Chapter Text
Later, Yuri thinks maybe he’ll look back on this period of his life and be grateful for whatever it’s taught him. Right now though, he’s just angry and sick and tired of coughing up golden petals.
Yakov helps, of course. He gives Yuri more breaks and less difficult exercises in the morning. He keeps the press in the dark, and makes sure he has some extra pills on hand in case Yuri’s throat bothers him. Yakov takes Yuri to his check-ups and stocks up on tea and shakes off Yuri’s thanks with a gruff, “Well I’m your coach. I’m supposed to do this. Now go practice that free-skate, your jumps are getting sloppy.” Yuri refuses to be grateful for Hanahaki, but he’s grateful for Yakov.
The thing is, Yakov’s might be helping but it isn’t enough.
Yuri’s had Hanahaki for five months when he’s given a choice, death or surgery.
“Yurochka,” Yakov begins, and Yuri’s heart is beating quickly because Yakov’s just called him Yurochka and that can mean nothing good.
“Yurochka,” he says again. “The doctor…after your last check-up he told me that your disease is progressing incredibly fast. It always does in the young patients, but yours is unusually fast even for that. Most haven’t even begun coughing up more than twenty petals for this stage and you’re coughing up full flowers.”
Yuri nods and swallows hard.
“He thinks that…that since it’s developing so quickly if we wait longer to have surgery, it’ll be too late. You have to make a decision now.”
Yuri doesn’t want to make a decision, doesn’t want to do anything , but the world is closing in on him and it is suddenly so hard to breathe.
“Hey,” Yakov says, unusually gentle. “I told your grandfather about it. Do you want me to call him so you can talk it out with him?”
“Yes,” Yuri says, forcing the words out.
Yakov hands the phone to him and Yuri feels incredibly better when he hears Grandpa.
“Hello Yurochka.” His voice is calm.
“Hi Grandpa.”
“How’s your skating coming along? I heard you won another gold!”
“Yes,” Yuri hesitates. “But…Yakov told you about…?”
A sigh, then, “Yes, he did. It’s your choice Yura.”
“I don’t want to die, but I don’t want to forget either.” Yuri feels a little like a coward.
Grandpa tells him it’s okay, that forgetting won’t be so bad, and that he’ll be able to skate easily again.
So Yuri says he’ll get the surgery.
Yakov tells him it’s two weeks before the surgery is scheduled. He tells the other skaters that Yuri will be visiting his grandfather. He offers an explanation on what they’ll do, but Yuri doesn’t want to hear it. Instead, he shamelessly finds as many videos of Otabek skating as he can. If he’s going to forget, then what’s the point in refusing himself this indulgence?
Yuri soaks in as many pieces of information about Otabek as he can, and wishes that he could keep every bit of it. He wishes he wouldn’t have to forget that Otabek’s birthday is on October 31st, that he likes teddy bears, that one time in an interview he admitted to wanting to be a DJ. There is so much Yuri can’t forget, doesn’t want to forget, but he closes his eyes and lets them put him under anyways.
He wakes up with a foggy head, a burning chest, before they put him back under.
When Yuri is finally coherent enough to actually register his surroundings, the first thing he notices is that his chest is wrapped in gauze. The next is that Yakov is sitting next to him, on the phone. He hangs up when he sees that Yuri’s awake, and smiles wide. It’s a rare look on him.
“Yuri!” Yakov says, “it’s nice to see you awake.”
Yuri tries to smile back, but it’s hard. He’s still so tired.
“Here,” Yakov says, gently. “I’ll go get a nurse. We’ll get you back home soon.”
Yuri is asleep before Yakov comes back.
He wakes up again, later. He’s not sure what time it is, or even what day, but he is aware of a burning in his chest. It’s wrapped in gauze, and it hurts. He moves to unwrap it, to see what’s under, when a chorus of voices stop him.
“Yuri!” Mila, Victor, and Georgi say in unison. It’s quite possibly the most terrifying thing Yuri;s ever heard.
“You guys almost gave me a heart attack,” he says, once his breathing has steadied.
“Not our fault you didn’t bother looking around,” Victor says shakily, getting up from the chair next to the bed so Georgi can sit.
Georgi’s crying as he says, “Yakov goes into practice and says you had to have surgery! He wouldn’t tell us anymore than that. You’re okay, aren’t you?”
Mila pats him on the back, looking worried as well. Now that Yuri’s gotten a chance to properly examine his rink mates, he can’t help but notice that there’s a shadow in Victor’s eyes, one he doesn’t remember being there before.
“I-I’m fine,” Yuri says.
“Are you sure?” Mila asks. “What was wrong?”
“Nothing,” Yuri says. “Doesn’t matter now.”
The three older skaters exchange another concerned look, and Yuri rolls his eyes.
“Really,” he says, exasperated, “I’m fine. Promise.”
Victor still has that shadow in his eyes, Georgi still sniffles, and Mila can’t hide her worry, but they slip into conversation without pressing for more information.
When they finally leave, they seem more at ease.
Yuri sighs. His rink mates worry too much. Still, he can’t deny that it feels nice to be worried over.
Yuri’s allowed home after two weeks. He says home at least, but it’s not really home. It’s where he lives with Yakov.
Yakov forces him to stay in bed for another week.
He says it’s non-negotiable, and nothing Yuri says can sway him, so eventually Yuri accepts his fate. He calls Grandpa a lot, and ends up reading a lot of recipe books, searching for things to make with Grandpa. But for most of the time, Yuri doesn’t have much to do except for think.
It’s strange. Yuri remembers many things. He remembers exactly how he met Victor, the exact shade of Mila’s hair, and what Georgi did to make him lose all respect for him. He remembers learning how to skate, and how lonely it was his first night away from home.
He remembers all these things, but it still feels like something’s missing.
Yuri knows that the whole point of the surgery was to forget, but he wishes he could remember. Even just the name of the person would be enough. It’s not fair that he exchanged his memories for a scar on his chest.
“And your life,” he says aloud.
If he’s going to make losing those memories worth it, then he’ll have to use the rest of his life wisely. Yuri’s going to win the Grand Prix if it kills him, because now he has to. There’s no way he can’t.
He falls asleep that night and dreams of gold medals. He hates himself a little bit when he wakes up and realizes that in his dream, he didn’t have a scar on his chest. He heads to the rink as soon as he can and skates until his knees tremble and it takes all his energy to stay on his feet. It’s easier not to think about it.
And for the next five years, that’s what Yuri does. He skates and skates and skates and wins medal after medal. And he doesn’t think about it.
(He asked once, when he was thirteen, about the person who caused his Hanahaki. Yakov told him he didn’t know, that Yuri never told anyone who it was. The worst part is that Yuri can tell he’s not lying. The next day, Yuri isn’t allowed in the rink. Yakov tells him he worked himself too hard last time, and that he needs to take a break. Yuri thinks he didn’t work himself hard enough.)