Chapter Text
A bright light blares onto Yurio’s face coming from a lamp on the table he’s sitting under. He squints to make out what’s in front of him but is met only by a white abyss. The hell kind of lamp is this, he thinks, I can’t see shit. He tries to stand up but seems to be frozen (handcuffed?) to a chair. Voices boom around him in unison coming from nowhere in particular and yet everywhere at once.
Why Plisetsky?
Ah this interrogation again, the blonde teen thinks. “If you’ve come to stop me you’re too late, it already happened. It’s done. Get over it.”
But why, Yuri Plisetsky. Why did you steal the skating legend Yuuri Katsuki from the world?
He scowls towards the direction he thinks the voices are coming from. Ugh, Katsudon. He scoffs to himself. They never ask what he’s been up to or how he’s going. It’s always always about Katsudon.
Yuuri Katsuki. Three time consecutive Grand Prix Final winner. Golden Olympian. World champion. Japan’s Pride. Poster child for successfully living with and managing mental illness. The guy that once adopted six stray dogs on a whim, realized he had no room for said dogs in an apartment, then promptly raised funds for a shelter to be built next door.
“Is that what they’re calling it now?” He asks, “Stealing? Fine. Whatever. Actually that’s great, let me be hated as the man who stole him from you all.”
This is a serious matter. Answer us, Plisetsky.
Yurio spits at his interrogators. “Fuck off,” he adds a crude jester flicking his hand from under his chin for good measure. “Why don’t you come up with new questions. What good is this interrogation anyway; it’s always the same stuff with you guys.”
Your reasons, Plisetsky!
The voices are more demanding now. Yurio swears they even increase the intensity of the interrogation lamp. It makes his eyes water. He’s hungry. So hungry. He just wants to leave. Maybe eat piroshki or some shit. His stomach growls. They act like he doesn’t have better things to do than talk about Yuuri fucking Katsuki. Fine, whatever. He’ll play along this time if that’s what they want. If that’s what gets him out of here faster.
“They wanted it okay.” He mumbles what he knows to be the absolute truth. “Those idiots would never say it outloud, but they’ve both wanted it for years now! Death and his stupid groom.” He's so sick of this interrogation. He’s gone through it all before, but they’ll never leave him be. He bites down on his lip. He’s not crying, he’s not. It’s just the stupid lamp. He would never let himself cry. Not here and especially not over those two idiots.
Tearing his gaze away from the ever blinding light, he's just in time to see the man with bright silver hair and a long dark coat seemingly poof into existence next to him. Great, Yurio thinks. As if I needed his presence here now of all times. Yurio knows the man’s probably been listening to this whole interrogation from the start, just now deciding to make his physical presence known. If his interrogators notice the sudden new addition to their party, they say nothing. It’s fine, he didn’t expect them to. The man walks over and plops himself down on the table in front of Yurio. Humming an unknown tune to himself, he sits one leg crossed over the other and sways his foot back and forth as if he’s actually content to be here. He probably is. Yurio directs his scowl toward him now.
“Yuur-io,” the man draws out his name, voice much softer than the interrogators hiding behind the light. “Who are you even talking to? Stop mumbling. You know you have to speak up if you actually want to be heard.”
Of course he’d show up here now. He thinks. He doesn’t have time for any of this, and especially not for him. “This is none of your business, old man.” Yurio moves to kick the man in his shins which are currently dangling off the table side. He misses. Of course he misses. No one can hurt ‘his all-mighty Majesty, Death’. Well, almost no one. Death easily dodges his pathetic attempt at a kick by simply sliding down the table half a meter in the blink of an eye. He grumbles something about not being an ‘old man’ and not looking a day over twenty-eight. “Bug off,” Yurio mutters as an afterthought.
Death squints at Yurio for a second as if contemplating the situation. He presses a gloved finger to his lip and leans in far too close for comfort. He backs away as far as his chair will allow him. Death’s piercing blue eyes stand out in contrast to the rest of his significantly darker getup. It puts Yurio on edge.
“Oh!” Death gasps, a heart shaped smile now filling his face. “You’re telling our story again, aren’t you? This is my all-time favorite story! Of course, no one ever really wants to tell me stories anyway so it’s not like I have a lot to choose from, but that’s beside the point now isn’t it. Can I stay and listen?”
“I said bug off, old man” He retorts. “Why don’t you go bother someone else?"
Death’s shoulders sink, and he pouts. “You know I can’t do that. They can’t see me like you can.”
Stop lying and stop dodging the question, Plisetsky. We’re not asking for fairy tales. We need the truth.
Yurio’s startled as the voice returns in full force. He’d forgotten for a second that he wasn’t alone in here. For a second, he's almost thankful. He can’t stand talking to the old man alone for more than a few minutes at a time.
“I never lied!” He snaps back confidence ringing in his voice, “At least not here. I told you my reasons already, now let me go!
“Yurio,” Death barges back into the conversation whining like a child. “You know I hate being ignored, but I can leave if that's really what you want.”
Yurio knows he won’t really leave, at least not without whining about it some more first. He chooses to continue ignoring the old man.
The motive?
His interrogators rephrase practically the same question. Why, why, why. He doesn’t know what they want to hear. They don’t appear to care about the truth. They never do.
Yurio sighs. I guess I’m really telling this again. It doesn’t matter what he says at this point, telling the whole thing is the only way to ever make them stop. Might as well give ‘em a show. Maybe that’ll make it less boring this time around. “The motive? True love,” he confesses, “And a disgustingly grand one at that. Death. And his stupid groom Yuuri Katsuki.”