#Ilya Mikolaev

[kai-2124]

Commission for @meeshay Thank you for commissioning me!

[maverwyn]

Ilya Mikolaev Flower Crown

[tinytoreadordancer]

0.3

                                          “I will dance, then I will die.”

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The words echoed in Ilya’s mind as the group stood on the ferry, heading back to Brothers Isle. The night had been long, even if it was still early. The night had been hard, even if it had been planned out.

Ilya Mikolaev was dead.

The blond turned, glanced away from the crashing waves, the push and pull of the tide. He almost felt as if the cold waters could rush across him and pull him under, as he’d intended. He hadn’t meant to infer that he would attempt to commit suicide, he simply hadn’t considered the logistics of such a fall. Of such an attack on his person. Vonn had been right to argue against it, to reason with him. Weiyin had been right to deny him that aspect of the closure that he needed to say goodbye to this life. And Liam.. Liam’s concern, the worry in his face. In his friend’s face..

He let his gaze drift across the group, their faces easier to spot here than they were in the crowd at his final show.

                                ..the orchestra, playing his chosen song..

                     ..muscles tightening, arms reaching, limbs pulling taut..

Ilya sniffled quietly as he looked to the waters once more, arms hugging around his small frame. Tonight had been more than simply saying goodbye to the stage. He was saying goodbye to his life. To Valentina.. To Andrei, his son. He felt shattered inside, the whole of him descending into a dark pit as if it had been the last thing he could have held onto. But he knew.. that he’d had to do this tonight. If he hadn’t, he would not have done it at all. And things would have gotten complicated. They would be better off without him right now. Safer without him.

As the music reached the crescendo and his performance drew to a close, he could hear some of the dancers in the curtains nearby, weeping. Something about the way he was dancing was too much for them. Blinded as he was, it was easier to simply focus on the steps that he knew by heart, his own eyes bound with cloth and wet with tears, besides.

Absently, Ilya turned his booted foot, nudged it against the side of one of the bags he’d retrieved from his flat. Mementos, mostly- photographs, keepsakes from his mother. His favourite blanket. The bracelet Valentina had given him the day their son was born, bearing his birthdate and name.

Maybe the next time he danced, Torrance would be there- as promised.

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