Untitled

(Gosh can't think of any title for this one! Suggestions more than welcome!)

Disclaimer: all ur beybladez r belongz 2 me! …No, not really.

Summary: "No, Borya." Whispered like a prayer. Bryan leaves because his heart can't consume the rejection. He comes back because he can't heal without facing the pain.

Notes: Part one of this Bryan x Yuri, long in the works (as they all seem to be, gah). I started this one at a time when, like Bryan, time hadn't helped me. Let's leave it at that.

Hope you like.

xx

The first time Bryan told Yuri, the other shook his head and said no, so Bryan left.

Time passed but he was still in pain and regretting that decision.

xx

In the midst of winter he left Moscow and went back to Siberia (1), his original birthland. He only told Sergei that he was leaving, and told no one where he was heading. Sergei had attempted to make him change his mind, but his heart had been too raw for him to listen. And so he set off, vowing to never return.

In Novosibirsk (2) he found an apartment and a job and tried to forget.

xx

Bryan worked and slept, worked and slept, worked and slept. Occasionally he drank, but he didn't do too much of that because when he did, everything would come gushing back.

He tried to move on, to love again.

(Did he really love him? He didn't know what love was. But why else would he hurt so much?)

He saw women openly throw themselves at him. He saw men subtly flirting with him. And he tried, he was eager. But there was nothing behind it all but blankness.

xx

He called Sergei once, assured him that he was fine. Sergei was silent and reserved, asked where he was, asked him to come back.

"I can't. I have a life here now," Bryan lied.

"Here where?"

"Here in Russia."

He attempted to sound sarcastic, playful, anything. But there was nothing and it only caused Sergei to get angry.

"Russia's the size of a goddamn continent. Tell me where you are."

"I want to ask you something."

The other gave a sigh of frustration. "Ask."

How's Yuri? His mind asked, but he couldn't voice it.

"Nevermind. Bye Seryozha."

xx

Bryan worked and slept, and repeated. He went about his days in a state of calmness, but his heart burned. It burned for Moscow. It burned for the only family he had. It burned for Yuri.

He didn't like Novosibirsk but he didn't have the courage to leave.

Coward, he told himself once, on a rare occasion of a night out drinking, you're a coward. Everything that happened to you, you deserve it. It happened because you're a coward.

He threw back shot after shot, until the man eyeing him up from across the club came over and lightly touched his back. Bryan looked at him as the man gave a seductive smile. His blonde hair was shoulder-length and wild, and he had glittering eyes the color of the ocean waves. The chains on his wrist jingled as his hand snaked up Bryan's spine. He leaned in.

"You're hot," he murmured, "I couldn't stop looking at you."

So Bryan took a last shot and followed him to the men's restroom.

xx

Coward.

xx

I was afraid, he would tell himself absentmindedly sometimes, I was afraid. That's why I left.

Afraid of being abnormal.

So when a customer walked in, he smiled at her and discussed her options with enthusiasm. She showed him the design and he helped her improve it. When she was all done, she winked at him and headed out.

Bryan realized that she'd left a slip behind, and on it was a number and call me. So he did.

He didn't get her name, though she did spend a whole night at his apartment.

xx

He was dreaming.

In his dream he saw himself in a field, and it was autumn and somehow beautiful. The scenery blurred and bubbled but he was… he was free. His mind was at ease. He had no worries. No pains. No regrets.

He was smiling and drifting and then, and then—

And then he woke up.

He breathed heavily as that blissful moment of in between dream and reality took hold of him, but then it quickly dissipated. He came aware, and with awareness his feelings came rushing back. His callous reality.

He rolled away from his bed and down onto his knees.

When you're dreaming with a broken heart, the waking up is the hardest part…(3)

xx

It was too sudden, he thought one time while preparing dinner at home, I shouldn't have done it like that.

He remembered the night clearly, the electrifying blue eyes narrowed at him thoughtfully in the cold. The words tumbling from his mouth. The silence and wait after. And then,

"No."

Whispered like a prayer.

So he grit his teeth and decided he wasn't hungry after all.

xx

At work, he looked serene to everyone, and he bantered back and forth with his coworkers. One of their favorite subjects was his unmarked body, but he shrugged them off and continued working.

When he returned home late at night he pulled off his shirt and looked at the blank canvass of his skin. He examined every angle, tried to visualize scenes.

Then he decided that no, he didn't want to get inked yet.

xx

He decided to give Sergei another call half a year later. But Sergei didn't pick up, Yuri did.

"Yeah?" the disinterested tone sounded.

Bryan froze and then slowly cut off the line.

I should've waited, he told himself that night when lying in bed, I should've took the answer and waited for him.

Then he flipped over, beat his pillow into submission, and scowled at the moon.

It wouldn't have mattered, he assured himself, he wouldn't never… he would've never.

It doesn't matter.

xx

He called again the next week and this time Sergei did pick up.

"You're still alive then," said the dry voice.

"Expecting me dead?" asked Bryan interestedly.

"No, but maybe you'd like to let us know every now and then."

Us.

"How are you," Bryan finally asked after a long pause, "and… everyone."

"We're fine. How's your new life going?"

"Fine."

"Better than the one you had here?" Sergei asked casually.

"Just… don't."

"Just come home, Borya. We're still waiting for you."

"We who?" Bryan asked.

"All of us. Yuri, Ian, and I."

"Bullshit," Bryan sighed before he could stop himself.

"And why's that?"

"…"

He hung up after a few words.

xx

A while later he took off his shirt and knelt before his mirror. He was exhausted from the long day and the non stop whirring of his mind. He craned his neck and looked at his shoulder with half lidded eyes. He wanted something there.

Maybe.

xx

Another night Bryan found himself once again in the bar. He was angry. Angry at his loneliness. Angry at not being able to move on. Angry that he still yearned for Moscow.

So he drank, and drank, and drank. He forgot about work. Forgot about his idiocy. Forgot about Novosibirsk.

But he couldn't get the image of Yuri out of his mind.

He chugged a bottle and asked for another, then closed his eyes. Yuri, forever imprinted in his mind. The burning hair. The freezing eyes. Two elements that only Yuri could unite, surely.

He heard the thunk of another bottle being set beside him. His hand wrapped blindly around it, but he did not lift. Instead he was caught up in a breathtaking memory that he sometimes tried not to think about.

It was New Year's Eve, and the Russian weather was bitterly cold. Bryan was feeling the sting of it close in around him (New Year's. Another year gone by, and nothing. His life was still empty) and so he'd decided to step outside onto the balcony. It was frozen, and light flurries of snow tumbled from the sky and burned his eyes, face, neck.

He was much too used to the cold.

He had lifted his eyes and looked into the dark sky, lightless except for the few stars that were powerful enough to penetrate the pollution of the atmosphere. And then he'd heard a light noise behind him.

"Borya," a voice murmured, quickly carried away by the wind.

Bryan did not turn. His bare hands gripped the scorching railing more forcefully, and his heart clenched.

"I hate the cold," he muttered.

The form came to stand close behind him, and Bryan shivered for a completely different reason.

"11.59," Yuri's voice mused.

Bryan leant forward on the railing, his eyebrows clashing into a frown.

"New Year's," he spit out, "What's so good about it that people celebrate?"

Yuri was so close that he felt him shrug. Then his hand landed on Bryan's shoulder and he said, "Must be something."

Bryan looked up into the sky again, right on time when the blackness was suddenly overwhelmed by multi-colored fireworks emerging from every direction. He breathed in sharply; everything lit up in color. He could hear distant shouts and cheers and laughter. He slouched further onto the railing, only to feel arms encircle his waist from behind.

His heart did a crazy flip, and his breath hitched in his throat. Yuri's arms embraced him loosely, but it was enough to make his heart thud.

"Happy New Year's, Borya," Yuri whispered into his shoulder.

Bryan's hand fell to the hand resting on his stomach and gripped it. He felt strange warmth pooling in the area.

"Yeah…"

Bryan almost shuddered at the memory. His lifted the bottle slowly and drained it. Just as he set it back he felt a light touch on his thigh. His eyes flew open only to see a dark-haired man smiling at him and giving him suggestive glances.

Bryan looked into the face for a moment—so unlike Yuri's—and smiled back. And then he pushed the hand away and stood, making his way out of the bar.

xx

The next time Bryan woke up, he was in pain. His mind swam, and he could not open his eyes, so he returned to the land of sleep.

xx

Notes:

1. Siberia: a vast region compromising the central and eastern parts of Russia.

2. Novosibirsk: the largest city in Siberia (third largest in Russia after Moscow and Saint Petersburg, respectively).

3. Dreaming With A Broken Heart – John Mayer

YAY chapter 1 of (?). If you liked, review, so that I can be pushed to finish writing this story. There won't be a long wait for an update though because parts 2 and 3 are already written.

YOU KNOW YOU WANA KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT!