuuri sat, pointing a finger at his face. "Don't ever call yourself a whore in my hearing, or I'll skin you alive, I swear it."

Out of the countless threats Yurio had made in the months they have known each other, this one, as ridiculous as it was, sounded the most genuine by far.

Yuuri bowed his head, "Yes, your Highness."

Otabek opened the door for the Prince to exit the room, and followed him outside dutifully. Before he closed the door after them, however, he made sure to exchange a polite smile with Yuuri.

The two boys did not hold a grudge, after all, that was for sure. They were simply too kind. And it relieved him in many aspects. It was like a weight off of his shoulders, a breeze of wind that carried away the anxiety driven thoughts that accompanied their friendship.

He heard a loud sigh, and turned to see Michele, who, to his surprise, was wide awake. "You have some strange ties with the royal family, don't you?"

In all honesty, Yuuri did not have a solid answer to that. He responded with a shrug, since he wanted to know the truth of it as well. It was something inconsistent, for sure. Yet a powerful advantage all the same.

At least, at least he wouldn't leave that castle and regret what he had done to Yurio for the rest of his days. Because Yuuri knew himself, he knew he would've done exactly that. He knew he would've lost countless hours of sleep because of it.

"Do you think Dimbo would get hanged because of this?" Yuuri asked, desperately wanting to hear an opposition to that ludicrous thought. He hadn't even considered it when he came up with that idea. All he wanted was for Dimbo to be sent away so that something good would come out of that nightmare of a night.

"He's a disabled man, you idiot." Michele grunted, readjusting the blanket around his body and closing his eyes to rest. "His Majesty won't do anything to him."

Yuuri lied down on his bed as well, taking one look at the ceiling and instantly knowing that he wouldn't be able to get too much sleep. Michele's words assured him, however, and he tried to keep them in his mind and relax, leaving the ongoing chaos on a positive note before having to deal with the rest of it. Only, only if Michele didn't decide to open his mouth again and make Yuuri regret asking.

"Or will he...?"


Nearly five hours later, and in a sudden, sharp jolt, Yuuri's body was forced out of comfortable remoteness and shifted into a state of panic. It was something he was too familiar with; his heart beating out of his chest, the erratic breathing and a pattern of horrible thoughts, in which he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was not, and should not be normal.

All that rush, all that unbearable, unstoppable rush of blood, pulled him out of sleep without warning and kept him wide awake, exhausted, and utterly miserable.

The more it went, the more he knew the danger wouldn't go away, that it was only getting nearer. It was as if his body and mind formed sensors that went off on the expense of his health and sanity.

How many hours of sleeps did he salvage out of this? How many minutes did his eyes have the pleasure of closing and resting? Not much, not much at all.

"Mickey!" he heard a screechy voice. "Stay still, will you?!"

Yuuri groaned, sitting up slowly and rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes. He looked toward Michele's bed and as he suspected, Sara was now in the room with them. It was no surprise since he had heard her conversing with Michele plenty of times throughout the morning. He could even swear he heard her crying at some point during his sleep, telling Michele in between sobs about how scared she was when she heard about the attack. Yuuri wished it was just a hallucination, a mere part of a dream he saw in his slumber.

Sara was forcing the sleeve of a clean tunic onto Michele's naked arm, the man himself not looking too comfortable with being handled that way.

Yuuri chewed on nothing and tasted a horrid taste of acid in his mouth. He did not remember when he had his last meal, and his stomach was finally voicing its protests with painful clenching and low growls.

"Oh, Yuuri?" Sara turned to him as she was helping Michele's head past the tunic. "Did you rest well?"

"Yes." He lied, slipping his legs to the side of the bed and bending down to retrieve his shoes. He needed to get away. He needed to get out of that room as soon as possible. He needed to find a way to subside the panic before it did something to him.

"Are you feeling well?" Sara was not paying attention and as a result, her hand accidently bumped into Michele's nose, earning a loud yelp from her twin brother.

"I'm not!" Michele snapped. "What are you doing, woman?!"

"Sorry, sorry." Sara winced, finally managing to finish dressing him. She folded the disposed blanked Michele had thrown back into the bed, then turned to see Yuuri on his feet. "Where are you going? You should rest more!"

"I wasn't hurt, really." Yuuri did not look their way. "I'm not the one who needs it."

"But Yuuri," she warned, "Miss Minako said that you two should stay here until his Majesty comes back. He still hasn't seen you yet."

"Of course he hasn't." Yuuri said, "He has more important matters to deal with." He made sure to sound calm and sweet toward her, which meant hiding his disappointment by digging his nails too hard into his palm. The bandages were still there, he noticed, which made it hurt less. Yuuri hated that it did. "I'm going to find something to eat."

Michele was glaring his way, for he was obviously seeing right through his charade. Yuuri didn't know any other way to respond other than avoid eye contact.

Sara, however, did not seem to suspect a thing. "Make sure to come back quickly, yes?"

Yuuri nodded, heading toward the door. "Do you want me to bring you anything?"

"No, Michele and I ate while you were sleeping." Sara told him, looking at Michele with pursed lips. "Should Yuuri tell Emil about this?" she put a soft hand on her brother's shoulder. "Please, Mickey, he's been asking about you all day."

"No." Michele declined immediately, groaning. "He'll worry too much."

"But Mickey..."

Yuuri slyly made his way out of the infirmary in fear of getting swept into their argument. The twins were very attached to each other, in a way he and Mari never were. He liked watching them interact, but that day, however, Yuuri was not in the mood to bear with their overly dramatic jabbering.

The kitchens would be serving lunch soon, Yuuri gathered by glancing at the clock on the hallway, which meant that there would be utter chaos inside between the cooks, servants, and the slaves. He, after all, was in the middle of it quite often.

With that, he realized that going there would only cause them delay and inconvenience, so he had no other choice but to head back to the harem, where all the other concubines were about to be served.

He never ate at the same time and place as them, for he did everything he could to miss such gatherings. The time in which the harem was most crowded, right after the Taking nights, were during daily lunch servings, and getting ridiculed with their spiteful looks and comments was something he always tried to avoid.

It might have been ten minutes, or fifteen, or twenty, but sometime during his walk, Yuuri's breath finally returned to normal. The fresh air, the quiet, and physical exertion provided a small outlet, and he was glad for it.

But of course, it did not last for too long. He noticed a figure across the hallway from him, moving in the opposite direction. Yuuri raised his head, his heart dropping instantly when recognized the man.

Dimbo, with his white-blond hair, big, overly rounded forehead, crooked and yellow teeth, and his joyous, lively giggle upon spotting Yuuri, was carrying almost a dozen of empty food trays. So many of them that they managed to form a dirty, greasy tower in his hands.

Yuuri, with everything he had, tried to force a smile as big as the one the other man was giving him, but he was physically incapable of it. He had seen that scene countless times, but never did it have such a powerful effect on him. He was simply too worried, too worried for the man's life.

What if this was the last time he saw Dimbo alive?

The young man passed him by, and for a split second, his body, nearly twice as massive as Yuuri's, casted a shadow over him. And Yuuri felt it in his own bones.

At that instant he knew, he knew that Dimbo's shadow would either vanish at the first reappearance of light, or it would remain a duvet of regrets over his head for the rest of his life.


Upon passing the doors of the imperial harem, Yuuri was instantly thrust into a medium of loud noise. Suffocating air made its way into his lungs, accompanied with an unbearable scent of hot food, wine, and fancy perfumes that he grew to hate.

It might have been his imagination, but the loud, rich chitter-chatter lowered in volume with his arrival. Earlier in his stay, it was easy for Yuuri to mask his presence and blend in with the crowd, as if he was any other concubine or servant, as if he was never even there. But as months passed by, it became absolutely impossible. He was far too easy to recognize now, and it did not help his current situation when his hair wasn't tidied up and his spectacles weren't there to protect him.

Nearly a hundred or more bodies were pasted together toward the side of the harem - where the food was being distributed - but as condensed as the place was, Yuuri did not bump into a single person. Each and every one of them tensed whenever he came close and did their best to empty his path.

Yuuri regretted coming there faster than he predicted he would, because all it did was fill him with apprehension. It's only in your head, he tried to reason with himself. It's not real.

Yuuri was getting close to where they were serving the food, yet, he couldn't bring himself to go any nearer. Even looking at all the groups in front of the dining area made him nervous, so he stepped away, separating himself from the masses and deciding to wait until the overcrowding ceased.

When Yuuri paid more attention, he noticed that the laughter and chatter had returned. He was thankful, for a moment, that the people around him were paying attention to their food again and not his unwelcome presence. But he realized soon enough that the noise was too loud for it to be mere excitement for the meal, especially when he heard cheers and exclamations somewhere behind him. Curious, Yuuri turned around to see what was the cause of such strange shift in atmosphere.

It was a mistake, a big, big mistake. Because the moment Yuuri turned, he was pushed with so much force that his already aching back landed on the carpeted, dirty floor.

He felt something wet on his face and heard unified laughter coming from possibly every single concubine in close proximity.

Yuuri opened his eyes and tried to hold himself back as hard as he could, to keep it together under the sudden, yet overwhelming scrutiny. His cheeks started to dampen, then gradually the rest of his face. An emotion took over him, regardless of his effort, a feeling that was so foreign he did not know how he was supposed to react to it.

Eventually, Yuuri gave in. He lifted his head and did something that he thought he wasn't capable of anymore. He started giggling, which caught the entire crowd around him by surprise.

"Makkachin." He tried to steady her, but the massive dog kept on licking every corner of his face and barking happily. "Makkachin, stop."

She had knocked him down on the floor so hard that Yuuri could honestly compare it to when he threw himself out of the balcony the night before. It sounded completely absurd, but if the floor was as hard as the stone railing, the fall would've surely knocked the air out of his lungs for a second time that day.

But he was not mad, not at all. He couldn't even remember the last time he giggled at something, let alone felt so genuinely amused. Makkachin was a lot heavier than she looked, he realized once again, as the two were in the same position as the first time they were acquainted.

"Good girl, good girl," he praised her, even though she wasn't, not on any account, being a good girl. He patted her head and tried his hardest to get her off of his chest before she accidently broke one of his ribs.

Yuuri smiled excitedly despite himself, his entire face lighting up due to the fact that this must've been the first time he actually touched her.

Makkachin was a very friendly pet, and often enjoyed rubbing her body against Yuuri's legs whenever he was present, placing her paws on his lap, and circling around him in excitement, always demanding some sort of attention from him. Yet, he had always been too timid to play with her.

Yuuri had never owned a pet; he wasn't allowed to have one as a high ranking noble, and certainly not when he became a slave. He didn't get to see that many dogs during his childhood, but every rare time he did, his heart would clench in adoration. He had not a clue on how to interact and play with them, however, and was always afraid of doing something wrong and hurting them unknowingly. Makkachin was an imperial pet and the love of Victor's life, after all, which daunted him even more.

He managed to get on his knees and, unable to resist the hypnotic urge anymore, his hands slid through her fur by their own accord. It was simply impossible not to take advantage of his position. By looking, Yuuri always thought that with how thick her fur appeared, it would feel harsh and wiry to the touch. But in fact, it was the complete opposite. It felt so incredibly soft and smooth against his fingers that it was hard to just feel content with just a few touches, so he didn't even try to stop himself from indulging.

Unconsciously, he stroke her the same way Victor usually did, touching every spot she liked and trying to be as gentle with her as he physically could. Yuuri didn't even remember paying such close attention to that when he was in Victor's quarters, but the more content Makkachin looked, especially when he rubbed the areas under her big, fluffy ears, the prouder it made him feel for doing so.

Yet, Makkachin was still very, very hyper, and was barking loud enough that the entire harem could hear her. Yuuri only had the fortune of seeing the poodle when it was very late at night, so it wasn't surprising that she was considerably more zealous during this time of the day. And even though he tried to deny the thought, Yuuri still couldn't stop himself from considering that Makkachin actually missed him. After all, he had not had a glimpse of her in over a month.

He knew that playing with the Tsar's pet so freely was attracting lots of attention, for the laughter had certainly died down when the crowd surrounding Yuuri realized that Makkachin wasn't actually trying to attack him.

Yuuri didn't care, not when Makkachin seemed so delighted to see him. There was something so precious, so heartwarming about it. It was something that made all the events of those past two horrendous days vanish somewhere in the back of his mind for the time being.

He tried to recall other things he had seen Victor do, and in an attempt to make her stop pouncing and trying to lick his face, Yuuri held a finger in front of her and said, "No."

He knew his Russian accent was horrible, but the command worked beautifully. Makkachin stilled in an instant, reacting the same way she would to Victor. Even her wheezing quieted as she stared at him with glowing dark eyes.

"Sit down." He tried again, and she complied obediently, laying her head into her paws and wagging her tail sideways.

It must have been one of the most endearing things he had ever seen.

It was almost magical, how a dog was so familiar with him, was so obedient that she listened to him as if he was her owner. It made Yuuri feel so, so happy it almost hurt.

"I didn't know you could use witchcraft on a goddamn dog, too."

"Tch. Unbelievable."

"Too bad she wasn't trying to chew off his wretched face."

Yuuri didn't know he was grinning until he stopped doing so, his face returning into its resting, solemn expression.

The murmurs and whispers had returned, more venomous than ever now that they had seen how even the Tsar's pet seemed enchanted by him. The mean spirited words and waves of jealousy darted in the air, just like Mari's arrows, and landed on their favorite target in perfect aim.

He almost forgot how soul crushing it was.

"I missed you too…" Yuuri whispered helplessly to Makkachin, bringing his hand close to her face and smiling sadly when she released her tongue and gave it an appreciative lick. She might've not cared about him, not even remembered who he is, really, but at least she didn't have the means to express that sort of negativity.

He patted her head again, slowly straightening himself and standing on his feet. Yuuri looked at the tables behind him, desperately trying to ignore the intense stares directed his way, and wondered if he could bring anything to give it to Makkachin as a treat.

All of a sudden, Yuuri heard loud and thunderous clacking of heels and turned around to inspect the source. The short, heavy man that had just entered the harem looked awfully familiar, Yuuri realized, as he watched him run with all his might to the side of the harem gate, completely flushed in the face.

Only when he saw the golden brass in the man's hand did Yuuri remember, with widened, fearful eyes, who he was.

Unfortunately for them both, the man did not run fast enough, so he wasn't able to blow the royal horn in time to make the announcements.

Yuuri, on the other, was entirely unprepared for what happened next, and as a result, all the calmness in him had dissolved completely when he caught a glimpse of silver hair in the distance.

Makkachin had suddenly neglected her position, and was now barking frantically at Yuuri as she jumped high enough to put her paws against his stomach.

It was as if she knew, as if she felt the overwhelming amount of panic raiding his body when he watched Victor entering the harem, leaving everyone around him gasping in awe and bowing as soon as their brains processed his sudden appearance.

However, Yuuri didn't, because he didn't understand.

It's not a night of the Taking. It's not even nighttime! Yuuri shouted internally. He shouldn't be here... What is he here for?!

'He came after his dog.' A voice in his head said degradingly. 'Do you actually think he's here for you?'

'Why,' another voice offered an entire different answer, 'Surely he's come to drag you by the hair to your execution. It's been long due.'

Makkachin barked at him again, almost on purpose, immediately making Yuuri snap out of his shell shocked state. He glanced warily at the dog attached to him, and couldn't find enough time to push her away so he could bow properly.

Yuuri turned slowly to the side, toward where he heard footsteps nearing. The next thing he knew, two warm hands were on each side of his face, tilting his head upward until Yuuri was, once again, assaulted with the sight of Victor's eyes.

Blue roses. Was the first thing that came up in his unstable mind. God must have chosen blue roses to add to that mixture as well.

Their gazes didn't stay connected, however, neither did Victor's hands stay where they were. The man's eyes, widened and shifty, quickly moved to every spot on Yuuri's face. His hands, noticeably trembling, were roaming everywhere they could reach; the back of Yuuri's head, his neck, his shoulders. And Victor's lips, which were pursed together a moment ago, were now moving too fast for Yuuri to be able to read them.

"... Yes?"

The gaze was back, more focused and intense for it to be considered pleasant. The big hands grabbed on Yuuri's cheeks once again, squeezing hard enough for him to gulp in fear. Victor repeated his words loud enough that his voice echoed throughout the dining room.

"Are you hurt?"

Yuuri blinked, once, twice, and thrice. The harem fell silent, so silent he could hear Makkachin heaving and placing her paws on Victor's legs, the same way she did when Yuuri was so scared just moments ago.

He then watched the expression on Victor's face more carefully. The Tsar looked genuinely concerned about Yuuri's well-being, perhaps even more than Yuuri himself did.

"... Michele." Yuuri whispered in response, not knowing how he managed to find his voice so quickly. "It's Michele."

In a terrifying display that made Yuuri almost slip away from under him, Victor's eyes narrowed, murderous intent taking over his face. "Michele did this?!"

"N-No! No!" Yuuri pulled away slightly from the other man's wrath, forcing Victor's hands to settle on his neck and shoulder instead of his face. The pressure was overwhelming, because this was not a casual question. For a moment, Yuuri was taken with an ominous feeling, a picture of his guard's lifeless body hanging on a platform dancing in Yuuri's vision. "It's Michele who's hurt! I'm- I'm alright. I'm fine. I'm not hurt at all!"

He was yelling, Yuuri realised in horror. He was yelling angrily at the Tsar of Russia in front of his entire harem.

Before he could see the immense relief that washed over Victor's face or hear the long sigh that escaped the man's lips, Yuuri dipped his head in shame, his jaw clenching upon hearing murmurs circulating around him once again.

The whispers have been on-going and frantic ever since Victor approached him, but only then did Yuuri's ears pick up on them. How could he not hear and sense them, when they were so heavy with disbelief and jealousy, as if trying their hardest to direct all these dark feelings toward him?

This was, after all, a sight to behold.

A hand reached out for his, spiking it with foreign warmth and holding on tight, suddenly muting everything else around him and making Yuuri focus on that point of contact alone.

Yuuri did not look up, didn't dare to, not when Victor dragged him by the hand across the harem, not when the two passed by the crowd surrounding them, and not when Victor gave them no time to properly disperse and as a result, putting them both too close to the concubines on their way to the exit. Yuuri felt the crowd's proximity, their heavy breaths, and their undenied bafflement at the sight of him with their Tsar in such an unusual position.

When Yuuri finally looked up, however, it was because of nothing but sheer terror.

There was a loud thud, followed by a clatter and the sound of a woman gasping in distress.

Yuuri's eyes detached from the bright red stain that suddenly appeared on the hem of Victor's cloak and slowly gazed upon the scene. It was so surreal, as if he had witnessed the same events a long time ago in a distant dream, but was now plunged into it as a live bystander.

The wine goblet that had spilled kept rolling, and rolling, and rolling, making Yuuri shiver anxiously at the sound the metal was making against the carpet. It eventually came to a stop and settled next to the food tray that had flipped over, whatever content it held, from plates to food to utensils, were splattering in a mess on the floor.

Yuuri's mouth felt dry.

"Oh, god!" the servant who dropped the tray cried, bowing to her waist. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I - I- Please forgive me!"

She was so scared, Yuuri saw and reflected, she was so, so scared.

But how couldn't she be? Anyone would be afraid for their life given the situation, since almost every resident in the castle had heard about what happened the last time a slave dared to cut the Tsar's path.

The same slave who went missing and was rumored to be dead. For simply mistaking Princess Mila's honorifics.

Makkachin, blissfully unaware of the scene around her, was eagerly nibbling at the broth that had collected on the floor.

He closed his eyes in fear of what was coming, and when he opened them again, the Tsar's hand - the one that wasn't tightly holding onto Yuuri's - was on top of the woman's head, stoking it gently. "Don't fret, dear." Victor said hurriedly, but still with the grace of a god. "It was my fault."

It happened so quickly Yuuri was having a hard time digesting anything at all. Victor didn't even stop walking the whole time, didn't slow down a bit to look at the woman's face, didn't halt the way he was pulling Yuuri behind him, and didn't even spare a glance at the people gaping at their backs.

Where is the cold, degrading look? Yuuri wondered, recalling the last time this happened. Where is the anger? Where are the venomous words?

All what Victor seemed focused on at the moment, however, was getting Yuuri outside of the harem as quickly as possible. And for what? Yuuri had no idea.

With a hazy vision, Yuuri realized that they were already passing the doors of the harem with Makkachin at their heels, and started shivering at the contrasting cold of the hallway. He caught the faintest glimpse of half a dozen royal guards and knights, all scattered in front of the entrance, and abruptly, the hand pulling him let go. He heard Victor's quiet, yet unmistakingly authoritative voice as he ordered the attendance to give them privacy and the world started spinning. He saw a couple of them look away with reddened faces before his breath caught in his throat. Victor's arms were wrapped around him, putting him in the most foreign and unfamiliar position.

It took Yuuri a couple of pregnant moments to realize that Victor was embracing him, tightly, so tightly that their chests were flushed against each other.

The man's head was resting on Yuuri's shoulder, his face on the side of Yuuri's neck, and arms firmly holding the back of his shoulders. Yuuri, on the other hand, stood still as a statue, with eyes as wide as saucers and ears turning flaming red from embarrassment.

Victor's heavy breaths sent the sharpest shudders along Yuuri's spine, for the Tsar's mouth was so close to his skin. "Bear with me."

Having no choice, Yuuri did exactly that, feeling Makkachin's paws pushing on his hip as the dog tried her best to be included.

With arms flat on his sides and shoulders completely stiff, he tried to remember the last time he was so tightly locked in an embrace of this sort. He did not remember much from when Minako held him, for both of them were in such a devastating mental state to do anything other than fight the disbelief of their encounter. Holding on to Sara, on the other hand, must've been the complete opposite of this. Yuuri did not recall why he held her, exactly, but he was the one who initiated it at least.

This, however, was so different, so out of place, and so odd. Sara and Minako were short, slender, and tiny compared to Yuuri. On the surface, it felt as though he was protecting those two women, blocking and protecting them from the outside world with his larger body.

Victor, with his long arms, wide shoulders, and much taller frame, was doing both the exact same thing and the exact opposite; blocking Yuuri from the prying eyes, yet attracting all the attention towards them with vengeance. He was protecting Yuuri from the ill intentions of the other concubines, but at the same time he was giving them another reason to resent him. Yuuri could already feel passerbys staring at them, bashful at the sight.

"They said that your face was beaten beyond recognition… that your bones were broken… that your teeth were shattered-" the Tsar stopped whispering with that unsettling voice, and instead tightened his arms painfully around Yuuri, burying his nose deeper into the shorter man's neck.

Makkachin whined, from being neglected, or from seeing her owner so vulnerable, Yuuri wasn't sure.

Whoever informed the Tsar about last night's attack had somehow mistaken Yuuri for Michele, and not only that, but they had exaggerated the truth to a point where it could barely be called that.

After hearing him, Yuuri started to notice some tiny details he had not paid attention to when the Tsar arrived. Victor, from the very first moment that Yuuri had seen him, was always dressed with garments that held so much magnificence that - along with the grace he carried himself with - almost made the emperor seem like a superior being. The current Victor, who was clinging on Yuuri like he was about to fade away, whose hair did not look as neat and tamed, whose cloak was stained with wine and his riding boots were dirtied with fresh mud, seemed like he had ridden to the castle as soon as he heard about the attack.

And for his breathing, Yuuri realized, listening more carefully, it wasn't heavy as he felt at first, no, that wasn't it. Those strange sounds were of Victor's breaths evening out in slow seeping relief.

An instinctual part of Yuuri had an urge break out of his motionless state and hug Victor back just as hard, if not harder, only to offer the man some sort of assurance that he was alright. But a bigger part of him, a far more dominant one, held back firmly, wanting the Tsar to be even more disheveled, wanting him to be completely devastated. Because if there was anyone to blame for that atrocious series of events that led Yuuri to almost commiting suicide, it was him.

'No it wasn't.' A voice inside his head laughed tauntingly. 'That was all you, you madman.'

Distantly, Yuuri noticed that the voices started flowing back exactly the moment Victor let go.

"D-Dimbo..." Yuuri tried to summarize what happened the way he practiced in his mind, but the words were difficult to formulate. He had to remind himself to take advantage of Victor's current state, since the man didn't seem as angry and as wrathful as he imagined he'd be. If anything, Yuuri would never have that chance again. "He… he had a fit and-"

"Darling, your hands..." Victor looked like he did not hear a word Yuuri said, his eyes solely focused on the bandages wrapped around Yuuri's knuckles. The Tsar's sedated expression was immediately replaced with a frown. "What happened to your hands?"

Yuuri winced, and not because Victor tightly interlaced their fingers, but because Victor was starting to look angry.

"Please, don't punish Dimbo. Please." Yuuri said quickly, betting on the time he had before Victor started shouting and berating again, just like last time. Yuuri sounded so little, so pathetic. But he didn't know what else to do. "He didn't do anything wrong. It was my fault."

Victor raised his head, meeting Yuuri's eyes again. His brows furrowed deeply. "Dim...bo?"

Only when he heard the name being uttered from the Tsar's own lips, in that unfamiliar and questioning manner, did the weight of everything Yuuri's been doing crash on him in full force.

He was getting an innocent man involved in his schemes for no reason, just a slim chance that he might be offered help, the slimmest of chances. Yuuri was putting that innocent man in danger, the man who already had the most unfortunate and hard life, who was already being punished cruelly everyday for no reason other than his birth defects, whose situation was times worse than Yuuri's and couldn't even compare. All of it was now becoming a reality. All the horrifying consequences now seemed too real.

He thought of Dimbo's joyous laugh, his careless smile, and his unscathed heart. He thought of the shadow that Dimbo's body cast over him earlier, and Yuuri regretted the very moment he mentioned that poor man's name.

Minako was right, he should've been ashamed of himself.

"Do you mean Bozho?"

Yuuri blinked, taken aback completely. Out of everything that he had anticipated as a response from Victor, none of it came close to such a strange answer.

'Bozho'… That name danced in Yuuri's mind, unlocking a jumble of random memories. Was that… was that Dimbo's real name?

"Bozho Mikhailov, the simpleton?" Victor elaborated. He took that as a yes when he saw Yuuri's eyes widen. "What are you talking about? I sent him to a home months ago."

Yuuri was rendered speechless for a few moments, doing nothing but cluelessly stare at Victor, doubting every answer he was about to give.

Eventually, Yuuri opted for the one he was most confident in. "No. No, you did not."

Somewhere in his mind, Yuuri had went in thinking that the Tsar surely didn't know Dimbo- or Bozho, considering that even though the man had a special case, he was still unimportant. Wasn't that what Minako said? That many issues took priorities over his case?

"I see..." Victor let out an exasperated sigh, releasing one of his hands to run through his silver hair. "I must have forgotten."

Sometimes Yuuri didn't understand how Victor's memory worked. It was infamous, for Minako had referenced it many times, but it was also confusing. Victor remembered a name that the majority of the castle, even Yuuri and perhaps even Minako, had long forgotten. He also seemed to remember the man's circumstances, all that while simultaneously forgetting something as significant as issuing an order for his transfer.

For someone who had so many responsibilities to carry on his shoulders, so many duties to take care of, so many places to be at, and countless relations to keep, Victor's head seemed to develop a very strange system that decided on what to recall and what to toss away.

"So he was the man who attacked you, Yuuri?" Victor asked a final time, his tone demanding, leaving no room for doubts or second guessing.

Yuuri felt the fear rising again. Foolish. He cursed himself, you should have kept your mouth shut.

"Please..." Yuuri started, looking down at his feet. "Spare him. Please." He balled his hands into fists, uncaring about how pathetic he sounded. Pride, honor, self worth; it all meant nothing when another man's life was on the line. "If anyone deserves to take the punishment… it's me. I take full responsibility."

What a poetic ending it'd be, Yuuri mused. Hanged to death on a high and ancient platform, by the hands of his owner, in front of the many who wished death upon him, even Michele unable to stop it this time.

"You say very absurd things." Was the Tsar's immediate answer. Gently, Victor's hand settled on his cheek, making Yuuri look back at him. The expression on his face was soft, too soft. "Darling… I'd take a knife to the heart before I bring myself to punish you."

Makkachin chose that moment to bark, having enough of the lack of attention she was getting. Yuuri couldn't have been more thankful for the interruption, because he did not know how much more he could handle.

Victor freed both of his hands and moved them to caress the sides of Makkachin's head. His touches were ever so affectionate, but his expression turned more serious the longer he stared down at her, deep in thought. "Moreover…" he looked back at Yuuri, unsettled. "Bozho is a mentally disabled man, I would certainly not punish him so." Victor's lips formed a thin line, "Yuuri, do you think I'm some sort of monster?"

'Yes.' Was the sad, but true answer. "No, your Majesty." Was what he said aloud.

Victor only sighed, not pleased with the reply. "You said Crispino was hurt?"

Yuuri looked away, "He is. Because he protected me."

"Well, he had only one duty, after all." Victor muttered, not impressed the slightest. "He begged so hard for another chance, and here he is, finally proving he's not completely useless."

Victor, as it seemed, still did not let go of the fact that Michele was assigned to keep an eye on Yuuri the first night he was attacked. It made Yuuri curious, and a bit scared, when he sometimes considered what would happen if Victor ever knew the truth; that Michele failed to keep an eye on him because he was the one who attacked him that night.

A glorious pair they were, Yuuri and Michele, weren't they?

All things considered, Yuuri finally understood Michele's words. It made him look at the guard's situation with a different view because, in Victor's eyes, Michele was somehow right to say that he had done nothing but disappoint him.

"All what matters is that you're safe, my darling." Victor said, but his eyes were fixed elsewhere, to the direction where more people were accumulating and the whispers seemed to double. "And do not worry about Bozho..." he was frowning at the unwelcome audience, but when he turned to Yuuri, the sweetest smile took over his features. "I'll leave him in good hands, alright?"

Thank god. Yuuri exhaled a breath he had been holding for what seemed like days, his entire body washing down with relief.

"Yuuri," Victor's smile turned apologetic. "I startled my party by coming back so quickly, so I'll have to go and explain myself."

Then the whispers must've been the rest of Victor's attendance catching up with him, Yuuri realized.

Victor's hands suddenly grabbed on his bandaged ones, pulling Yuuri closer until the distance between them disappeared again. The Tsar's next words were whispered into Yuuri's ear, the man's tone completely different.

"I cannot handle waiting a fortnight to see you again." Victor told him. "Not after what you did to me last night."

These words could mean anything, anything. But Yuuri did not ask, fearing the answer.

"I'll send a guard for you at midnight," Victor went on, "He'll bring you to the north wing without attracting attention." The Tsar's hands tightened around his. "Please come."

Yuuri nodded. Not that he had any other say in the matter.

Once again, he found himself watching Victor's back as the man left, Makkachin walking beside him obediently. He felt as if he had done this countless times already, always looking at the Tsar from the other end. The half a dozen of guards and knights were now more than a dozen, as the rest who were left behind had caught up. A group of handmaidens also seemed to have joined, then the the brass man followed hurriedly behind them.

Yuuri should have been embarrassed that a crowd like that had witnessed what just happened, but something entirely different was on his mind.

Victor looked behind his shoulder one last time, like he always did, and Yuuri somehow managed to find his gaze amidst all the people creating a trail behind him.

'I'd take a knife to the heart before I bring myself to punish you.'

Wasn't that a very dangerous thing to say?

What if Yuuri had done something horrible? What if he escaped, stole something, murdered someone? What if he had committed any of the countless crimes against Victor and the royal family? What would the Tsar do then?

It was a promise, however, and he knew how it always went with promises.

Therefore, during that conversation, it wasn't only Yuuri who was lying through his teeth.


He did not return to the infirmary, nor did he have a bite to eat that day.

If he thought that the attention was overwhelming the last few months, then what Yuuri had received when he went back inside the harem was a literal incarnation of hell.

All what the onslaught needed to occur was one pair of eyes witnessing him in the arms of the Tsar, and it took no more than a few minutes for it to be on every concubine's tongue.

Not even that, what prefaced Victor taking him outside of the harem was enough fuel as it is.

Such public display of affection, after all, was frowned upon and considered tasteless for a place like the imperial castle of Russia. And no one seemed to put the shame on the emperor of that castle. Only Yuuri was to blame.

Locked in his room, which was starting to become a usual state of his, Yuuri did nothing but wait for the clock to hit midnight, his stomach growling, his knuckles aching, and the mayhem in his mind proceeding, as ever.


No royal horn. No presenting. No handmaidens. No garments or accessories. Yuuri wasn't sure whether he was pleased with that divergence, or if the entire thing was a sign of something ominous.

The second floor of the harem was pitch dark and unusually listless when he finally brought himself to exit his room. For once, he was dressed like his true self for the occasion, with a dull, unmemorable assembly of a lacy black tunic and tight fitting trousers.

Amidst the natural silence of the night, however, a distinct voice came to his immediate attention.

Yuuri halted his walking, turned toward the source, and stood transfixed for a couple of moments, making sure it wasn't just an imagination.

Bianca was still fully awake, apparently, and she had the chance to either hear about what had happened in the harem earlier that day, or she was present there herself. Because the weak, helpless, and pained sobs were coming from nowhere else but her room.

In a way, hearing that vile woman cry in such a feeble way was too surreal.

Again, Yuuri wasn't sure whether he was pleased with that divergence, or if the entire thing was a sign of something ominous.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to care, so it didn't take long for him to continue his path as if nothing happened. Laugh demonically or cry hysterically, either way, Bianca was still Bianca.

He made his way to the first floor and shivered when he walked across the same spot Victor had cornered him in hours ago, but this time not a single person was in sight.

Quietly as he could, Yuuri pushed open one of the the massive double doors of the harem. Just a tiny fraction was large enough for his body to pass through. After the first careful peak at the hallway, Yuuri spotted two figures not too far from the entrance. The couple was arguing hushedly, yet animatedly, between themselves, not noting Yuuri's appearance.

"-because I'm feeling anxious just by looking at you." It was Emil who was talking, his hand gently placed on the shorter man's waist. "You can tell him whatever you want tomorrow."

"That fool might not be there by tomorrow." Michele snapped back. The guard had taken off most of his bandages - surely due to his stubborn nature, for his head wasn't entirely covered with them anymore like it did earlier. His eyes connected with Yuuri's and he glared intensely at him, slapping Emil's hand away and charging to his direction, still limping unnaturally and holding on to the injured side of his torso. "There he is."

Yuuri looked uncomfortably between the two, honestly having not the slightest clue what Michele wanted from him.

Michele's face up close almost made him grimace, because the swelling had only gone worse around his eyes and cheeks, and the nasty color of the bruises had darkened even more. His violet eyes almost matched the discoloration.

"You are being escorted to his Majesty's quarters." Michele said, in a way that made it sound like he was accusing Yuuri of something.

Yuuri blinked, feeling confused, yet defensive. He hadn't done anything wrong, Michele should've known that more than anyone. "I'm aware."

The man bared his teeth. "Tonight is a Monday."

"I'm aware."

Michele grabbed Yuuri's upper arm and pulled him roughly to the side. How the man managed to still exert so much strength in his current condition was a mystery.

"I'm starting to think your promise was utter horse shit." Michele spit out the moment they were a safe distance away from Emil. "Do you know why?"

There were countless reasons why, really, but Yuuri clenched his jaw, refusing to answer him.

With visible anger, Michele dug into his pocket roughly and held a blade to Yuuri's face. "Do you?"

"M-Michele!" Emil whispered, or shouted in horror, Yuuri wasn't sure which. It sounded like both. "What are you-"

"It's not what it looks like!" Michele shouted back with the same hushed tone.

Yuuri didn't need that explanation, because he wasn't scared for his life, rather, he was ashamed of himself.

Michele wasn't, by any means, going to stab him to death like he appeared to be, no, that wasn't what the man meant.

Because that shiny, sharp, and slender blade in his hand belonged to Yuuri. It was the knife that he had lost, the one he spent the night prior desperately searching for.

"I found this when I inspected your room, weeks ago." Michele pocketed the knife, his eyes narrowing in distaste. "And it wasn't for safety as I first assumed, was it?"

Yuuri, once again, was being berated by the same man, but instead of feeling humiliated, he couldn't stop himself from longingly staring at the place where the knife disappeared.

"A whole day imprisoned in bed gave me time to think." Michele told him, "I wrecked my mind trying to figure out why you did what you did. And surely, it wasn't a coincidence that your attempt coincided with the night of the Taking." He waited for a response, but he did not receive any. He took the silence as an affirmative. "You goddamn fool." He groaned out. "I will turn twenty years soon, just like you now, and I can't write my own name. But you, you read and write like it's as easy as breathing. You speak a dozen of languages without difficulty. You know mathematics. You understand poetry and religion and philosophy... yet, you are so utterly idiotic and blind that it baffles me." He spat in anger, "You're on everyone's tongue, do you know that?"

"I do." Yuuri answered bitterly, glaring back at Michele. He hated it. He hated it so much when that man tried to lecture him about his own life, no matter his intentions. As if he knew anything. "It would've been easier if I didn't."

"I'm not talking about those vile concubines! The castle sees them as nothing but snakes!" Michele retaliated. "Maidens dress like you. Knights turn red at the mention of you. Some men write poetry about your beauty. And even hidden as a servant, people still talk about your hard work and kindness. But you do not bother to see any of it, do you?"

Yuuri snorted in amusement. Lies, he thought. Ridiculous, laughable lies.

Even the voices were giggling at the absurd words.

"As you will. Don't believe me." Michele looked like he was about to hit him, but refrained himself. "I've been living in this castle since before his Majesty was crowned. And this-" he gestured around them, pointing out how Yuuri was on his way to the Tsar's quarters despite it not being the long-established night of the Taking. "-had never happened before. Tsar Victor never did this to anyone, only you. You can even make history if you go on like this.

"You have power over that man. You probably have more influence than some of his own councillors. Take advantage of that! Ask him for jewellery, for expensive clothing, for horses, bloody hell, you can even ask him for your own quarters and he might grant it because it's you who asked!"

"I don't want it." Yuuri said desperately, "I don't want quarters. I don't want expensive clothing, influence, power, nor jewellery. I want none of it."

"Then ask him for something that would drive your suicidal thoughts away!" Michele finally said his piece, "Yuuri," the man held his shoulders and shook them once, as if to wake him up, "Please. I beg of you, for both our sakes. You are not mentally stable. You're not." He told him. "And his Majesty can help you. He might be the only one who can help you!"


"His Majesty is in the study room." One of the guards said.

Yuuri was tired, so, so tired that his legs could barely keep him standing, let alone his mind being active enough to try and understand anything anymore.

He hadn't slept in three days, three days that seemed longer than three years and still ongoing, not wanting to ever stop expanding. He wondered how on earth was it physically possible for so many events to happen in such short intervals.

Yuuri turned to Emil, who was the one assigned to accompany him, but the man didn't seem to understand the implication either.

"Should I wait for him in the bedroom?" Yuuri asked eventually, wanting nothing more than to fall somewhere soft and get rid of all the overwhelming physical exhaustion. Victor's bed seemed like eden as far as his brain could process.

The guards shared a look, and knowing them, Yuuri could tell that they had received some specific orders that couldn't apply at the current time, leaving them uncertain on what to do next.

"Do whatever you want, sir." One of them said, which caught Yuuri by surprise.

"You can go see him in the study room, sir." The other added, then looked at the first guard for a long time before they both decided on something between them. "Please go to the study room, sir."

"Go, Yuuri." Emil encouraged, seeing him so confused by the behavior of the guards. "The Tsar wouldn't be happy if you were there and he kept you waiting."

How utterly unbelievable. Yuuri glared at the door before bringing back some remaining strength to make his way to the room.

The study room, if he remembered correctly, was the one opposite to the bedroom, so as Yuuri passed the long, eerie as ever corridor of Victor's quarters, all he needed was to take a few extra steps to find it.

He realized, wincing as the door creaked painfully loudly, that he had forgotten to knock and take permission to enter before opening it. But considering everything that he had done wrong in the past couple of months - including the fact that he had never, not even once, kneeled or even properly bowed to Victor - this wasn't that remarkable, and yes, once again, Victor didn't look bothered by it.

In fact, Victor seemed delighted by the sudden appearance. The gentle smile taking over his face, in the soft lighting of the room, was one of the things that calmed Yuuri the most, that assured him that the Tsar wasn't about to do something atrocious to him.

The study room was just like everything else that Victor owned; extravagant, priceless, and a piece of art befitting only kings. The floor stretched endlessly, covered with multiple carpets made of the skins of the rarest of beasts. The walls were either decorated with art worth millions or book shelves that were the home of endless amounts of knowledge. There was a massive table at one end of the room, made of the finest of wood, which could've seated at least two dozens of men, and at the other end, there was Victor's desk, the center of attention of the room.

"Yuuri," Victor greeted softly, too softly, his eyes returning to the paperwork on the desk in front of him before even establishing eye contact. "Take a seat. I'll be done soon."

Yuuri stared at the clock, watching, with a new emerging feeling, how the hands started to pass midnight and entering the premise of one o'clock in the morning. He didn't know what it was, exactly, but something about that particular setting managed to tick him off unexpectedly. And all of a sudden, Yuuri was taken with that same mass of dark emotions that managed to emerge whenever he was alone with that man.

It was obvious, however, why he was starting to get so frustrated. Victor was the one who arranged this meeting, wasn't he? Victor was the one who ordered him to come at midnight, wasn't he? He was the one who said that he couldn't wait, wasn't he?

But what was Yuuri expecting? For Victor to pounce on him just like the night before? Was he expecting him to pay some attention to him? Was he expecting him to look at him?

He couldn't see the heavy bags forming under Victor's eyes, he couldn't remember that Victor was a Tsar, even, with responsibilities and work and an entire nation under his command. He couldn't remember that Victor only had two rest days once every two weeks, which was the day of the Taking and the one after it.

He didn't see. He didn't remember.

Or rather, he didn't care.

He only knew that he hated Victor from his very core and the last few days only solidified that.

With heavy steps, Yuuri approached the central desk. His mind was, once again, shut off from the world and unable to comprehend the situation he was finding himself in, thus all what was left of Yuuri was a an uncontrollable frame of rage and frustration that wanted nothing but chaotic release.

'Take a seat.' Was Victor's order, and Yuuri was following it. Yet, the half a dozen of chairs in front of the desk were of no interest to him, as he did not care to spare them more than a glance.

Victor had summoned him at a regular night. Victor couldn't wait until he saw him again. Victor had never done this to anyone else before. Yuuri was Victor's favorite. He was his darling. And he was probably the first concubined to ever be allowed in this room.

So of course he wasn't interested in those goddamn chairs.

Victor's entire frame stilled, but it was too late, because Yuuri had already circled the desk and was standing right beside him. Or above him.

He put a hand casually next to Victor's, on the letter that the man had stopped writing. Yuuri realized that his understanding of Cyrillic writing had improved, since he was able to read a few words before he looked away.

Victor's legs were parted, he saw, so he took his seat. Victor's breath hitched sharply as Yuuri found his balance on the man's lap with ease, keeping his hand on the table, then placing his other elbow on Victor's shoulder, caging him like he was always caged.

There it was. Victor's eyes on him once again. Yuuri decided that he hated whenever his eyes weren't on him like that, so narrowed, yet so wide around the pupils, as if they'd burst with emotion at any second.

'You have power over that man.'

He didn't know where the bravery was coming from, or whether he could really call it that. If anything, all what he was doing was nothing but absolutely foolish.

"I can come back." Yuuri said, his voice as low as it gets, but his tone unmistakably demanding. His lips were almost touching Victor's forehead with how close their heads were, Yuuri's a little higher. "Next fortnight."

"No." Victor declined quickly, desperately. "No." He repeated, this time with a softer, steadier voice. The Tsar wrapped a hand around Yuuri's back, then slowly reached out to take off his glasses with the other, placing them next to the unfinished letter and pushing them away. His breath fanned on Yuuri's face as he said his next words. "Don't go. Please."

Yuuri had no idea which one of them initiated the kiss, but he knew that it felt uninvitingly good.

Victor was the catalyst to so many horrible things that had happened to him. Victor was a foolish man, an ignorant man, and a demon in Yuuri's mind. But he kissed like an angel, he kissed in every way that a man should, and Yuuri, blindly, relished every second of it.

A hand tightened around Yuuri's waist, pushing and pulling until the side of Yuuri's plastered against Victor's, leaving not an inch between them. A palm grabbed on Yuuri's thigh, squeezing then caressing it all the way down to his leg, bringing it closer around the man's waist. Their position was almost sinful, and Yuuri didn't mind, because so was their relationship.

The tongue inside his mouth was sinning, and his own was following suit. Victor's lips were reaching for the forbidden fruit, and Yuuri's encouraged it further. The moans and groans coming from them, everytime they grinded against each other just right, were songs and prayers dedicated to the devil. The new marks Victor's mouth was leaving on his chin and neck were satanic symbols.

Yuuri's hand found its way into Victor's silver hair, and clasped on, pulling harshly until Victor's lips were back on his and continuing their joined deed.

Yuuri loathed and cherished it. He despised and loved it. He was disgusted and awed by it.

Desperate hands reached out for the collar of his tunic, tracing the patterns down until they found the buttons that kept it upright. They worked quickly, yet gently, to unknot them and reveal whatever skin Yuuri had underneath.

The man's cold fingers trailed Yuuri's collarbones, making him hiss pleasurably at the sensation as Victor cupped his naked shoulder from underneath the fabric. Yuuri's own hands blindly looked for something in return, but they found nothing around Victor's top, just the feeling of hard muscle underneath that begged to be touched. Yuuri didn't know what he was planning to do, but his hand reached for the hem of Victor's top anyway, pulling randomly, as he was too distracted by Victor's beautiful lips on his.

Amidst all the laughter, chants, screams and hisses coming from the party of demons inside his head, a distinct voice reached out to him, repeating one phrase over and over and over again until it finally reached his useless ears.

What are you doing?! His conscience shouted in horror. What are you doing?!

Yuuri gasped as if he was being pulled out from under water, his body detaching itself from Victor's with a harsh movement, jumping away in violent repulsion.

Yuuri was on his feet, unsteady and breathless and flushed from every corner that Victor had touched. His chest was rising and falling painfully, and the world was swaying, or was he?

His vision was disrupted and partly useless, but he was still able to see the state he had left Victor in. Yuuri didn't know which one of them was more disheveled.

Yuuri swallowed and tried to regain his breath, but it was no use. He bared his teeth, his eyes glaring toward Victor in the nastiest of looks.

"Why did you apologize?!" he finally, finally snapped.

Victor blinked repeatedly, his own breathing unstable. The man put one of his hands on the table to steady himself, then turned toward Yuuri, utterly baffled. "... What?"

"That night." Yuuri snarled, taking one step toward Victor's chair, yet not daring to go any closer. "Why did you apologize to me? Why did you give me that gift?!" he inhaled sharply, then let out the next words louder than he intended. "If you want to treat me like a whore, at least be straightforward about it! It's the least you could do!"

A loud bang came from the table. Victor's hand, balled into a fist, was shaking from the impact it did on the wooden surface. He was slowly getting up from his chair when he calmly spoke, "You've said enough."

"W-why did you apologize?" Yuuri, consumed with stubborness, repeated a third time. "Answer the question."

"Why didn't you apologize?" Victor snapped back, finally looking at him again with an irritated frown.

Yuuri took a few moments to even formulate a coherent response to that ridiculous question. "Exc… Excuse me?"

Victor stood in front of his desk, reaching out for the now scattered papers and arranging them in an organized pile. "To wait for so long. To want it and imagine it in so many ways." He began, voice laced with contempt. "Then for it to turn into a mindless fuck because of anger and jealousy. Oh, how magical." The emperor smiled in irony, "This prospering empire is not run by a fool, darling. You looked like you were stuck between stabbing me to death or having sex with me." The papers that he had just arranged were crumbled by Victor's hand in frustration. "I was no better. I should have done something other than push you forcibly toward the latter."

Yuuri stared, transfixed, and feeling completely idiotic for ever thinking that Victor was, in any way, as oblivious as he thought.

"I want nothing more than to erase that night from my memory." Victor went on, glancing at him, then going back in a useless attempt to fix the mess on the desk. "Perhaps my first time with you wouldn't have been so unromantic and empty. Perhaps I could have found a way to make you desire me without tricks and games. Perhaps I would have been more gentle." The man sighed, "But alas, Yuuri. There are things even an Emperor has no control over. I'm no god, after all, I'm just a man."

"I… I…" Yuuri clenched his teeth, tried to stop himself from saying what he was wanting to say, but he failed. "I took you for someone who wouldn't have such… such fantasies."

"You don't know me." Victor said firmly, having no idea, no idea about how much weight those words carried. "I'm an entirely different person in your eyes, no? And nothing I did - or I'm doing - seems to be able to change that." Victor hummed, "You might not think so, but there is honor in sex, just like how there is in everything else. What we did was not honorable, so what sort of man would I be if I didn't apologize for such a distasteful act? In fact, you should've apologized as well. It's common courtesy."

Vain. He felt so completely and utterly vain. Victor's explanation was laughable, childish even, but Yuuri had to believe it because it fit so bloody well. Out of all the scenarios that he imagined, the reasons he considered, the outcomes he predicted, this was the most ridiculous, yet it fit.

Did that entail the conclusion that everything that had happened in those two days could have been avoided with one honest conversation?

Or was Yuuri consumed with so many emotions that those two past days would have never been avoided, as he would have never been so opened and acceptable to even have it in the first place without the initial madness? Everything he had done, after all, were only means of releasing and vaporizing those emotions that were ever growing the longer he remained silent and motionless.

He didn't know. He didn't know anything. He didn't want to know anything.

"Yuuri, no..." Victor said with the most delicate tone, his face crumbling completely as he absorbed Yuuri. He walked closer to the shorter man, placing a delicate hand on his cheek once he was in front of him. "I don't know what to do when you cry..."

Was there a level more pathetic than not even being aware of the fall of your own tears? And in front of the man that you never wanted to appear vulnerable before? Because Yuuri had reached it, and his patheticness was intensified with the fact that he wasn't even ashamed upon finding out.

What did the tears signify, however? Were they falling because of the corruption of his childhood? Because of the loss of two caring parents? The disappearance of a sister? The constant feeling of imprisonment? The loss of youth under the punishing hands of merchants and sex traders? The vile teachings of Madams and handlers? The heartlessness of his owners? The loathe and hate of his peers?

Did they fall because of the mental torture that he had to endure every second of every day? The never ending voices that lived only to make his life a living hell? The lust for death that constantly fought with his stubbornness to live?

Were they falling because of the sad story of a guard, the misfortune of a simpleton, the past of a misfigured woman, or the oppression of a child with so many dreams?

Or were they falling because of more mundane, meaningless things? Like the want for attention from one man, and the constant feeling of never being enough? Of never deserving that attention from the place?

"Your Majesty…" Yuuri hated everything about himself at that moment, from the twisting of his face, to his watering eyes, and to his little voice. He didn't want Victor to look at him, to be able to see that state anymore. "Can you… can you…" he gulped, turning the front of his face toward Victor's palm, trying to hide it, to hide it all. "... embrace me?"

He was once again in Victor's arms before he even finished his request. And there it was, once again, that feeling of being protected, of being isolated from the non-existent prying eyes, from the world. This time, however, there were no contradictions, there was no attention to be gained from any concubines or ill-seekers. He was being held, simply held to be comforted.

"I would do anything for you, Yuuri." Victor whispered gently.

And that was it; that was enough for him to bury his face into the man's shoulder and cry his heart out.

"I'm so tired. I'm so goddamn tired." Yuuri said through his sobs, sounding almost mad. "Everything hurts." He told Victor, as if the man would understand anything. "Everything hurts so much. And I don't… And I don't know what to do."

He cried and cried until his throat hurt. He cried like he had never done in front of anyone else before. And it was draining. It was painful. It was uncomfortable. Yet, in some paradoxical way, it was the opposite of all three at the same time.

Why him? Something inside Yuuri wondered. Because it's him. The answer came from the same place.

"Oh darling, I'm sorry," Victor whispered helplessly, rubbing a hand against Yuuri's back and using the other to cup the back of his head. Slender fingers ran through his raven hair, offering comfort and affection mindlessly. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't want you to say sorry." Yuuri begged, "I don't want you to give me gifts." He paused, clenching his teeth and rubbing his face against Victor's shoulder to sober himself. "Don't ever give me gifts for being with you. I'm… I'm not-"

"You're not." Victor agreed immediately, "You're not."

Yuuri bit his lip. "I'm not?"

"I can shout it to the skies, to the entire world, and you'll still be the only one deaf to my words." Victor explained tiredly, "Belittling you was never my intention, I just wanted to please you. And I mean it… I'll do everything I can to please you. I'd buy you anything, I'd offer you anything, and I'd grant you anything. Everything within my power, my darling, I'd do it."

"Victor…" Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor's back, finally returning the embrace and clutching on the man for dear life. "Victor, I just wanted to be a dancer."

"You're already a dancer." Victor said gently, "The most beautiful and talented dancer in the world."

Yuuri shook his head, not having the strength to argue that ridiculous claim. "I just want to dance. That's all I want."

"I won't stop you." If possible, Victor's touches became even softer on his back and hair. "I never intended to stop you."

Yuuri's entire frame shook as it allowed these words to sink. Slowly, so slowly.

"Darling," Victor pulled away just slightly to look at his face. "Shall we go to the bedroom?"

"I- I can't." Yuuri looked away, ashamed and reluctant. "I'm tired… I can't. Please-"

"I am as well." Victor smiled reassuringly, caressing his cheeks and wiping the remainder of the tears with his thumbs. "Shall we go read about Pedro, my darling?"

Slowly, Yuuri reached out and grabbed Victor's wrists, offering some sort of reincorporation, as if he was confessing something.

"Pierre." He said simply, "The falling prince is called Pierre."

The Tsar chuckled, grabbing Yuuri's bandaged hands and bringing them to his lips, kissing every knuckle with affection. "He might as well be called Victor."

All Yuuri did was stare, but not in the same way he had been staring for the past seven months he had been in Russia. For the first time, Yuuri actually allowed himself to see.

And suddenly, Victor didn't look so tall; he was only a few inches taller than him. His blue eyes didn't look so unnaturally foreign, but only of a pretty shade and with a shape suited for his face. The man's dark circles came to light, showing that he was tired like everyone else was. His hair had a couple of split ends, begging for a trimming. His skin didn't appear so clear and pristine, but only soft and dotted with the tiniest of imperfect freckles.

And for the first time, at that late hour, in that dark room, and in that intimate and calm setting, Victor didn't look like a monster in Yuuri's eyes.