Work Text:
i.
It's not even been a week since Yuri's birthday. He has taken half a month off – it's March, the season doesn't start in ages, he deserves this after the success at the last Grand Prix – so he will sleep until one in the afternoon if he wants to, no matter what his granddad says, thank you very much. So he's cursing under his breath when he hears the door bell ring while he's home alone, and what if his grandpa has forgotten his keys and needs to be let in? Yuri raises from his bed, uncaring about his unkempt hair and the oversized sweater he sleeps in, and prepares his voice to scream if it's the annoying neighbour that knocks on their door every damn day.
He's still sleepy, so he doesn't register who's standing in front of him for a couple of minutes. The thing is, he expected having to help his grandpa with the shopping bags, and he needs time and a cup of coffee to elaborate anything else. This particular anything else is definitely unexpected: Yuri takes in the leather jacket, the worn gloves and the tired, dark eyes that seem intended in carving a hole through his soul, and he stares just a second more.
He feels so many things at once, he couldn't describe them even if he tried. What he can describe, though, is the way his heart does a quad salchow in his chest, the way he wants to scream out loud and hug the life out of the person, who still hasn't said anything at all. He doesn't do any of these things.
“You're out of your mind”, he states, calmly enough that he can almost trick himself into believing he does not feel a knot in his throat and one in his stomach. The annoying neighbour chooses that exact moment to open his door and stare right at them: Yuri scoots just a little further behind the door, fairly aware of how very undressed he is, and it takes him a second to realise the man isn't staring at him. To tell the truth, he can understand why: Otabek is a sight for sore eyes as he stands still and tall on his door, clad in his usual dark clothes, tightly gripping not one, but two helmets. Yuri might just have forgotten how to breathe.
Otabek doesn't reply to his statement; instead, he smirks and asks, “Can I come in?”. Yuri lets out a breath and the other makes his way in – and yet they're staring at each other like wild animals do while fighting for supremacy, and if it makes Yuri shiver, he blames it on the cold – and the door slams shut, leaving them alone.
There are things Yuri has learned to notice. There's the way Otabek seems to fold unto himself when he's uncomfortable, which is something Yuri hates: but then there's the way Otabek seems to relax all his muscles at once when he feels safe, and that's what he does. He's waiting for him to speak, but Yuri has to gather his wits before he lets out a sickeningly sweet phrase; he isn't sure he manages to control whatever his gaze must hold, but neither does Otabek, whose eyes seem to be shimmering in the low lights of the apartment.
“Why didn't you reply to my texts?” Yuri feels himself ask, and he immediately cringes. He almost expects Otabek to laugh at him, but what he gets is a dead-serious boy who replies, “I've forgotten my charger in Kazakhstan”, and he feels like he's going to burst either into tears or into hysterical laughter.
“You- you are so stupid.” Yuri's voice breaks on the last syllable. “I told you, it didn't matter if you couldn't make it to my birthday.”
Otabek lies against the door frame and raises an eyebrow at him. “You don't want me here, then?”
“I- what- Beka, you-” it's been ages since someone could turn him into a mumbling mess like this, but he would be lying if he said he didn't like it. He does, he does like this, the way Otabek's lips flattening into a line seem to scratch a tear into his very heart, the fact that Otabek would undergo a five hour flight just to be with him. He's scared with how much he likes this.
“Well”, Otabek starts, then his eyes flash like he's regretted talking in the first place. That's exactly the reason Yuri leans in the slightest bit. “You haven't even hugged me yet, and we haven't seen each other in months.”
“You are so- hell, Beka”, he replies, then he hits him on his chest, drawing out a sweet, short chuckle, and only then he allows himself to be pulled in and hidden by Otabek's arms, resting around his shoulders like they were made to fit there.
For a moment, Yuri allows himself to not think about anything. There are so many things that could go wrong, right here, right now, as he breathes Otabek in and circles his waist. He hasn't forgotten that he's still half naked, and that his granddad could return home any moment and find him hugging a stranger who looks like he hasn't slept in days; he hasn't forgotten that Beka can't have taken off more than a couple days, and that the distance between them seems to stretch out after they've been together, even just for a little while. He buries all of this down, down where he can't feel it and where he hopes Otabek can't see it, along with the knowledge that he's hyper aware of Otabek's lips brushing against his hair.
ii.
Otabek goes in before him, so Yuri can just kind of stand there on the other side of the rail and watch as he tricks his body into calmness. He shouldn't be there, really: he should be preparing for his turn, as he's going in last, but he can't help it. For once, he's glad Victor and Yakov have started working together: Victor's presence makes social interactions easier on Yakov, so it's probably Victor who has resumed some of his charm and made friends with Otabek's coach. Either way, they are allowed to stay there now, and it should be strange - it really should - but somehow Yuri feels more at ease looking at Otabek than hanging at the back, and he's not going to question that. He's already been much too involved in his own feelings, at least since they've been in France, training for the Grand Prix.
When he has asked to train directly in that rink, no one has questioned his resolve: not Victor, who seems to have decided that Yuri is old enough to make decisions as far as it concerns him, not even Yakov, who knows Yuri is way more at ease when he's in his home rink. Maybe they had read in it some sign of his growth as a person, who the hell knows. What he does know is that Otabek had written him, months before the finale, even before they knew if they were actually going to make it, to say that he would eventually go to France weeks before the competition. He hadn't asked for Yuri to follow him, but Yuri had guessed anyway. He had told him they were going to France during a Skype session, blurting it out without any kind of preparation, and he had been gifted for the slightest of moments with a glimpse of Otabek's feelings: his face had gotten infinitely soft, he had grinned with mischief and Yuri had felt his heart physically stop and he had thought, “well, I'm dead now”. Their conversation, after that, was blurry and forgettable. Yuri felt drunk as Otabek said he wanted to train with him, that he wanted to bring him around the city on his motorbike. As soon as he'd closed the computer he had let himself fall back on the bed and regret all of his decisions up until then.
In France, Otabek had showed up on his door with two helmets in his hand and a plan for the whole evening. Yuri had somehow managed to dodge Yakov's question and Victor being Victor yet again, slipping away in the chilly evening hair and planning to come back the morning after. He had been scared about this, at first, but the distance had made it somehow both easier and harder on him: he knew he could eventually forget him if things didn't work out, but he wanted them to work out, he wanted that so bad. Now he was particularly aware of how involved he was, and maybe that was a bad thing, but he couldn't bring himself to care, not with his hands around Otabek's sides, linking at the front. This was still unknown. At first he'd thought it was just attraction, but he could handle lust, which would have been nothing more than an irrational pull toward him; but this was not irrational, and this would not go away with a cold bath. He wanted Otabek, and not only in that way: he wanted to be with him, near him, to stay as close as they did on the rare occasions they would spend together. He had stayed at his apartment the summer before: they had to drag themselves to his parent's almost every day, as Otabek's mom practically adored Yuri – “something we have in common”, Otabek had said, and Yuri had blushed – and his whole family had grown fond of him, but they still had late nights and early mornings which were exclusively theirs. Yuri had realized only later, after he'd returned to sleeping in his too big, too cold bed, that the weeks he'd spent with Otabek had been suicide: he had managed to hide his feelings, to twist them into friendship and affection, to suffocate them under his witty remarks. But now, as he could feel flames lapping at his insides, there was no hiding any more. He could either act upon his feelings or ignore them, hoping that the fire he had set could die out on its own; but he had to accept that, the gut clenching hurt every time Otabek hid his smile behind his fingers, leaving him guessing.
The thing is that, right now, Otabek smiles that secretive smile of his – and Yuri feels warmth spreading throughout his body because he knows that no one else will see that – and passes him, brushing his fingertips against his knuckles as he goes. He feels a hysterical giggle bubbling up in his throat and bites his tongue to stop himself from letting it past his lips. Otabek gets to the centre, and shoots him a look – again, no one would see, no one would know, but he does. Goddamit, he does. It drives him mad.
Afterwards, once Otabek is waiting at the Kiss and Cry, out of breath and expressionless like he hasn't just done the performance of his life, Yuuri sneaks up on him and Yuri almost gets a heart attack. He screams insults at him without even thinking about him, just because he's used to doing so, especially now that he hangs at the back of his practice and occasionally drops in a comment: he's frustrated by how much Yuuri can be empathetic, because he accepts the swears with a smile and probably hears the fondness beneath them. Now, he has that knowing look on his face and Yuri considers headbutting him for the slightest of moments. He will, someday. He will.
“Well”, Yuuri starts, and lets a pregnant silence stretch between them. Yuri can't stand this particular kind of silence, though, so all it takes are a couple of second before he growls out, “What”, and wonders if kicking him will hurt his leg. “Do you, like, like him?”
Yuri stays completely still, mouth wide open, for who knows how long. Around them, the judges announce Otabek's score. It breaks the hundred.
“I do not”, Yuri starts, but he can feel how trembling and broken his voice is. Fuck. Traitor.
“You do!” Yuuri screeches, and Yuri startles at his high voice, hoping no one has heard. “Oh my god, Yuri, you like him!”, and Yuri's resolve crumbles, because what the hell, it's not that bad if he admits it out loud. Is it?
“And so what if I do?”, he replies, keeping his voice as casual as he can. He can't stand the happy glint in Yuuri's eyes. “I knew it! I told Victor, I was sure, you are just so close – but what about him?”
Suddenly Yuri decides he's had enough of facing the idiot talking to him. He stares at his hands instead: he opens them, palms up, flexes his fingers, like he can figure out the answer that way. He mumbles, “I don't know”. He feels pathetic and relieved when Yuuri's voice gets gentler, softer, as he tells him, “I'm sure he likes you back”.
Yuri raises his head to see Otabek's eyes fixed on him as he makes his way through the crowd, and he thinks, “Maybe”.
iii.
He's a failure. That's the thought which wakes him in the morning, that lulls him asleep at night: he's a failure, and it's showing through, and what is he going to do now?
Every day he goes to the rink and fails, faces ballet lessons like he hates them: it's not that he does bad, it's that he doesn't do better, and it's exactly then that he wonders if his career is already over. He can't improve: he skates slow circles in the morning but he fails his jumps in the afternoon, thanks to the added inches that have put off his balance. In the evening, his body aches like he has been immersed in fire, but he grits his teeth and gets through the lesson, decided and methodical, even when he knows he's not doing his best. Yakov doesn't notice, or at least he doesn't tell him anything; Lilia, who has a bit of a soft spot for him, tries to cheer him up in her harsh ways and makes him fall further into loathing.
That's when he decides to burn off any kind of relationship, afraid he will fuck them up as well. He ignores Victor and Yuuri's call, but that's not so hard, since they're planning their wedding all the way across the world. For days, he lets Otabek's name appear and disappear on his screen, messages and photos and, at a certain point, when he probably has worried him enough, even calls. As soon as his phone rings he shuts it, like his cellphone is capable of hurting him physically, but then he concedes himself to send a couple of texts. He has explained, more or less, why he isn't feeling so great lately. He knows it's unfair, disappearing like that when they can't allow themselves time off, when he knows Otabek can't find him.
He has to save himself again and, god, he has already done that so many times, but he's so tired of being alone.
Yuri calls him for the first time in ages on an early February morning, when he's sick enough that he doesn't have to leave his bed. He can't bear any more sulking, and that's exactly why he wants to hear his voice. They talk of nothing for a while, a long while, and Otabek is cold but not distant. Yuri murmurs, “Sorry”, just before they hang up. Then he lets himself fall onto the bed, and he shoots a photo of the sun coming through the window, knowing that Otabek will appreciate it, that he will know what it means.
Before the day ends, Otabek – who hates social networks with a burning passion, and would not be on any of them, weren't it for Yuri – posts a picture of his parents' dog sat in the middle of his room, captioning it “something's missing”. On the wall there's a picture no one would recognise except for Yuri, who had been there in Barcelona, taking the photo himself. He still has it tucked at the bottom of his bedside drawer.
If Yuri believed in soulmates, he would say that there's the red string of fate tying him to Otabek, and that this photo is the proof that they're meant to be. But Yuuri is not delusional, and he's not stupid: so in the photo he hears a call much stronger than the one that destiny could make. It's almost like, written all over the walls and whispered again and again, Otabek is telling him I choose you, I still choose you, despite everything.
iv.
Yuri cries. He starts sobbing just after Victor, smiling through the tears, has pronounced his vows and slipped the ring on Yuuri's finger. As soon as it's Yuuri's turn to sob out his own vows, Otabek, ever so shy, has reached out to gently hold his hand and keep it close, hidden in the pocket of his blazer. Yuri doesn't notice if Otabek is crying as well, or if he's just moved by the raw display of love that's somehow affecting the whole room. He focuses on his presence, warm weight against his, fingers intertwined and pressed together.
Much later, after the happy couple has had their first dance and Phichit, complying to his duties as best man, has slid just a couple of glasses of champagne to Yuuri, and everyone is sated and cosy in the familiar atmosphere, Yuri feels his bones burning with the need of going out to breathe. He slips out of the room when he's sure that no one is actually watching him, because Victor has just coaxed Yuuri into dancing with him to the sound of what seems disco music, and everybody evidently wants to remember that event for as long as they can.
There's a nice garden outside the main room, and the air is warm enough that he doesn't feel cold in his shirt, even if maybe the alcohol is also to blame for that. He sits on a bench and kicks the air with his feet a couple of times, just because he can, and soaks in the dizzying feeling pooling low in his stomach. He thinks that maybe, as soon as everyone's dancing, he will ask Otabek to dance with him. But right now he just wants not to think, so he bows his head and feels the weight of the hair swooshing behind him.
“Great wedding, eh?” says a voice behind him and Yuri opens his eyes in surprise. It takes him not even a second to recognise said voice, and he's already hitting Otabek playfully in the chest as he replies, “Yeah, whatever, you scared me”, but he gifts him one of his little smiles, so that he will know that he's joking.
Otabek's face has something of a deadly seriousness in the way it's set, something so imposing that it makes Yuri's stomach churn. “Sorry”, he mumbles, loud enough that Yuri can hear him above the sound of the wind. Then he raises a hand with deliberate slowness, so that Yuri can move if he wants to – he doesn't – and cups his cheek so gently that Yuri almost feels his heart break right there and then. His thumb caresses him just below his eye, like it's following the traces left by his tears, and Yuri almost gets up and plants a kiss on his lips. He doesn't, though, because Otabek's hand stops as he asks, “Can I sit here with you, Yura?” and there's something in his voice, something sweet and primal that makes him shiver all over and whisper, just audible, “Of course you can, Beka”.
Otabek stays silent for a moment, playing with his hands until he rests them on his thighs, both palms up. Yuri doesn't let himself wonder, he's quick to cover one of them with his own, much smaller and colder, and he hides a satisfied smiles when Otabek intertwines their fingers and traces them with his own, as if to warm them up.
“It was beautiful, though”, Yuri says, pensive.
“What was beautiful?”
“The wedding”.
Otabek smiles, turning away. That's another of the little things that are still capable of breaking Yuri's heart to pieces. He's so beautiful, so unaware of it. He loves him. Good god, he loves him.
“Yura, I just-” and it's almost a beat too late when Yuri realizes that Otabek's face is so very close to him. He smells like mint and Yuri's cologne, and Yuri just wants to drink him in. But then, then he has enough time to think.
“Oh, no, you don't” he whispers against Otabek's lips before pulling away, leaving the other with an inexplicable expression on his face. “You will not kiss me for the first time while we're both tipsy and because of stuff you realized during their marriage. I have waited for almost three years, you can wait until tomorrow morning”.
Yuri chooses, instead, to leave a kiss on the corner of his lips. “You're ridiculous, Yuri Plisetsky”, and he pulls back, facing a grinning Otabek, whose smile is so wide and bright Yuri feels giddy with it. He wants to let himself be blinded.
v.
The thing is that Yuri knows, by now, that Otabek is a hopeless romantic. So he knows, he just does, that on the day before their anniversary – while they're having dinner with the other anniversary-celebrating couple and their friends – Otabek is trying to find the same kind of lavender roses he had managed to gift him on that day, a year before. And he almost smiles when Victor nudges him with an elbow and confirms his suspicions, saying, “You've turned the boy crazy”. Yuri looks at his, his boyfriend across the room, talking somewhat willingly with Yuuri – since they're officially training him now, he better be liked by them – and dares saying, “Well, the feeling is mutual”. He's satisfied as he leaves Victor speechless, mouth comically opened in an o shape, and goes to save his boyfriend from social interactions. Maybe he will even get him on the dance floor, who knows.
The morning after, he wakes to an empty bed – empty except for his cat sleeping on his head, but whatever. He almost considers sulking the whole day there, or at least until Otabek won't bring him breakfast in bed, but why would he do that? It's their anniversary. Lavender roses are waiting for him on the table, new leather gloves are wrapped and hidden in his drawer. They probably won't leave the house – which isn't such an unusual thing, by how much Yuri's grandpa complains that they haven't moved to a bigger, closer flat yet, but today they're allowed not to be anywhere else but by each other's side.
So Yuri gets out of the bed, ready to face the cold tiles on the floor. He has slept in one of Otabek's old t-shirt, as he usually does: today, he doesn't even bother getting dressed before joining him in the kitchen. He pads in lightly, revelling in the sight of his boyfriend slowly humming to himself as he flips pancakes. For a second he wonders just how bad they could hurt each other if he gets over there without being heard and sticks his freezing hands up his shirt, but he does not want to spend the day in a hospital. So he just leans on the door frame, aiming for casual and hoping he's not trying too hard, and calls out a good morning with his still creaky voice. He's almost disappointed when that doesn't go as he'd hoped, but Yuri Plisetsky doesn't ever lack a plan B.
He walks over to him, standing just behind him, and wraps his arms around his middle. He hides his face in the back of his neck and feels him melt into his embrace, which is exactly what he aimed for.
“Why weren't you in bed?”, he asks against his skin, chasing his shiver with his lips.
“Isn't it kind of obvious?”, Otabek shoots back, grinning at him while he flips the last pancake.
“I guess you don't want me to kiss you, then”, Yuri replies. Otabek makes a sound against his lips, like an “mph”, which Yuri easily traduces with a “you're an idiot”. Then he pulls him in from the front of his too big shirt and kisses him like they are the only thing that matters in the whole word, and Yuri kind of agrees with him. So he doesn't expect to be pulled back just to hear, “You haven't brushed your teeth yet”.
Yuri gapes at Otabek. “What does it mean, I haven't brushed my teeth yet?”. They are used to kissing each other at every time of the day during the two weeks of break they both take, when they are together perpetually.
“Last year”, Otabek starts, smirking at himself. “Around this hour, after you had denied me a kiss just because you were too stubborn to share a significant day with Yuuri and Victor, we had just woke up and you actually refused to kiss me, again, because I hadn't brushed my teeth yet”. Yuri hits him in the arm. “It was my first kiss, it was supposed to be special!”
Otabek smiles at him, suddenly much fonder, and ducks his head to kiss him again, longer and more languid, this time. Yuri is almost sure he has decided to drive him mad, but he isn't so against that. In between kisses, Otabek shakes his head and says, “Every kiss is special with you”.
vi.
They call him the day before the short program. He hadn't thought much of Otabek's absence: they were not, after all, attached at the hip, and they were also training harder than they normally would. He hadn't checked his phone in hours, or he would have been suspicious from the lack of messages.
It was Yuuri who brought him the phone. They both recognised the number: a coil of worry and anger hit him like a punch, squeezing his guts like an actual hand. Yuuri slid off the ice, and Yuri welcomed gladly the resemblance of privacy, even though he knew that he would be telling what was happening to Victor in a matter of minutes. It didn't exactly bother him, though, because if it was his granddad again -
He picked up. “Hello?”
“Good morning, are you Yuri Plisetsky? You seem to be Otabek Altin's emergency contact”.
He didn't feel the blow, at first. He stilled himself, both inside and outside, not even losing balance on the ice, while they told him that Otabek had had an incident on his bike. He had already shut the call before it hit him, right in the chest, somehow even worse than it had the year before.
Yuri is many things, but not a quitter. That's why, on the day after the call, he shows up at the rink anyway. There are only five finalists now, but it will work. It will go on.
A quarter of hour before it's his turn to step on the ice, just as he's staring at the edge of the rink like it's its fault if he's hurting, Victor approaches him in silence. Yuri doesn't deny him the contact, finding the weight of his hands on his shoulders even too conforming: he does, however, block him as soon as he starts talking. “I will not”, he says, and hesitates, and thinks, I can't do this. “I will not lose”. He doesn't see Victor, but he can feel his smile in his voice. “I know. I just wanted to say, davai”, and tears threaten to wash over his cheeks again, this time not in fear, but, somehow, in relief.
The thing is, many skaters have won the Grand Prix four times in a row. But only Victor Nikiforov has won it five times in a row, and he was so much older than he is. He wants to win this competition, and the next. He had also wanted Otabek by his side, but now, now he isn't there and he has to do this anyway. He doesn't know if it will work; he's not any more the boy who skated agape with the thought of him always in the back of his head, but he's not sure he's ready to skate for himself and himself alone. It scares him, in a way, having to face himself this way. His theme for this season is endurance, resilience. Yuri Plisetsky, twenty-three years old and scared to his core, steps on the ice thinking he will not go down without a fight. He has the eyes of a soldier, after all.
He breaks his record, again. He's first with a ridiculous score: he can win, he will win. That's why he accepts Victor's bones-wreaking hug, why he even hugs Yuuri, who has a phone in his hand and says, “Otabek wants to talk to you”.
Yuri turns his back to the cameras, so that he will be able to cry in peace, and asks, “How was it?”
vii.
Christmas is not that big a thing in Russia. It seems to be that big a thing in the Altins' household, though: Yuri discovers it as soon as he steps in their house, which, unlike Otabek's crammed apartment, is everything a home should be. They have invited him over for Christmas and, by extension, his granddad, who's still going strong. He stops on the doormat as he's assaulted with the sight of multi-coloured decorations. There's a tree which must be at least two times his height, garlands every fucking where. Even the dog, who has grown fond of him since the first time he's been there, has a ribbon around his neck.
Then Otabek enters in his sight, wearing an obnoxious Christmas jumper, green and red decorations and all, and he feels like he's dead and gone to heaven. Not only is the mysterious, moody Otabek, who wears all black even in the middle of the summer, completely covered in colours: he's also smiling at him, adorable and annoying at the same time. And he still manages to look hot, which is not fair at all.
He shoots a smile at Yuri's direction before he greets his granddad, loud enough that his voice will reach him. Yuri's heart swells in his chest because he's taken up calling him granddad as well, just as Otabek's mum has insisted he calls her mum as well. He still can't believe just how involved in each other's lives they are, and he feels grateful every time he's reminded of it.
As soon as his granddad is in the kitchen, trying to help with the Christmas's Eve dinner, and Yuri has already been scrutinised by each and every component of Otabek's family, Otabek takes his hand and steals him away. They haven't had much time together at all in the last weeks, so Yuri feels insanely glad as he brings him up to their bedroom and pins him against the closed door, kissing him like a dying man in search of oxygen. He feels the same way as he lets himself grab onto him like he's never kissed him before.
When they part, Yuri raises an eyebrow at the first thing they notice, which is how they are supposed to be sleeping on separate beds. Otabek brings their forehead together, giggling like the boy he isn't any more, and says that his mother wants them to sleep separately until they marry. He ducks his head to kiss Yuri's blush away, nipping first playfully at his face and then less jokingly at his lips, and Yuri murmurs, “Well, we'll be warmer in one bed”.
He actually does sleep sprawled on Otabek that night, in a mess of limbs and skin, with the door locked because they're less than presentable. He wakes as his boyfriend nudges him where he knows he is ticklish, but he hasn't even started to complain that Otabek is already silencing him by biting softly on his collarbone, just above where he left a hickey last night.
“I have your present”, he says softly into his ears, and Yuri needs a couple of minutes to realise he's talking about an actual, material present rather than the present he'd very much like to receive right now.
“Why now?” he knows it's tradition to open their gifts with the entire Altin family under the Christmas tree. Otabek's mum has told him the story, along with many others. “It's private, I know you wouldn't want others to be there”.
Otabek fishes a small, small box from his bedside drawer and Yuri feels himself almost dying of shock on the spot. They've talked about it before, as two adults should: Yuri has told him he's not ready yet, it's not like I will leave you anyway, you've seen how married couples get, just let us be stupid teenagers in love a little more, okay? And Otabek had laughed at his words and told him okay a million times as he kissed every inch of his skin he could reach. Yuri doesn't speak, because he trusts Otabek, but he also doesn't breathe, because what does he do now?
Otabek understands, though, even under the silence that hovers on them, and chuckles as he bends to kiss his cheeks. The covers slid from the pair of them and Yuri shivers at the cold. “It's not what you think it is, love”, he whispers into his skin, sweet without getting sickly so, determination flaming low behind his eyes. “I know what we've decided, but it doesn't stop me from getting you a gift, right?”
The rings are beautiful. Silver, cold and sleek, simple and elegant, just as they are together. There are little stones sprinkled above them, jade green for Otabek's, dark sapphires for Yuri's. They fit together so well it almost moves Yuri to tears, as he clenches and unclenches his fingers, following with wonder the way his own band catches the light. Otabek's fingers are dark against his, warm and present, as they trace his skin in timid strokes.
Yuri – bold, extroverted, loud Yuri – gets sheepish in front of the scene, and he hides his face away as he murmurs, “I love you”, confiding Otabek will hear him. He lets him chase his lips, linking their hands as he finds them.
viii.
He leaves at once. It's not difficult to find a plane to Almaty: it's even less difficult to actually board it, because damn it, he might have just gone full Victor Nikiforov on his rink, but that's Otabek. And he has finally left Victor to deal with a worried, angry Yakov, and revenge tastes sweet even after almost nine years.
Otabek seems to be waiting for him. He finds him at the stove, cooking dinner for the both of them; Yuri feels his heart break at the quiet, gentle domesticity of him clad only in a tank top and sweatpants. That doesn't make him less angry.
There's an unspoken rule between them: every time they argue – which is far more often than they'd like, especially if it happens while they're five hours by plane far from each other – Yuri doesn't scream and Otabek doesn't shut into himself. That doesn't make it any easier, it just makes the entirety of their lives bearable.
Yuri stops on the door of the kitchen. He has used his own keys, but he knows well enough that Otabek has heard him: he also knows he isn't ignoring him, he's just waiting, hoping that they can postpone this. He doesn't know if the whirlpool in his chest is love or anger. Maybe both. Maybe he just needs to stop staring and talk.
“Beka”, he calls out in the still quiet of the room, and he gets to see his muscles shift as his voice fills all the empty spaces Yuri has left behind the last time he went back to Russia. “Darling”, Otabek's voice rumbles back.
Yuri feels himself melting. He's so angry at him, and he knows he has no reason to be: Otabek has had quite a career, and he's not young any more. He can retire, he should retire, but this is Otabek. He has been in his life for a decade, shared rinks with him even more. The news had come unexpected, like a slap on the face; Otabek hadn't mentioned any of it to him before, and Yuri had felt partly betrayed and partly worried. And now he's here, after not even a day from the announcement of his retirement, caring more about Otabek's career than his own. And to think he considered Victor pathetic, all those years ago. “So?”
“So”, Otabek replies, and turns around slowly. “I think you heard”. He's expressionless, but his eyes are searching Yuri's face for any kind of emotion that isn't anger, which is what he can express best.
Yuri exhales. “But why”, he says, and it's not a question, but not a plea, as well. It's something.
“You know my leg hasn't been great since the incident. You know my skating's been affected”. Otabek crosses his arms on his chest. “I guess- this is it, then”.
Yuri shouldn't scream, and he does not scream. He just heightens his voice a bit. “You're only twenty-six!”
Otabek seems uneasy at his desperate stubbornness, leaning towards him like he wants to walk over to him, but then thinking it better to remain where he is. “I've plans, and you know that.”
He does, and Yuri knows, but this is not the point. His voice breaks as soon as he tries to speak again. “I want to keep skating with you-”
“I will not just leave-”
“But it won't be the same.”
Otabek looks at him like he's just revealed an unbelievable truth to him, like he's in awe. He crosses the room, the few steps keeping them apart, and Yuri feels so silly, just waiting there for him. He raises his head as Otabek frames his face into his hands, caressing his cheeks. “No, it won't”.
Yuri breathes him in, familiar and comforting. He's warm and solid weight against him, but the thing that really does it are his eyes, fondly fixed into Yuri's. His next words are a whisper. “Why didn't you tell me?”
That seems to take him by surprise. “I thought you would react – well, this way”, he shrugs, almost apologetically. Yuri feels a grin making its way on his face. “What, you thought I would board a plane to kick your ass?” Otabek chuckles and pulls him in, holding him like he's the last thing he has left on Earth. “Yeah, or something like that”, he breathes out into his hair.
They are silent for a moment.
Otabek murmurs, not daring to move, afraid of breaking the moment. “Yuratchka, are you angry at me?” Yuri, almost affronted, pulls away at once and looks at him, gaping like a fish. “I'm- annoyed. Not angry. I could never be angry at you. Why?”
Yuri feels like a little miracle happens at his words: Otabek gets flustered, blushing such a dark shade of pink it almost seems like he's actually on fire. “It's just”, he starts, then clears his throat, looking offended as Yuri lets out the littlest of giggles, “we haven't seen each other in weeks, and you, well, you haven't kissed me yet”.
That's what does it. Yuri feels his heart melt, spreading warmth throughout his body. He gets on his tiptoes, which is not really needed but he loves feeling so little against Otabek's sturdy body, and he kisses him halfway through a laugh, which makes their teeth clench and them laugh even harder. Then he kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, like there's nothing else that matters, not even aware that he's doing it with such a force that Otabek's back eventually meets his kitchen counter. Only then Yuri stops, panting slightly, to ask, “Will you stop being so cute?”
Otabek kisses him again, this time in such a different way that it makes Yuri's body tingle. He tightens his hold on his hips, moves them so that there's not an inch of their body not touching; then he reclines his head and loses himself into him for just a moment more. When he pulls back, he strokes his nose against his cheek and murmurs, “You love it.”
ix.
It's so early in the morning when he wakes up that the sun is almost nowhere to be seen. There's just enough light that it can catch on Yuri's long hair, making the blond locks shimmer like they're silver.
Otabek plasters himself to his back, poking him in the side, ready to deal with a handful of sleepy, limb-flailing Yuri until he manages to get him out of the bed. He ducks his arm and grins at his ridiculous boyfriend, who by now should be very much awake, and he decides that it's time to forget niceties: so he just begins blowing raspberries on the back of his neck, knowing well enough how much he will hate it.
Yuri shrieks when he does so, and jumps so high that he almost ends on the floor. Otabek, ever the
loving boyfriend, catches him before he falls and pulls him in. In revenge, Yuri stick his cold feet on his legs. He seems to be quickly falling asleep, again.
“Yuri”, Otabek whispers. “We have to get up”. He doesn't reply. “Love”, tries Otabek again. “You kind of have a competition”. When Yuri refuses to reply once again, Otabek tugs slightly at his hair, just strong enough that he know he won't hurt him. At that, Yuri lets out an indignant yelp, and Otabek huffs out a laughter and places his hand on the small of his back, just because he can. He lets a beat pass, before he pokes him again to add, “Get up”, and he leaves a kiss on the top of his head.
He is not ready when Yuri pulls all the cover off at once, but he did kind of expected that reaction. He doesn't move as his boyfriend pads around in the bedroom, trying to make himself presentable as he mumbles, annoyed with both the world and Otabek himself. Only when he's fully dressed and Otabek knows he won't trick him back into bed – like it had happened last time – he sits on the bed, watching him intently.
Yuri restrains himself for a whole five minutes before he gets back to him and kisses him good morning, still somehow pouting. Only after what he considers an acceptable amount of kisses he pulls back to say, “I hate you”.
Otabek smiles as Yuri hands him an elastic, only because he's a spoiled brat that always wants Otabek to do his hair for him. “Yeah, I hate you too”, he replies, pecking his cheek.