The first thing Yuuri perceives is an insistent pulling deep in his gut. It’s not quite pain, but it’s not exactly pleasant, like a finger tugging at his navel. The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is the ribbon, floating out from his chest and disappearing into the blackness.
He puts his hand over his heart quickly to keep the ribbon inside. Although he’s not sure how it got there, the touch of it against his hand feels like his mother’s cooking, sitting snug in the warmth of the kotatsu with Vicchan, or lying in the grass with Yuuko, watching the cherry blossoms fall. In the enveloping darkness, the red ribbon seems to glow. The tugging stops. He wraps his free hand around the ribbon, and cautiously tugs back twice.
The ribbon begins pulling him forward into the void, but he’s not frightened, not worried, just mildly curious.
The smooth glide of the ribbon’s lure reminds him of playing at the rink as a kid, when bigger skaters might tow him around the rink, his little hands clutching tightly to the sleeve of a spare jacket. He can even feel the slip of the blades beneath him, cutting through the ice.
The air around him brightens gradually, stars bursting into life in the blackness; the ribbon’s path is illuminated in the swirl of distant galaxies. Beneath his feet, the ice is mirror flawless, reflecting every pinpoint of the stars and planets in perfect symmetry. It stretches unbroken on every side, with no horizon visible, no edge, like skating through a placid ocean of night.
A single beam of light lies straight ahead at the end of his ribbon, and Yuuri feels his heart surge when he sees it. Eagerly, he propels himself forward, no longer simply pulled along by the threads of his heart.
Though there’s no wind here, his hair whips as he picks up speed, the stars blurring to streaks of light all around him. In the distance, the figure of light remains a beacon, pulling him in, closer, faster, not fast enough.
Too fast. The light is approaching too quickly. Yuuri can feel the warmth of it on his skin like the rays of a winter sun, and still his advance isn’t slowing. He bends his knees, trying to brake, but catches on emptiness, the feeling of his blades dissolving until there is no ice, no friction, only air.
He knows he can’t stop his collide with the figure ahead, but it shows no signs of recognition or response.
“Look out!” Yuuri cries. He has no fear for himself, only a paralyzing terror fizzing through his limbs at the thought of breaking his beacon. He wants to protect the shining figure, even if it means shattering himself.
The beacon resolves, turning. Victor Nikiforov stares back at Yuuri, his eyes blown wide, with Yuuri’s red ribbon wound tightly around his fist.
When Yuuri jerks awake, his palm is still flat over his heart.
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