Chapter Text
The snow was cold. Colder than the air inside the rink had been. Yuri tilted his head back to look at the softly drifting flakes. They danced in the air in front of his nose, flickering in and out of the yellow streetlights, crunching beneath his feet as he walked with his grandfather. Tiny mitten engulfed in the secure, safe grip of his guardian.
A snowflake landed on his nose, and he batted it away with a green-mittened hand.
Nikolai watched from the corner of his eye. “Yuratchka, you were the best of the bunch,” he said, rumbly voice carrying the words down the to small child beside him. The child he loved more than anything in this world.
“Grandpa, can you come to practice again tomorrow?” Yuri asked, looking straight ahead, watching the snow and the sidewalk.
“I can skate even better. It’s fine, even if Mom’s not there!” Bright green eyes, too old for a four year old, met his as he looked down and smiled.
Nikolai’s heart cracked, a new fissure joining old scars. He could see the hurt lurking at the back of those eyes. So desperately covered up.
This had to end.
-----
Yuri woke up to the sound of voices. It wasn’t the volume -- though in their small apartment you didn’t have to be loud for everyone else to be able to hear you.
It was the way his Grandfather was talking. Harsh and clipped. Terse. Angry. All Yuri heard was that he was mad.
Mad at Mama.
“You can’t keep running off like that.” Yuri slipped out of bed, stuffed tiger held in his arms. “Think of your child!”
Turning the doorknob, Yuri peeked out through the crack and into the kitchen. Mama was sitting at the table while Grandpa loomed over her. He was angry, hands clenched into fists and his face as dark as a thundercloud.
“He’s my soulmate!” his mother said. She was angry, too. Her cheeks flushed red, dark brown hair flying around her face.
“He’s using you. That mark is unrequited and he knows it!” Somehow, Nikolai managed to thunder the words without raising his voice. Yuri flinched at the intensity.
What’s a soulmate? he wondered, as his grandfather continued on. He knew he should be in bed right now. That he should close the door and turn away.
But he wanted to know what was happening.
“You’d do anything for him but think of what you’re doing to your son.” Nikolai slammed a fist on the table. The leftover dishes from dinner rattled.
Mama’s lip quivered. Tears started to slide down her cheeks before she buried her face in her hands, shoulders heaving as she sobbed.
Mama was crying.
Why was Mama crying? Yuri opened the door a little bit more, ready to go to her. Mama shouldn’t be crying. But Grandpa relaxed, fists opening to gather her in his arms.
“There, there.” He rocked her the way he rocked Yuri when he’d had a nightmare, rubbing her back and murmuring to her. Grandpa’s hugs were the best, safe and comforting and warm. “It’ll be okay.”
“I miss him. So much. So much,” Mama sobbed, burying her face into Grandpa’s shoulder. Who was she talking about? Who did she miss? Why was Mama sad?
Yuri forgot about hiding, forgot that he was supposed to be in bed. Forgot about the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach when Mama hadn’t picked him up from skating practice this afternoon.
Mama was sad.
Mama shouldn’t be sad.
Yuri took one step forward, then another.
“It hurts. All the time. I can’t sleep, I can’t breathe, I can’t--”
“Shh.” Nikolai cut off the stream of hysterical words, one hand stroking down her hair. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Yuri stood there, invisible, as his mother cried. An odd stillness enveloped him. The apartment around them creaked and settled in the night. Grandpa stroked Mama’s hair and made soothing sounds. Yuri could smell Mama’s perfume and taste the dust in the air.
But it was still like he wasn’t there.
Like they didn’t see him.
Like they’d never see him.
He couldn’t move. Feet glued to the floor by an odd, heavy numbness that made everything around and outside of himself fuzzy.
Eventually, after a very long time, Grandpa looked up. Eyes locked with Yuri’s for a brief second, surprised to see him standing there, silently hugging his stuffed tiger.
“Oh, Yuratchka,” he said, pulling slightly away from Mama, one hand on her shoulder. She wiped away her tears, quickly, but Yuri wasn’t fooled by the wan smile. Her breath still caught in her throat, her shoulders still shook.
“You should be in bed, Yuratchka,” she said, tone light and artificially cheery. The way grownups did when they were mad...but not at you, and were trying to pretend like they weren’t mad at all.
“I’m thirsty,” he said, after a moment. It wasn’t true, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
With one last squeeze of Mama’s shoulder, Grandpa grabbed him a glass of water and ushered him back to bed.
He tucked Yuri in and turned out the lights. Broad back silhouetted in the doorway, yellow light spilling around him, as Yuri spoke, words finally coming unstuck from his throat.
“Grandpa, what’s wrong with Mama?”
A quiet sigh escaped Nikolai, and his shadow seemed, to Yuri, to grow smaller in the room as his shoulders slumped. He turned back around and sat on the edge of Yuri’s bed.
“She’s having soulmate troubles, Yuratchka. It will pass,” he reassured his grandson, smoothing his hand over the short blond hair.
“Her soulmate?” Yuri asked. He didn’t know what that was. He’d heard adults mention it before, but they’d always talked like soulmates were supposed to make you happy. Mama was sad.
Grandpa sighed, eyes downcast, staring at the floor through the shadows. He didn’t want to look at those bright green eyes, piercing through the darkness.
“It’s complicated, Yuratchka.”
“Why?”
Ahh, the blessed, ignorant curiosity of a child.
“Yuri, your mother’s soulmate...is not a good person. He hurt your mother. A lot. She’ll get better soon.” Nikolai chose his words with care. Not wanting to shatter the fairytale illusion of soulmates for his grandson so soon.
They could be perfect matches, and beautiful, transcendent love stories. Or regular, quiet loves, with their ups and down. They could also be harsh, and cruel. Your heart bound to an abuser or a tyrant or someone who wasn’t bound to you in return.
He wasn’t ready to let his grandson know that yet. No four-year-old should have to know that.
There was a small silence, but the cadence of Yuri’s breathing stayed fast and steady. Nikolai waited, knowing his grandchild wanted to ask something more. The words hung in the dark, like they refused to fall into silence.
“The way yours hurt you?” Yuri asked after a moment, tiny voice loud in the quiet. If Nikolai strained, he could make out his daughter’s quiet sobs in the kitchen. Hopefully, Yuri couldn’t.
Nikolai twitched. “How did you know about that?” he asked, voice gentle. His palm on Yuri’s back warm and soothing as the little boy shrugged a shoulder and buried deeper into the pillows.
“You get sad sometimes. And you look at your arm a lot when you’re sad.”
The Cryllic letters on his arm had faded with age, a ghostly reminder of the wife and soulmate he’d lost several years ago. That scar still hadn’t healed; the bond still an ache in his chest whenever he thought of her.
“Your grandmother was different, Yuri. I loved her very much and she loved me. It wasn’t her fault that she died. Your mother--” Nikolai’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, buying himself some time.
“Your mother’s soulmate...he doesn’t love her. And she’s very sad about that.”
Yuri was silent for a moment, thinking.
“I don’t want a soulmate, then. Not if they can hurt you.”
Nikolai smiled in the darkness and held back a laugh. Yuri had spoken with the seriousness only a four-year-old could muster.
There were very few people who never got a soulmark. He doubted his Yuratchka would be one of them. The boy’s heart was too big and felt too much for him to go through life alone.
“You don’t have to worry about that for a long time, little one,” he said, stroking Yuri’s hair once more before kissing him on the forehead and patting him goodnight.
He paused the doorway. “Most soulmates love each other very much, Yuri. Don’t forget that,” he said as he closed the door.
Huddled under his blankets, Yuri didn’t care.
Mama was sad because of her soulmate.
Grandpa was sad because of his soulmate.
Soulmates were stupid. Soulmates were dumb. He hoped he never got a soulmate, Yuri thought before he drifted off to sleep.
Cold. Firm. Resolute.
Like ice.
A frozen resolve that slipped into his soul.