Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The sound of Welcome To The Madness blasted into Yuri’s ear at full volume, startling him awake the next morning

“Fuck,” he groaned, drowsily reaching for the phone laying beside his pillow to dismiss the alarm. Couldn’t the damn thing have the decency to wait a few more minutes before going off? He had been in the middle of a very pleasant dream, one in which he and Otabek were both naked and –

He let out an even louder groan, pressing the heel of his hands against his eyelids as he rolled over on his back. Stop it, Yura, he lectured himself. This was no time to be having stupid sexy dreams about his best friend. He needed to focus on his free skate to defend his title as the Grand Prix Final men’s champion and win not only his bet with Otabek, but his bet with himself as well.

Tell that to the hardness between his legs, though, eager for a repeat of last night’s performance in the shower.

Yuri sighed. If there was one thing he learned from Christophe Giacometti – and he hadn’t learned much, mind you – it was never to jerk off on a competition day before you skated. It supposedly zapped you of your competitive edge, or something like that. Yuri had no idea if that theory had any kind of scientific backing, but Christophe had had a long, successful career. If anybody knew what he was talking about when it came to sex, it was Christophe, and Yuri certainly wasn’t going to risk testing it out when there was so much on the line. Closing his eyes, he brought to mind the most unarousing images he could think of – ranging from Mila picking her nose to Yakov walking around in super-tight neon Speedos – until his excitement finally died down.

With that issue solved, he dragged himself out of bed and got dressed for the morning practice session. He’d take a shower afterwards, then do his hair and make-up for the free skate.

While Yuri was brushing his teeth, his phone vibrated on the marble counter with a text message. He glanced down to see who it was, rolling his eyes when he saw it was only Yakov. The brief message simply read, Breakfast downstairs. Yakov didn’t like to be kept waiting, so he quickly rinsed out his mouth and threw his tangled hair in a quick ponytail before heading out.

The hotel’s complimentary continental breakfast buffet was loaded with lots of mouth-watering Italian pastries. Knowing Yakov would have a coronary if he dared to eat any of them the morning of a competition, Yuri bypassed them all and settled for a bowl of plain Greek yogurt, a couple of hard-boiled eggs, an assortment of fresh fruits and nuts, and a piece of toast. Tray in hand, he searched the dining room for Yakov, locating his coach at a table near the back of the room.

I wonder where Beka is, Yuri thought as he made his way to Yakov’s table. He did another quick scan of the room, but though he saw many of the other skaters from various disciplines eating breakfast, he didn’t see Otabek amongst the diners. He might have eaten earlier – Otabek was known to be a somewhat of an early bird – or perhaps he had ordered room service instead.

Yuri didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed.

“Yura, good, you’re up,” Yakov said as Yuri approached. As a coach who didn’t need to follow the strict diet he insisted his students follow, he had loaded up on the Italian pastries, making Yuri’s stomach grumble at the sight. “I trust you slept well?”

Yuri shrugged, setting his tray down across from Yakov and taking a seat. “Well enough, I guess,” he said. At least he had once he managed to actually fall asleep, his mind having quieted down once he made up his mind about what to do about his crush on Otabek. “Is Mila joining us?”

“The women won’t practice until nine, so there’s no reason for her to wake up this early.”

Lucky Mila…

“So, about today’s layout…” Yakov began, dunking a biscotti into his cappuccino, “...you’ll –”

“I’m going for the lutz,” Yuri declared before he could finish.

“No.”

Not a surprise that Yakov wasn’t on board, but the quad lutz was his best chance to win the gold, maybe his only chance. “I need it,” he insisted, slathering a generous helping of raspberry jam on his toast. “Haven’t you heard the rumors? Leroy might be attempting two quad lutzes in his free skate, and now that Beka has one, too… I have to somehow make up for yesterday’s mistake. I can’t afford to play it safe, not now.”

“You haven’t practiced your quad lutz in weeks. Don’t be an idiot, and stick to the layout you know you can do. If you skate clean, you have a more than decent chance of pulling up to silver, maybe even gold if Leroy has a bad day.”

That may be true, but… “I don’t want to rely on others making mistakes, especially when I won’t know what the ass– I mean, Leroy and Beka will do before I skate. Let me fight at full strength!”

“And when you get yet another edge call on your takeoff…?”

“I’ll stay on the outside!” Yuri promised. “I do it on the triple. I can do it on the quad.”

“If it was that easy, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I don’t know why you keep flutzing your quad when your triple is textbook, but until you can break the habit, you’re better off just going for the quad flip.”

“I’ll still do the flip. I’ll just replace the quad toe with the lutz.”

Yakov nearly choked on his cappuccino. “You want to do both the quad lutz and the flip? Have you lost your damn mind, boy? You’ve never even practiced that layout!”

“The Grand Prix Final is the best competition to try new things since you don’t have to worry about qualifying spots,” he pointed out, remembering what Sara had said a couple of days ago. “Besides, the base value of a quad lutz with an edge call isn’t that much lower than a clean toe. Even if I get the call, I won’t lose that many points as long as I land it. I’m telling you, it’s worth the risk.”

“I suppose you do have a point there,” Yakov admitted after taking a bite of his biscotti. “Fine, fine. Show me at least three clean quad lutzes at practice. If you can manage that…” He let out a heavy sigh. “You can try the damn lutz – as long as you manage the quad flip first. You pop or fall on that, and you’re back to doing the toe – no objections.”

“Deal,” Yuri said smugly, holding out his hand.

Yakov reluctantly reached across the table and shook on it, muttering something about Viktor and losing hair under his breath.

After breakfast, Yuri grabbed his skate bag from his room, then headed to the practice rink with Yakov.

He had talked a big game at breakfast, but now he had to prove he could actually do a proper quad lutz. He started with a few of his easier triples to warm-up, doing a beautiful triple lutz before he tried his first attempt at the quad. Though the jump was fully rotated, Yuri knew he had briefly switched over to the inside edge on the takeoff even before he heard Yakov yelling “Flutz!” at the boards.

“Dammit,” he muttered, setting up for his next attempt. Why did he have such a mental block on the stupid edge? He never had this problem on his triple.

The second try went better, in that he actually managed to stay on the outside edge. Unfortunately, he had been so focused on getting the proper takeoff that he only managed two revolutions once in the air, stumbling awkwardly out of the landing.

“Trying for a quad lutz again?” JJ asked as he skated by. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

JJ proceeded to do a picture-perfect quad lutz, followed by a triple toe-loop in combination just to show off even more. In the stands, Isabella and a few of the more dedicated JJ Girls who had sacrificed sleep to attend the early morning practice let out a loud cheer.

“See? Now that’s how you do it – boo-yah!” He crossed his arms, doing his trademark “double J” pose. “That’s JJ Style, baby!”

Yuri’s hands balled into tight fists at his side. It took every ounce of his self-control not to flip JJ off, but before he could do anything he might regret, someone placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, don’t let JJ get to you,” Otabek said softly. “It’s not worth it.”

Yuri’s shoulders dropped, his fingers relaxing. “I know, I know…” he muttered. But the fact that JJ could now do the quad lutz in combination all but confirmed the rumors. He was definitely planning to repeat the jump in his free skate, which made it all the more important that Yuri manage to pull out three clean quad lutzes to convince Yakov to let him attempt it in his own free.

Forcing himself to ignore Otabek, Yuri skated away and began building up speed for his next attempt. Stay on the outside, stay on the outside, stay on the outside, he thought just before tapping into the ice.

One...two...three...four…

Swish. He had done it. A clean quad lutz.

Yuri’s head automatically turned toward Yakov at the boards for confirmation. Yakov held up a single gloved finger, indicating it had indeed counted. Yuri couldn’t help but smile in triumph, high-fiving Otabek’s outstretched hand as he skated by.

“Adding it to your free today?” he asked.

Yuri shrugged, keeping coy as Otabek had done at the first practice. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

After all, he still needed to land two more.

His next one went just as well, but while he was able to stay on the outside edge for the two following attempts, Yuri fell hard on both. Meanwhile, Otabek and JJ were both landing theirs with almost no issue aside from Otabek slightly two-footing one of his and JJ popping a combo into a quad lutz-double toe instead of the triple.

By that time, it was Yuri’s turn to do his run-through. Though he usually just marked his jumps on competition day, not wanting to tire himself too much during practice, he was unaccustomed to his new layout, so he decided to go full-out during the first half of his program to see how it felt. He opened with a great quad flip, following that by landing his third successful clean quad lutz of the morning. Over at the boards, a scowling Yakov held up a third finger.

Victory!

The quad salchow and triple axel were a success as well. In the second half, he marked all three of his remaining combination passes, but he felt good about the new layout despite his lack of practice.

Was it a risk to debut a new layout he had never fully attempted before during a major competition? Hell yeah it was, but if he could manage to pull it off without any pops or falls, it was no doubt his best chance to overcome his deficit from the short program to pull himself back up to the top of the podium.

And when he won...he would finally confess his feelings to Otabek.

The rest of practice went well. Yuri managed to land two more clean quad lutzes in the time remaining, but Otabek and JJ seemed to be in fine form as well, neither showing any sign of pre-competition jitters at all. Despite his earlier bravado, those two would certainly not make it easy for Yuri to repeat as the Grand Prix Final champion, especially JJ. His jumps looked better than ever, as much as Yuri hated to admit it, and if he kept his infamous championship nerves in check…

“Hey, you okay?” Otabek asked, pulling Yuri away from his thoughts.

The two of them had just arrived back at their hotel, Otabek looking back at Yuri, who had somehow fallen behind him.

“Um, yeah, I’m fine,” Yuri said, quickly hurrying to catch up with Otabek at the automatic doors. “I just got distracted.”

He couldn’t waste his time worrying about JJ. All Yuri could do at this point was keep his eye on the prize and skate to the best of his ability, letting the chips fall as they may. Besides, even if JJ had managed a clean short yesterday, that didn’t mean he would do the same in the free. He was bound to implode in at least one program, right?

“Distracted? By what?” Otabek asked as they walked across the hobby toward the elevators.

“I...um…” Think, Yura, think! “I thought I saw a couple of Angels following us,” he lied, blurting the first plausible thing that came to mind. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time some of his more obsessive fans had stalked him around a competition, hoping to capture some candid photos of him off the ice.

“What?” Otabek immediately wrapped a protective arm around Yuri’s shoulders, pulling him closer as he looked back over his shoulder. “Where? What do they look like?” he asked in a low voice.

The scent of his sweet cologne tickled at Yuri’s nose.

“I-I was mistaken!” Yuri said, forcing himself to ignore how fucking nice it felt to be so close to him. “They went into the building next door. It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I was just being paranoid.”

With a relieved sigh, Otabek let go of his hold on Yuri and pushed the call button for an elevator. “When it comes to your Angels, you really can’t be too careful. I don’t blame you.”

“Most of them aren’t that bad,” Yuri said, wishing he had milked the situation for a little while longer. “Just...annoying.”

“Still…”

One of the elevator doors slid open, letting out a small group consisting of American and Canadian pairs. They all exchanged polite greetings in English before Yuri and Otabek took their place in the cab, the doors closing before anybody else could join them.

Though there was plenty of room for them to spread out, Yuri found himself standing right beside Otabek, the fabric of their respective team jackets’ sleeves brushing against each other as the elevator carried them upwards. He was about to ask Otabek if he wanted to come hang out in his room, get some room service for lunch and maybe watch another movie (innocently!) to relax before it was time for them to start getting ready for the competition when a phone rang.

For once, however, it wasn’t Yuri’s ringtone.

“Mind if I take this?” Otabek asked after pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket to check who was calling. “It’s my mother.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Thanks.” Otabek answered the phone, having a brief conversation with his mother in Kazakh before pressing his phone against his chest to cover the speaker. “Hey, do you have any plans before the competition?” he asked, switching back to Russian.

Beyond what he had just been about to suggest? Yuri shrugged. “Not really. Why?”

“My mother’s invited us out to brunch to make up for canceling our plans yesterday, and she absolutely insists that you come. Won’t take no for an answer.”

“Well, if she insists…” Yuri said, laughing. It wasn’t what he originally had in mind, but he always enjoyed spending time with Otabek’s family. Besides, on second thought, it probably wasn’t the best idea to risk falling asleep together again – for multiple reasons. “Yeah, sure, tell her I’ll be there.”

“Will do,” Otabek said, bringing his phone back up to his ear. He spoke to his mother for a couple more seconds before hanging up. “Reservation is at 11:30. We’ll be dining at their hotel. There’s a really great restaurant downstairs.”

Yuri frowned. If the restaurant required a reservation, he doubted they were going to a tavola calda. “How dressy is this restaurant? Am I gonna have to wear a suit and tie?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not that formal. Business casual is fine.”

“Oh.”

“Do you need to borrow something?” Otabek offered as the elevator came to a stop at the seventh floor.

“No,” Yuri said, even as he was mentally going through the contents of his suitcase. “No, that’s okay. I think I should be able to throw something together…”

Otabek pressed his back against the side of the elevator’s doors, keeping them open. “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“Yeah. We’re not the same size, anyway. Your pants would be way too short on me.”

He chuckled. “That’s true. So, meet you in the lobby around eleven, then?”

“Yeah, sounds good. See you then.”

Yuri let out a sigh as the elevator doors slid close behind Otabek and continued up to the next floor. He hoped he could find something suitable to wear. Aside from the outfit he had picked for the closing banquet, though, most of what he had packed was athletic wear and more casual-leaning clothes. Still, as soon as he entered his room, he started rummaging through his limited wardrobe, not finding many options.

“Maybe that would work…?” he mumbled to himself upon spotting his new Paolo Fabbri sweater laying across the back of one of the armchairs, where he had flung it the other night. He picked it up and gave it a quick sniff. He had only worn it for a couple of hours, so it was probably clean enough to wear again without needing to wash it. Though the snow leopard-print was perhaps a bit on the wild side, it was still an expensive sweater, designed by one of Italy’s most popular labels. Surely that would be good enough for the hotel’s hoity-toity guests.

The super-cool tiger-print pants he had brought to wear to the banquet, on the other hand, would definitely not pass muster. Yuri swore under his breath as he unzipped the garment bag he had hung up in the small armoire, hoping against hope that he had packed another pair of pants by mistake. Why couldn’t he have packed one of his more conservative suits? Well, the basic black blazer would probably help tone down the sweater, but that still left him needing pants. Would his nicest pair of blue jeans be okay?

Probably not.

“Fuck!”

Yuri slammed the armoire door close and pulled out his phone to check the time. He was supposed to meet Otabek back downstairs in a little over forty minutes. That didn’t give him much time to run to a nearby shop to buy a new pair. Maybe if he skipped a shower, but he really needed one, Yuri’s nose crinkling as he caught a whiff of his armpits. Not to mention the rats’ nest that was currently his hair.

That left borrowing a pair as his last option, but again, Otabek’s inseam was too short for his long legs. Were there any other skaters he could ask? All the pair guys were far too tall, and the dancers were not that much shorter for the most part. That one Italian ice dancer was roughly around his height, but who knew if he even spoke English? Well, if he was desperate, he could probably get Michele (too tall!) to translate or even ask the guy for the pants on his behalf, but that would be such a huge pain in the ass...

Wait! Kenjirou Minami was now the same height as him after undergoing a big growth spurt a couple of years ago, and they had similar builds. Better yet, Yuri already knew they wore the same size because he had loaned Kenjirou a pair of pants for the exhibition at NHK Trophy after he had realized he had forgotten his costume at the hotel. Kenjirou owed him!

But what room was he in? Yuri pinched the bridge of his nose. Gah, he knew Kenjirou was somewhere on the eighth floor due to running into him several times in the hall or by the elevators, but that was about it.

He again pulled out his phone and texted the other Yuuri, grateful that Katsudon was now fluent enough in Russian that he didn’t have to suffer through trying to text in his crappy English. Fortunately, Yuuri replied almost immediately.

Yuri: Hey what room is the chicken nugget in?

Yuuri: Who?

Yuuri: Oh, do you mean Kenjirou? Why?

Yuri rolled his eyes. Did Yuuri think he was going to break in and sabotage Kenjirou’s costume or something?

Yuri: I need a favor. Is he in his room?

Yuuri: He should be. It’s 812.

Yuri: Thnx.

With no time to waste, Yuri headed down the hall to Room 812 and knocked on the door.

“Yurio!” Kenjirou exclaimed when he answered a few seconds later. “Hey, what are you doing here? It’s not time to go back to the rink yet, is it?” He furrowed his brow. “I know I set an alarm on my pho–”

“It’s Yura, and remember how I loaned you those pants at NHK?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s time to return the favor,” Yuri said. “I need some nice black pants to wear to brunch. You have any?”

“Yeah, come on in.” Kenjirou stepped aside, letting him enter his room. “I brought a pair to wear to the banquet,” he said as he walked over to the armoire.

“I only need to borrow them for a couple of hours. You’ll have them back by then, I swear.”

“Good. Just try not to get them dirty, okay? I don’t have any spares.” He pulled a hanger out of the armoire and held up a pair of black slacks. “Will these do?”

“Yeah, those will work. Thanks,” Yuri said gratefully, taking the offered pants. “I’ll get them dry cleaned before giving them back.”

Half an hour later, freshly showered and dressed in the borrowed pants, awesome sweater, and black blazer from his banquet outfit, Yuri headed downstairs to the lobby. As usual, Otabek was already waiting for him, standing up from the nearby leather loveseat where he was sitting when Yuri stepped off the elevator. Just as when Yuri first modeled the sweater for him at the boutique, Otabek’s dark eyes widened, taking in the outfit.

“Hey,” Otabek greeted Yuri when he walked over. “You look good. I’m glad you managed to pull something together so last minute.”

“I really look okay?” Yuri patted the top of his head, uncharacteristically self-conscious. Since he would be competing later in the day, he hadn’t wanted to put much product in his hair, so he had settled for a somewhat messy – but still chic – manbun and minimal makeup, only enough to cover up the annoying zit he discovered on his chin after his shower. “I borrowed the pants from the chicken nugget, and I know the sweater is kinda loud, but –”

“No, it’s great. Grandma will love the snow leopard print. I told you before, haven’t I, how snow leopards are considered an official symbol of Kazakhstan?”

“I think you may have mentioned it once or twice,” Yuri said with a small smile. It was part of the reason he had been drawn to the sweater in the boutique’s window in the first place. “Anyway, you look nice, too. Very grandpa-core.”

Otabek chuckled, used to Yuri poking fun of what he called Otabek’s “grandpa clothes”, usually consisting of a knitted sweater or vest over a collared shirt and some slacks. It wasn’t his typical style, reserved mostly for when he spent time with his upper-class family, but, damn, somehow he managed to make even a freaking sweater vest almost come off as sexy.

“We should probably get going if we don’t want to be late for the reservation,” he said. “I already asked the concierge to call a taxi. It should be waiting for us outside.”

They headed out to the front, where indeed a taxi was already pulled up underneath the porte-cochère. Like a gentleman, Otabek opened the back door for Yuri before getting in on the other side.

“Hey, so about my grandmother,” Otabek said along the way, “don’t make a big deal if she doesn’t seem to remember you, okay? Her doctors say she’s still in the early stages, so her memory isn’t that bad yet, but it can be hard to predict what she remembers and what she’s forgotten. Since she doesn’t know you that well, I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t remember you’ve met before.”

That made sense. Yuri had spent plenty of time with Otabek’s mother and fifteen-year-old sister Inzhu on his summer visits to Otabek’s hometown of Almaty, but both sets of his grandparents lived in the capital city of Astana. The only time he had met Otabek’s paternal grandmother was at the Olympics almost two years ago, when she had joined the rest of the extended family to cheer Otabek on at the biggest competition of his career. Although Yuri didn’t know when she had been officially diagnosed, there was a good chance her memory had already begun slipping by that point.

“Got it,” Yuri said. “Anything else I should be aware of?”

“No, not really. You don’t have to do anything special or act differently around her. Just...be yourself.”

A couple of minutes later, the taxi pulled up to the front of the hotel where Otabek’s family was staying.

“Holy sh…” Yuri said as he climbed out of the backseat after Otabek, the profanity dying on his lips as he looked upward at the magnificent Art Nouveau building looming before them. The competition’s official hotel near the Palavela was decent enough, but it paled in comparison to this...palace. Yuri hated to see how much even the cheapest suite cost to stay there for a night. Probably at least the equivalent price of two of his designer sweaters, if not more. “Are you sure I’m dressed up enough?” he asked Otabek once again. Maybe he should have asked to borrow one of Otabek’s grandpa sweaters after all…

“You look great,” Otabek reassured him, pressing his hand against the small of Yuri’s back. “Come on, I don’t – Yura?

Yuri froze in place, a small shock traveling up his spine at the intimate gesture.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Otabek apologized, pulling his hand away far too soon for Yuri’s liking. “I wasn’t thinking. Anyway, let’s go. I don’t want to keep my family waiting.”

The inside of the hotel was even grander and more gorgeous than the exterior. Yuri had to fight the urge to pull out his phone and start taking photos like some gawking tourist. He followed Otabek to the ground floor restaurant, doing his best to pretend he actually belonged in a ritzy place like this.

“Buongiorno, Luca. Reservation for Altin?”

“Yes, sir,” the maitre d’, who Otabek seemed to have met before, said in English, grabbing a couple of menus. “Right this way. The rest of your party has already arrived.”

Luca led them to an elegantly decorated round table near the center of the dining room. A large dome consisting of beautiful stained glass made up the ceiling above them, sunlight shining through the multi-colored panes and showering the mostly white room with a rainbow of dancing colors.

“Good morning, Grandma,” Otabek said, bending down to kiss his grandmother’s cheek in greeting. Out of the three women, she was the only one to don a hijab, a beautiful pale pink headscarf worn loosely over her hair. “Mother, Inzhu… I hope we didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

His mother, Dinara, smiled warmly. “No, not at all. We only arrived a couple of minutes ago ourselves.” She extended her hand to Yuri. “Yura, I’m so glad you were finally able to join us.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” Yuri said, accepting her handshake before taking his seat in between her and Otabek. Aside from Lilia, Dinara Altin was about the only other person in the world who could get Yuri to be on his best behavior. Not that she was super-strict or anything – in fact, over the years, Yuri found her to be quite kind and generous, so different from his own terrible mother – but Otabek’s mother just had this regal bearing about her that made him instinctively want to pull back his shoulders, lift up his chin, and wash out his dirty mouth with a bar of soap. “It’s great to see you again.”

He exchanged pleasantries with Inzhu as well, but Otabek’s grandmother only stared at Yuri with mild puzzlement, probably wondering why a strange Russian man with such outrageous fashion sense was joining their family brunch.

“Grandma, this is Yura,” Otabek said when he noticed her confusion. “Yuri Nikolayevich Plisetsky.”

“Oh!” She clapped her hands together in delight. “I know you. I saw you skate yesterday. You’re the Russian skater with the pretty spins!”

Well, that was something at least, even if it was clear that she had indeed forgotten their previous meeting in Pyeongchang.

“Yes, Yura’s spins are very beautiful, aren’t they?” Otabek agreed with a soft smile on his face, glancing over at Yuri, who was certain his entire face was on fire. “The best in the world.”

“I can believe that. So, is he your boyfriend?”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, the both of them taken off-guard. “Oh, no, Yura’s my best friend. We’re not dating.”

“Yeah, we’re only friends,” Yuri added, holding up his hands. “Nothing more.”

Although, if he ended up winning the bet...

“Why not?” she prodded, turning her attention back to Otabek. “You’re...what’s that word again?” Pressing one hand against her forehead, she snapped the fingers of her other hand. “Don’t tell me; it’s on the tip of my tongue... Bi-sexy?”

Yuri pressed his lips together, trying his best not to laugh. It was good to see that Grandma Altin hadn’t lost her feisty personality. He remembered her as being quite the character when they had met at the Olympics.

“Bisexual, and yes, I am, but –”

“Is he not into men? Is that the problem? Because if I was fifty years younger…”

Dark eyes widening, Inzhu let out a scandalized laugh. “Grandma!”

“What? I’m old, not blind!”

“I’m sorry, Yura,” Dinara apologized with a small chuckle of her own. “She gets like this sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her, not minding at all. Remembering what Otabek told him in the taxi, Yuri offered his hand to his grandmother, pretending as if it was their first meeting. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Altin.”

“Please, call me Safiya,” she said, accepting the handshake. “Although if you want to call me Grandma, I certainly won’t object!”

A waiter came by a few moments later to take their orders. Though the menu was in Italian, thankfully the restaurant also provided English translations for foreign tourists. Yuri ordered something called “uova in purgatorio”, or “eggs in purgatory”, which consisted of poached eggs in a spicy tomato sauce. He had no idea how it would taste, but a dish with a name that hella cool had to be good.

“So, Beka, speaking of boyfriends, have you been seeing anyone lately?” Safiya asked after their menus were taken away.

“No, not recently,” he said in a polite but resigned way that suggested he had already answered the question many times before.

She frowned. “Well, I find that hard to believe. You’re a successful, good-looking young man. You should have no trouble finding a partner.”

“I’ve been busy training and doing DJ gigs. It doesn’t leave much time for dating.”

“Bah! It’s important to work hard, but you also need to take the time to have fun and enjoy life. You’re only young once, after all.”

“Safiya, Beka will find love on his own schedule. I know you’d like to see him get married, but he’s only twenty-one. There’s no need for him to rush into a relationship,” Dinara said, taking a sip of her iced tea.

“I want to see him happy, although if that includes a wedding, well…”

“Grandma, I might have a boyfriend soon,” Inzhu announced, causing Otabek to almost choke on his lemonade.

“Aren’t you a little young to have a boyfriend?” he asked after dabbing his mouth with his cloth napkin.

His sister rolled her eyes. “Come on, Beka. Sometimes you act like I’m still ten years old! I’m fifteen now, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Yes, you were right around Inzhu’s age when you started seeing your first girlfriend,” Dinara pointed out. “Amina, I believe was her name?”

“I mean, yes, I suppose that’s true…” Otabek admitted, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

Yuri hid a smile behind his hand, finding the “big brother” side of Otabek rather adorable.

“Amina… I remember her, I think,” Safiya said. “She was a...ballet dancer?”

“A gymnast, and, please, enough talking about my love life. That was a long time ago. Inzhu, who is this guy you’ve been seeing?”

“We aren’t dating yet,” Inzhu said, her cheeks faintly flushed. “His name is Denis, and he’s in my grade. We were paired together to do a project on the Golden Horde for our history class, but even though we finished giving our presentation a couple of weeks ago, he’s still been finding chances to talk to me whenever he can. I think he really likes me!”

“And do you like him?” Safiya asked.

“Of course! He’s really cute and super smart. He wants to be a doctor!”

“A doctor – impressive.”

“Yeah. He’s amazing! Here, let me show you a picture.” She pulled out her phone, handing it over to Safiya. “See? He’s the one on the left.”

“Oh, my, what a handsome young man. You have good taste, Inzhu,” Safiya said. “I must say, this boy sounds like quite the catch.” She turned her attention to Otabek, flipping the phone around so that he could see the photo, too. “Don’t you agree, Nurslan?”

Otabek’s entire body stiffened as Inzhu and Dinara shared an alarmed look. Yuri, not knowing how to react, reached for his glass of orange juice and took a large gulp.

“I’m Otabek, Grandma,” Otabek gently reminded her once he got over his initial shock.

Safiya blinked in momentary confusion. “O-Oh, yes. Yes, of course you are.” Smiling, she set Inzhu’s phone down on the table and reached over to pat Otabek’s cheek. “My sweet Beka… You really do look exactly like your father when he was a young man, though, doesn’t he, Dinara?”

“That he does,” Dinara agreed. “The spitting image.”

Yuri fought the urge to frown. He had seen pictures from Otabek’s parents’ wedding. While young Nurslan Altin bore a passing resemblance to his future son, Yuri always thought Otabek more favored his mother in looks, with the same high cheekbones and piercing dark eyes.

“Where is my son, by the way?” Safiya asked, looking around the table. “He’s rather late, which isn’t like him at all. And where is that waiter? We’ll need an extra cha–”

“Nurslan’s not here,” Dinara said. “He’s in Beijing.”

“Beijing? Whatever for?”

“He’s away on a business trip. His company is thinking of building a new factory there.”

Safiya huffed. “He’s my son, and I love him, but that man works far too much!” she complained. “Surely he could have spared a few days to come watch Beka skate at the final. He’s the boss, isn’t he?”

“I don’t mind, Grandma,” Otabek said, reaching over to pat her hand. “Father is rarely able to come to my competitions, but he always makes sure to call or text to wish me good luck before I skate. I know he’s proud of me.”

“A phone call isn’t the same. He should be –”

“Hey, Grandma, did you know Yura has an Instagram page devoted to his cat?” Inzhu suddenly interrupted.

“What?”

“Potya is super cute!” She jerked her head to the side. “Yura, show her.”

“Oh, uh...right.” Realizing that Inzhu was trying to diffuse the situation, Yuri took his phone out of his pocket and pulled up Potya’s dedicated Instagram account. “He’s gotten pretty popular over the past couple of years,” he said as he passed the phone over to Safiya. “If I don’t watch out, one day he might end up with more followers than I have!”

“Oh, my, what an adorable little angel!” Safiya cooed as she browsed through the pictures. Across the table, Dinara’s shoulders dropped in visible relief and Inzhu mouthed the word, “Thanks,” shielding her mouth from view of her grandmother.

“He may look like an angel, but trust me, he can certainly raise some he– I mean, he can be a troublemaker when he wants to be,” Yuri said, Otabek hiding a snicker behind a cough at his quick attempt at self-censorship.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” She scrolled through some more photos. “His user name is @pumatiger...scorpion? But he is none of those things. I thought Inzhu said his name was Potya.”

“Potya is his nickname. His full name actually is Puma Tiger Scorpion, but that’s kind of a mouthful, so my grandpa started calling him Potya instead. After a while, the name stuck.”

“Ah, I see!” She passed the phone back to Yuri. “So, you’re a big cat lover, I assume? I have to say, that sweater is really quite something. I’ve always loved snow leopards myself. They’re held in high regard in Kazakhstan, you know.”

Yuri smiled, pleased he had gone with the sweater after all. “So I’ve heard from Beka.”

“It reminds me of the time I saw one in the wild,” she said, getting a far-off look in her dark eyes. “I’ll never forget it for as long as I live. I was twenty years old, newly married, and Temir – he was my husband, Allah yerhamo – he took me on a hike through the Altai Mountains...”

Otabek was quiet on the drive back to their hotel, even quieter than he usually was, blankly staring out the window at the passing buildings. Though the rest of brunch with his family had passed without further incident, everybody enjoying the delicious food and good company, Safiya’s brief moment of confusion had to be weighing heavily on his mind.

Yuri tried to engage him in conversation, but after the third or fourth time of getting nothing more than a one word answer from Otabek in reply, he got the message. Sighing, he pulled out his phone and started his usual social media surfing to pass the time, smiling when the notification that @safiya_altin had begun following both his and Potya’s Instagram accounts popped up. He followed her back in return, liking the most recent photo she had posted of herself and Otabek from a couple of days ago to wish him luck in the short program.

Surprisingly, Safiya’s account was quite active, at least compared to Otabek’s poor neglected Instagram which considered itself lucky to be updated more than once a month. She mostly posted photos of the meals she made – Otabek often raved about her cooking – or random scenery pics from around Astana. The majority of the photos were captioned in Kazakh, so Yuri couldn’t understand what she wrote, but she was kind enough to translate any recipes she shared into Russian as well.

He’d have to give some of them a try when he got back to St. Petersburg, maybe surprise Otabek one day for dinner...

“Hey, sorry about earlier,” Otabek said, breaking the silence between them and startling Yuri from his thoughts. “Things got kinda...tense for a moment there.”

“No, it’s fine.” Yuri put his phone away, wanting to give Otabek his full attention. “Inzhu handled it like a pro.”

“Yeah, she’s gotten really good at distracting Grandma when she starts to get too upset or agitated. I’m glad she was there. You, too.” Glancing over at Yuri, he gave him a small smile. “She seemed to really love those photos of Potya.”

“She actually just started following mine and Potya’s accounts.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I followed her back. You never told me your grandmother was on Instagram.”

“Inzhu introduced her to it during the Olympics. I think she sees it as a way to help preserve her memories and stay connected to her friends and family, but sometimes I worry…” Otabek shook his head. “Sorry. We’re about to compete in a few hours. I shouldn’t be burdening you with stuff like this.”

“I don’t mind,” Yuri said. “I, um… I know it must be tough. What about you? How have you been holding up? Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Otabek turned his attention back to the world outside the window. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said softly, resting his forehead against the glass.

No, you’re not, Yuri thought. Especially not after what had happened at the restaurant. Otabek wasn’t the most expressive person in the world, but the look of shock on his face when Safiya had mistaken him for his father had been plain to see.

Hesitantly, Yuri reached over, covering the hand resting on Otabek’s knee with his own. Otabek’s head jerked back up at his touch, his eyes slightly widening when he turned his head toward Yuri.

“It’s okay, you know? If you’re not?”

Otabek continued to stare at him, not saying anything. Yuri licked at his lips, wondering if he had said something wrong, if maybe he shouldn’t have said anything at all. ‘Comfort’ wasn’t really his strong suit, after all.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, starting to pull his hand away. “I shouldn’t –”

“No.” Otabek reached for his hand, preventing him from moving it away. “No, I appreciate it. It’s...just hard.” Though he returned to staring out the window, he continued holding Yuri’s hand. “That was the first time,” he said after a long moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “The first time she didn’t recognize me. I knew it would happen eventually, of course, but…” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his neck. “I thought I had prepared myself. I-I thought we had more time before…”

Yuri squeezed his fingers. “Beka…”

“I’m okay,” he insisted, inhaling a deep breath to compose himself. “Really.”

By that time, the taxi had pulled up to the front of their hotel. Otabek gently extracted his hand out of Yuri’s grasp and pulled out his wallet to pay the fare.

“What do you plan to do now?” Yuri asked once they had gotten out of the car. “Do you wanna come up to my room and maybe play some cards or something?” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of Kenjirou’s pants. “Or...we could talk more, if you want. I don’t mind.”

“Thanks, but I’m feeling kinda tired,” Otabek said. “I think I may go take a nap, try to clear my head before the free skate.”

“Oh. Okay. See you later, then?”

“Yeah. Later.”

The men’s free skate was scheduled for late in the afternoon.

Yuri hadn’t seen Otabek since they got back from brunch with his family. After changing out of his clothes and sending Kenjirou’s pants down for dry-cleaning, he had spent most of his free time before the competition video-chatting with his grandpa, who he suddenly missed something fierce. Grandpa had been surprised by the sudden call – Yuri usually didn’t contact him by anything other than text during competitions due to time difference logistics – but it had been good to see his familiar wrinkled face.

About an hour before the competition, Yuri went back to the rink with Yakov. He did his usual pre-skate warm-up in the dryland room before heading to the locker room to change into his costume.

He stopped in his tracks the moment he stepped inside, sucking in a sharp breath. Although he hadn’t seen him warming up, Otabek had arrived before him, his bare back turned toward Yuri as he hung his casual clothes in his locker. His well-defined muscles flexed as he lifted his arms, and despite himself, Yuri couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to run his fingers across those ripples, leaving a trail of nail marks as he dug into Otabek’s brown skin...

Yuri shook his head, clearing the inappropriate vision from his mind. Fuck, get a hold of yourself, dude. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen Otabek shirtless plenty of times before.

“Hey,” he said once he managed to compose himself, coming up beside Otabek to take a nearby locker.

Otabek looked over, taking the earbuds out of his ear. “Oh, hey,” he said, placing the earbuds back into their case.

At that moment, a cell phone beeped with an incoming notification. Yuri’s hand instinctively reached for his pocket, but the sound was coming from Otabek’s phone. A small smile crossed his lips when he read the message.

“Your father?” Yuri guessed, remembering what Otabek had told Safiya at the restaurant.

“Yeah.” After sending a short reply back, Otabek slipped his phone into the front pocket of his skate bag, then took out the top to his costume – a long-sleeved black ombre tunic. “The usual ‘good luck’ text,” he said as he pulled the shirt over his head and tugged it down his torso. “It’s late in Beijing, but he says he’s going to try to stay awake to catch the stream live.”

“That’s good. Grandpa says he’s gonna watch it live, too, even though Channel One’s scheduled to air it tomorrow afternoon on TV.”

“You talked to your grandpa? How is he?”

“Good,” Yuri said, unzipping his Team Russia jacket. “He’s been complaining about his back again, but that’s nothing new. Other than that, he seems to be doing okay.” He took off his jacket, tossing it onto the bench behind them. “What about you?” he asked after a moment of hesitation, unsure if he should broach the subject so close to the start of the free skate. “Have you talked to your family since…?”

“Yeah. Inzhu says Grandma is in good spirits and hasn’t had any more memory lapses since they left the restaurant.”

“I’m glad.”

“Yeah.” Otabek took a seat on the bench and started putting on his skates. “Maybe what happened during brunch was just a fluke,” he said. “I mean, even people who don’t have dementia can mistake someone for somebody else on occasion. Just look at how many people have called me JJ by mistake due to our similar hairstyles.”

Yuri never understood how anybody could confuse the two, especially when Otabek was so much shorter (and hotter) than JJ, but… “Yeah, sure, maybe,” he agreed. “It’s...possible.”

“But not likely, huh?” Otabek sighed. “I know. I just keep hoping…” Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to lacing his skate. “I can’t worry about that now,” he mumbled mostly to himself. “I have a gold medal to win.”

“Beka...”

“Hey, hey, hey!”

Yuri dropped the hand he had been about to place on Otabek’s shoulder in comfort, silently cursing JJ’s bad timing.

“The king is here to finally take his throne!” JJ bellowed, oblivious as he rolled his skate bag over to one of the lockers on the other side of Otabek’s. “Man, I’m so psyched! I can feel it in my bones. This is the year I finally get that gold.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it, asshole,” Yuri muttered under his breath as he continued to change into his uncharacteristically simple costume of an unadorned white T-shirt and grey leggings, reminiscent of the clothes he typically wore during ballet practice with Lilia.

Lilia would be proud of him for not taking JJ’s bait.

With the other three showing up soon after JJ arrived, the locker room went silent from a combination of nerves and anticipation. Everybody changed into their costumes and their skates, then followed a volunteer who brought them to the rink for their six minute warm-up.

They had drawn a large crowd yesterday, but today’s competition was almost entirely sold-out. Loud cheers rang out as the finalists stepped out into the main arena and waited behind the gate, doing some light stretches to keep loose and getting advice from their respective coaches.

“Don’t do too much out there,” Yakov said. “Go through all your jumping passes once, but no more, and conserve your energy for when it really counts.”

Yuri nodded his understanding as he took a swig from his water bottle. Yakov said the same thing almost every competition; he rarely deviated from the standard script.

Spotting Otabek standing near the back of the group – JJ was at the front, of course, eager to be the first out on the ice – Yuri handed his water back to Yakov, then made his way over.

“Hey, seriously, are you okay?” he asked, low enough in volume so that only Otabek could hear. “If you want to back out of the bet –”

“I’m not backing out,” Otabek declared, staring straight ahead. “I came here to compete, and that’s what I intend to do. Nothing’s changed.”

“But –”

“Yura, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Worry about your own skate.”

Yuri frowned. It didn’t feel right, going through with the bet when Otabek was so distressed about his grandmother, but if that was what he wanted…. “Good luck, then.”

“Yeah, you, too,” Otabek said with a small smile that made Yuri’s heart skip a beat, despite the situation. “Good luck, and may the best man win.”

It was time for the showdown to begin.

It had been a successful warm-up, but Yuri couldn’t take it easy. Unlike yesterday, he decided not to do his stretches by one of the feed broadcasts, instead finding an empty room backstage, far away from the main rink, to wait until it was his turn to take the ice. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake he had made yesterday – never mind that Otabek (and JJ) wouldn’t be skating until after him anyway thanks to the reverse skating order of the short program results.

“Glad to see you’re taking things seriously for a change,” Yakov said, holding Yuri’s water bottle as he took off his skates. “Like I always say, it doesn’t matter what the other skaters do on the ice. All that matters is –”

“– what I do,” Yuri completed for him with a roll of his eyes, having heard it plenty of times over the years.

“So you do listen to me on occasion.”

“Whatever. I’m always serious when it comes to competition.” Yuri set his skates aside and unzipped the front pocket of his skate bag to pull out a pair of earbuds. “Now, leave me alone, old man,” he said, placing the earbuds in his ears. “I need to focus.”

“I’ll be back when Crispino starts his free.” He handed Yuri back his water bottle and left.

Yuri took a couple of sips of his water, then reached for his phone, queuing up his current favorite playlist, the one Otabek had sent him a couple of weeks ago. The heavy base and pulsating rhythm of the club music more than blocked out the noise around him, allowing Yuri to focus only on himself and his upcoming performance as he went through his standard pre-skate stretches and exercises.

As promised, Yakov returned about fifteen minutes later. “Yura, it’s time,” he announced, tapping Yuri on the shoulder to get his attention. “Crispino’s on the ice. Get your skates on.”

Yuri took his earbuds out of his ears and did as he was told. This time he was determined to get his skates back on and laced with plenty of time to spare.

The crowd roared as Yuri and Yakov reached the short tunnel leading to the main arena. From the sound of things, Michele must have had a pretty fantastic skate. Though Yuri was mildly curious as to how well the three skaters before him had done, he chose not to ask Yakov for Kenjirou’s or Seung-Gil’s scores, knowing it ultimately didn’t matter.

They weren’t his main competition. Otabek and JJ were.

As soon as the gate opened, Yuri slipped off his skate guards and stepped onto the ice, weaving in between some straggling sweepers who were still gathering gifts for Michele. He took full advantage of the extra time to warm up, stroking around the ice and going through the motions of all his jump take-offs while everyone waited for Michele’s scores to come in.

"The scores, please, for Michele Crispino from Italy. His free program score is…”

The cheers from the crowd drowned out the announcer’s voice, preventing Yuri from hearing Michele’s score as he skated over to the boards for some final words from Yakov.

“Remember, if you pop or fall on the flip, you’re going back to the toe,” Yakov reminded him with a wag of his finger. “No exceptions.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Whatever. He couldn’t even remember the last time he messed up on the quad flip in competition. That wasn’t going to happen.

He tugged on his ponytail, making sure it was secure, then took a couple of sips of water from the bottle Yakov handed him, giving it back to him when his name was announced.

This was it.

Yuri skated to the center of the ice and got into position, inhaling a couple of deep breaths to calm himself as he waited for his music to begin.

His free skate this season was to the soundtrack of “The White Crow”, a new biographical film about the life of ballet dancer Rudolf Nureyev – Lilia’s choice, of course, but Yuri had come to love the music as well, especially after having seen the movie himself. He actually saw quite a bit of himself in the legendary dancer, who had a reputation in the dancing world for being a rebel. Yuri found it easy to get into character, keeping Lilia’s harsh critiques at the forefront of his mind as he performed the opening choreography.

But to win would require more than beautiful dancing. He had to jump as well.

First up, the quad flip, again with the Rippon arm variation. Yuri flew into it with confidence, soaring high into the air and completing four revolutions. Though the landing should have been easy, he was the slightest bit off balance, necessitating putting his free leg down to keep himself upright.

Dammit!

It wasn’t a fall, but landing on two feet would lose him points on the grade of execution. Yuri glanced over at the boards where Yakov was standing, arms crossed over his chest and not looking thrilled in the least. Should he play it safe and go back to his original layout with the quad toe? Knowing his coach, Yakov would probably prefer it if he did, but the deal was that he could attempt the quad lutz as long as he didn’t fall on the flip. A two-footed landing wasn’t a fall!

Crap, he didn’t have much time to decide.

Oh, fuck what Yakov wanted; Sara was right! If he was going to take a huge risk, the Grand Prix Final was the competition to do it in. He couldn’t afford to play it safe, not when so much was on the line. Not when Otabek was on the line. Switching over to his left foot, Yuri was careful to keep on the backward outside edge before tapping into the ice with his right foot and vaulting himself high into the air.

One...two...three...four…

The cheers when he landed the lutz cleanly were almost deafening.

Yes! Yuri clenched his right hand into a fist, allowing himself a small moment of celebration. He’d like to see those bastards on the technical panel try to give him an edge call this time; his take-off edge had been perfect! Even Yakov was pleased with the jump, clapping and looking much happier than he had a few seconds ago – well, at least as happy as his grumpy old face ever got.

He couldn’t celebrate for too long, though. There were still five more jumping passes to go, including all three of his difficult combinations. Yuri quickly brought his focus back onto his program, completing his solo quad salchow with a Tano and triple axel with no issues at all before going into one of his amazing spins. He got a bit of a breather afterwards with his choreographic sequence, allowing him to conserve some energy while showing off his gorgeous balletic lines and carriage to their full advantage.

At the second half, when the bonus began, he landed a fantastic quad salchow-triple toe loop – redemption from the mistake he had made on the combo in the short program – followed by a triple axel-euler-triple flip. His last combination was a new one he had added this season to help max out his base value – the triple lutz-triple loop, incidentally Sara’s trademark. When he made a major mistake in his free, it was typically on the triple loop, either popping it into a double or under-rotating the triple, but he had no such problems this time, fully rotating both jumps with aplomb. With his jumping passes successfully out of the way, Yuri performed a beautiful step sequence that truly felt like he was dancing a “ballet on ice”, then ended on a high note with two more of his incredible spins.

The audience was already on their feet before the program even ended, their claps and cheers nearly drowning out his music. Yuri pulled out of his Biellmann spin and struck his final pose, his heart pounding as he took in the standing ovation. Nobody seemed to care about the two-footed quad flip, the mistake forgotten in the aftermath of his otherwise perfect performance. He took his bows, his smile much more genuine than the one he had given after his short program, and grabbed one of the many cat plushies littering the ice before skating over to the gate.

Yakov was waiting for him with his skate guards and jacket.

“Hey, it wasn’t a pop or a fall,” Yuri said before Yakov could complain. “I honored the deal, and it paid off.”

Sighing, Yakov handed Yuri his guards. “I can’t argue with that,” he admitted as Yuri gave him the plush toy to hold and used his shoulder for support while he slipped the guards over his blades. “It...was the right call.”

“Seriously?” Despite his success on the quad lutz, Yuri had fully expected to get an earful from Yakov about taking such a big risk after already having made a mistake on the flip. “You’re not mad?”

“Not this time...but pull that kind of stunt at Nationals, and you might not be so lucky.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Yuri slipped on his jacket and followed Yakov over to the Kiss-and-Cry. “But can I do the lutz at Nationals, too?”

“We’ll see how the edge looks in practice.”

He would take it.

The wait for his scores was longer than it had been yesterday. No doubt the technical panel was double- and triple-checking the take-off edge of his quad lutz to make absolutely certain it had been on the outside. On the ice, Otabek was already skating around, his chiseled face set in a look of fierce determination. Yuri wanted to call out to him, to wish him good luck again, but not wanting to break Otabek’s concentration, he held his tongue, hugging his plush toy tightly against his chest instead.

"The scores, please, for Yuri Plisetsky from Russia," the announcer finally said. “His free program score is 215.98, a new season’s best. His combined total score is 315.83, and he is currently in first place.”

Yuri nodded, satisfied. Not a personal best, but it was close. If he had landed the flip cleanly, it almost certainly would have been his highest ever scoring free skate – something to strive for at the upcoming European Championships in January.

He and Yakov posed for a couple of pictures for the press, then Yuri headed over to the lounge area set off to the side for the current leaders to watch the rest of the competition (and be watched by nosy camerapeople and fans looking for signs of bad sportsmanship). Seung-Gil, who was in last place at the moment – he must have had a rough free skate – stood up from the white couch and shook Yuri’s hand.

“Congratulations,” he said in his usual perfunctory manner before heading to the locker room to change out of his costume.

A social butterfly he was not.

Kenjirou patted the spot next to him where Seung-Gil had been sitting in between him and Michele. With nowhere else for him to sit, Yuri took the offered seat and accepted Kenjirou’s and Michele’s congrats before turning his attention back to the ice where Otabek had already begun skating his free program to Disturbed’s cover of the classic “The Sound of Silence”.

Yuri had watched Otabek’s free – a favorite of his – enough times over the course of the season that he knew it almost by heart. The first jump up was usually his trusty quad toe, but if Otabek was going to go for the lutz, that was no doubt the pass he would replace. Sure enough, just as Yuri had done, he switched over to his left foot and glided on a deep backwards outside edge before launching himself high into the air, rotating four times in the air and landing cleanly on the ice to appreciative applause from the audience – including Yuri, who couldn’t resist shouting, “Go, Beka!”

The cheers continued as Otabek landed his first two combos, the quad salchow-double toe and triple axel-triple toe. He typically did an easy triple loop for his fourth jumping pass, but he brought back the more valuable quad toe instead, an almost indiscernible smile crossing his lips as he successfully landed his third quad of the program and went into his flying camel spin.

With the start of the second half of the program, the music began to build as Otabek performed his choreographic sequence. His free wasn’t as back-loaded as Yuri’s was, but he still pulled off yet another quad – a gorgeous quad salchow – and a difficult triple lutz-euler-triple flip. His last jumping pass was a successful solo triple axel coming out of a cantilever, Yuri’s favorite moment of the entire program.

Chills ran up his spine as Otabek flew into his magnificent footwork sequence, highlighting the swell of the music. Despite his worries about his grandmother, he was having the skate of his life, the kind of performance fans would talk about for years in awe. All he needed to do was to get through his final two spins…

And he did it. A perfect, clean program. Even his spins had been better than usual, hitting all the features required for top levels.

Yuri was one of the first on his feet, quickly followed by Kenjirou. Michele lagged behind by a few seconds, no doubt aware his hope of remaining on the podium was almost gone unless JJ had another one of his infamous flop skates, but he hid his disappointment well enough, standing and clapping his hands in a show of good sportsmanship.

Otabek, who rarely showed much emotion after his skates, pumped both his fists in celebration and shouted something in what Yuri assumed to be Kazakh, although it was hard to make out much of anything over the thunderous applause. Yuri had never seen him happier, a beaming smile on his handsome face as he took his bows at center ice and basked in the glory of a much-deserved standing ovation.

“Plisetsky, what the hell? Are you seriously crying?” Michele asked.

“What?” Yuri brought a hand to his right cheek, surprised to feel a small amount of moisture leaking from his eyes. He quickly wiped it away with his fingers. “No,” he lied, even as he let out a sniffle. “Shut up! Just got dust in my fucking eye, that’s all.”

Michele and Kenjirou shared a look, neither one of them believing him.

Whatever.

After skating over to give his sobbing grandmother a hug – the Altins were sitting in the front row, of course – Otabek headed over to the Kiss-and-Cry with his coach. The cheers of the audience finally died down as everybody took their seats.

Oh, right. The scores. He had been so caught up in the moment, he had forgotten what was at stake.

Heart in his throat, Yuri squeezed his hands into fists in his lap and held his breath.

"The scores, please, for Otabek Altin from Kazakhstan," the announcer said after only a short wait. “His free program score is 211.41, a new personal best.”

A personal best, but not enough to beat Yuri’s free skate score, to the displeasure of a few scattered but very vocal boos from the audience. Even with the addition of the quad lutz, his base value still wasn’t quite as high as Yuri’s had been due to only having one combo in the bonus. But combined with the short program…

“His combined total score is 316.33, and he is currently in first place.”

Otabek had beaten him by a mere half point.

In the end, neither Yuri nor Otabek won the bet.

Against Yuri’s expectations, JJ managed to keep it together in the free skate as well, finally winning the elusive Grand Prix Final gold he had been coveting for years. Granted, he wasn’t perfect – he had under-rotated his quad loop and lost a level on his final spin in his excitement of skating a near-clean free – but two quad lutzes had been hard for the judges to deny. Yuri took some solace in the fact that he had at least managed to win the free skate; it had been JJ’s large lead in the short that had given him the overall win.

It sucked standing on the lowest platform to receive his bronze medal, especially with JJ at the top of the podium, preening like an idiot and doing his stupid “JJ Style” pose, but it wasn’t all bad, he supposed. Yuri had rarely seen Otabek look prouder than when former World Champion Carolina Kostner placed the silver medal around his neck and shook his hand to congratulate him, and the joy on Safiya’s face when he skated over to his family after the medal ceremony and presented the medal to her was a memory Yuri hoped she would hold onto for as long as possible.

If only he could be happier for his best friend...

At the ladies’ event later that evening, Mila proved love didn’t have to be a distraction by winning the gold – her second senior Grand Prix Final title – while Sara managed to pull up to silver after Elizaveta had one of her notorious splatfests, tumbling all the way down to the bottom of the leaderboard. (When she was on, Elizaveta was near unbeatable, but, man, when she was off...she was a fucking disaster on two blades.) Avery Williams, one of the Americans, earned the bronze to the surprise of nearly everyone, most notably herself.

The exhibition gala took place on Sunday, the last day of the competition. The whole thing went by like a blur to Yuri, his heart not really into it. Skating Twitter probably had a field day, tearing apart his lackluster performance in which he only managed a couple of shitty double axels and fell on a Tano triple lutz, but for once, he had no trouble staying off his phone. Fortunately, everyone present at the exhibition bought his excuse of a bad headache to explain the crappy skate, allowing him to go back to his room to rest without being bothered.

A few hours after the gala was the traditional banquet to close out the competition. To be honest, Yuri would have much preferred staying in his room, not really in the mood to celebrate losing the gold and any chance of ever becoming Otabek’s boyfriend, but if he didn’t at least make an appearance, there was no telling what kind of ridiculous gossip the rumor mill would start churning. So, after taking a shower and getting dressed in the awesome outfit he had picked out weeks ago – his new tiger-print pants paired with a black skinny tie and blazer – he headed downstairs to the hotel’s modest ballroom.

The banquet was already in full swing when Yuri arrived. Most of the skaters were out on the dance floor, letting loose after the tough competition. Yuri spotted Mila almost immediately, lifting a laughing Sara over her head in a move straight out of Dirty Dancing while a fretful Michele threatened to kill her if she dared to drop his precious sister. A few feet away, Viktor and Katsudon were all over each other, more making out than actually dancing. With any luck, the presence of the younger junior skaters would prevent them from going too far, but that certainly hadn’t stopped Yuuri from stripping down to his underwear and pole dancing with Christophe at the banquet following Yuri’s second Junior Grand Prix Final. Yuri didn’t hold too much hope of them showing any kind of restraint, especially once Katsudon got a few glasses of champagne in him.

Speaking of which…

Thank God I’m finally legal, Yuri thought, making his way over to the refreshment table. Not that the law had ever stopped him from sneaking a glass or two anyway while Otabek gave him disapproving looks, because he was weirdly uncool about stuff like that. He grabbed a glass of red wine and one of the Italian pastries he had been salivating over the whole trip – fuck his stupid-ass diet! – and went to stand in a corner near the dance floor, visible enough that people would notice that he was there without drawing too much unwanted attention to himself.

While Yuri stuffed his mouth with his delicious forbidden cannoli, his eyes scanned the room for any sign of Otabek. He hadn’t seen him when he first arrived, but it didn’t take long to locate him over by one of the various Christmas trees lining the walls, chatting with Sophie Silver, of all people.

Yuri frowned, licking a bit of ricotta cheese off his thumb as he finished off his pastry. When had they become so friendly? As far as he was aware, those two had never even spoken to each other before, although they had both competed at Skate America a few weeks ago. Maybe they had struck up an acquaintance there?

Or possibly something even more? His frown deepened as Sophie laughed at something Otabek had said, flirtatiously flipping her platinum blonde waves over her bare shoulder before taking him by the hand and leading him onto the dance floor.

“Stop it, Yura,” he muttered to himself, taking a large gulp of his bitter wine. He had made his choice. Otabek was free to hook-up with whoever the fuck he wanted. Besides, he had told his grandmother at brunch that he wasn’t seeing anybody, so Yuri doubted they were secretly dating.

Still, there was no denying they would make an attractive couple...

“You should ask him to dance.”

Startled from his thoughts, Yuri jumped. “What?”

“You heard me,” Mila said from her spot beside him. She was dressed in a chic one-shoulder pale pink cocktail dress, her bright red hair pulled back on the side with a pretty rhinestone barrette to reveal the shaved portion of her undercut.

“Who?”

“Are we really playing this game? You know who.”

Yuri took another sip of his wine, glancing back over at Otabek and Sophie on the dance floor. Otabek seemed to be enjoying himself, smiling as he spun Sophie around. She laughed and tossed back her hair, wrapping her arms around his neck when he pulled her back toward him.

“I shouldn’t. I lost the bet.”

“You mean, the one you told me about the other night?” Mila furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “But neither of you ended up winning.”

“I made another bet...with myself,” Yuri said softly. “I decided if I beat Beka, I would tell him how I feel.”

“And if you didn’t…?”

He shrugged. “Then I wouldn’t. I would keep it a secret forever, and everything would stay the same as it has always been.”

“And...you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah,” Yuri said, not even really believing it himself. “I mean, why risk ruining everything over some stupid crush? Beka probably doesn’t even think of me like –”

Mila moved to stand in front of him, placing her hands on his upper arms. “Yura, what are you saying? None of this makes any sense! You can’t make a decision this big based on the result of some random competition.”

“It’s not some random competition. It’s the Grand Prix Final.”

“Okay, fine. Sure, the final is a big deal, but, still, I don’t understand. Does the thought of Otabek beating you bother you that much? Are you really that petty and insecure?”

Yuri’s eyes widened. “No!” he exclaimed, horrified she would even think something like that. “No, I’m so fucking proud of him,” he said in a softer tone. “He skated amazing, and he absolutely deserved that silver. Hell, I would have even put him in first if I was on that judging panel, and I’m not just saying that because JJ is such an asshole. He was totally low-balled in the short!”

“Then...why?”

“I…”

He looked down at his glass. He couldn’t even explain it himself. The bet had made sense in the moment, but in hindsight, it wasn’t that much better than flipping that fucking coin, was it?

“It’s okay to be scared, you know?” Mila said gently when he didn’t say anything else. “I know how much Otabek means to you, and if he doesn’t feel the same way you do, it’s true telling him might ruin your friendship.”

“All the more reason not to say anything.”

“But what if he does? What if he’s been in love with you all this time, but has been too scared to say anything, just like you?”

“I don’t know…” Yuri groaned. Why did romance have to be so damn complicated? “Can’t you just go over there and ask him for me?”

“Come on, we’re not in high school any more,” she said with an affectionate roll of her eyes. “Aren’t you always bragging about being an adult now? You need to tell him yourself.”

“But –”

“Look, despite my ongoing bet with Sara, I’m not saying you have to do it tonight. If you need more time to make sure a romantic relationship with Otabek is worth taking the risk, that’s fine. Take all the time you need. Just...don’t close the door on the possibility over the result of one silly competition. Make the decision for yourself. Otherwise, you could miss out on something really special.”

With that, she patted his shoulder and left to rejoin Sara, who had somehow convinced her old crush Seung-Gil to have a whirl with her on the dance floor.

Maybe she’s right, he thought, as much as he hated to admit it.

Sighing, Yuri finished off his glass of wine, then snuck through the French doors out onto the covered deck connected to the banquet hall for some fresh air.

The sun had already set, the clear Turin night sky dotted with twinkling stars. A mild late-autumn chill had Yuri pulling his blazer closer against his chest as he walked over to the wooden railing surrounding the deck and looked out at the hotel’s manicured garden. In the springtime, he imagined it was filled with blooming flowers and lush greenery, but the hotel had taken advantage of the season to decorate for the upcoming holidays, wrapping strings of fairy lights around every tree trunk and threading them through all the bushes to give the mostly dormant plant life some festive cheer. He set his empty wine glass on top of the railing and leaned on his forearms, a cool breeze tousling his long hair as he lost himself in his thoughts.

“Hey, there you are,” a familiar voice said a few minutes later as its owner came up beside Yuri, accompanied by the appetizing aroma of chocolate and apples. “Haven’t seen much of you tonight.”

Yuri glanced over at Otabek, managing a weak smile. “Guess I’m just not much in the partying mood.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Could have fooled Yuri. “You seemed to be having fun with Sophie.”

“She’s a nice girl. Good dancer.”

“Pretty, too.”

Otabek shrugged. “If that’s your type.”

“She’s not? I mean, your type?” Yuri asked, surprised. With her Hollywood good looks, he assumed Sophie was almost every straight and bisexual guy’s dream girl. Hell, even he thought she was gorgeous, despite not being attracted to women at all.

“Not really.”

“Oh.”

The urge to ask what Otabek’s type actually was, if he was perhaps into slightly taller men with long blond hair and the determined eyes of a soldier, lingered on the tip of Yuri’s tongue, but he was quick to bite it back. Turning back around, he propped himself against the railing on his elbows.

Though the glass doors were closed, it was still possible to hear the music coming from the party inside. Somehow, JJ had commandeered a microphone and was singing along at the top of his lungs to Queen’s “We Are The Champions”, obnoxiously replacing the title phrase with “I am the champion” instead.

“JJ is certainly enjoying himself,” Otabek remarked when he noticed the lyric change. He turned back around as well, leaning against a light-wrapped post and crossing his arms over his chest.

Yuri rolled his eyes. Talk about the understatement of the century. “He might as well live it up now. I guarantee this will be the first and only Grand Prix Final he’ll ever win. Next year, I’m taking my title back.”

“Not if I snatch it away first.”

“Well, if it’s you, I guess I wouldn’t mind,” Yuri admitted. “You’re the only one allowed to beat me, though. Nobody else.”

The corner of Otabek’s mouth quirked upwards. “Yeah?”

“Y-Yeah.”

Yuri quickly glanced away, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. Dammit, how was he ever supposed to get over his stupid crush when even the smallest smile from Otabek could get his heart racing faster than a scratch spin at full speed? He thought it would be simple enough to keep things the same between them, to remain best friends and ignore whatever attraction he felt toward Otabek, hoping it would fade away with time and distance, but...was that even possible?

Did he even want that?

“So, um, what would you have made me do if you had won our bet?” Yuri asked after clearing his throat, switching the subject. “Out of curiosity.”

“Does it really matter now? JJ got the gold.”

“I know, but...”

“In that case, what would you have asked me to do if you had won?” Otabek asked, turning the question back on him.

“I asked first. You tell me yours, then I might tell you mine.”

Otabek raised an eyebrow. “Only might?”

“Come on, just tell me.” Yuri straightened his posture, turning to the side. “I bet it was something silly, like nightly Potya videos or the secret behind my world famous borscht you love so much.”

Otabek chuckled. “No, nothing like that, although I wouldn’t say no if you offered either one of those. Both sound good.”

“Then, what?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah.”

Otabek shifted on his feet, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he looked off to the side. Back inside the ballroom, JJ’s booming baritone voice sang out, “I am the champion...OF THE GRAND PRIX FINAL!”, filling the silence that had fallen between them.

Yuri furrowed his brow, unaccustomed to Otabek being so evasive. Why wouldn’t he just answer the question? He was acting as if he had asked him for the nuclear codes or something.

“Beka?” he prodded, moving to the other side of Otabek and placing a hand on his arm. “Hey, if you really don’t want to tell me –”

“I...I was going to ask if you would let me kiss you.”

Yuri inhaled a sharp breath. “What?”

“I wouldn’t have forced you, of course,” Otabek continued, finally looking Yuri in the eye. “If you refused, I had another –”

Before he lost his nerve, Yuri leaned over and kissed him.

Caught by surprise, Otabek didn’t react at first, but it didn’t take long for him to reciprocate, his mouth dropping open to allow Yuri’s tongue entrance. Yuri wrapped an arm behind Otabek’s back, pulling him closer toward him as Otabek placed his hands on Yuri’s shoulders. Yuri’s other hand reached up to cradle the back of Otabek’s head, his fingers brushing against the buzzed hairs of his uppercut. The scent of chocolate filled Yuri’s nostrils, overwhelming in the best sort of way and adding to the sweetness of finally kissing Otabek for real, not just in his fantasies.

Yuri had no idea how long they stayed like that, but after what may have been an eternity, they finally broke apart.

“Yura?”

“Yeah?” Yuri breathed, his heart pounding as if he he had just finished skating an entire free skate.

“Why?” Otabek asked. “Um, I know what I said, but I didn’t win the bet. You didn’t have to –”

“I wanted to. God, I’ve been wanting to do that almost since the moment I arrived in Italy.”

His eyes slightly widened. “You have?”

“Yeah.” Yuri reached for Otabek’s hands. “I like you, Beka,” he said, biting the bullet and taking Mila’s advice. He had already come this far; he might as well go all the way. “Not only as a friend. I-I think I may be falling in love with you, and to be honest, it scares the ever-living fuck out of me. You know me. Romance has never been something I longed for. A part of me always thought maybe I wasn’t cut out for it, that it just wasn’t for me...”

“What changed?”

Yuri shook his head. “I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I don’t know what the hell to do about it.”

“Well, this is a good first step.” One of Otabek’s hands slipped out of Yuri’s grasp, reaching up to caress the side of his face. “I like you, too, Yura. I’ve been falling in love with you for a while now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The barest hint of a smile crossed Otabek’s lips. “But you’re right. I know you, and I know you’ve never been the type of person who was waiting for his handsome prince to come sweep him off his feet. That’s why I never told you. I never wanted to pressure you, but when you suggested the bet… Well, I thought it might be a good chance to test the waters, to see if you were at least open to the idea.”

“I am,” Yuri said, reaching up to place his hand over Otabek’s. “I am, but what if I fuck things up? I don’t want to lose you, Beka. You’re my best friend, one of the most important people in my life. If we break up –”

“We haven’t even started dating yet, and you’re already breaking up with me?” he lightly teased.

“No, but you know what I mean.”

“I do.” Gently, Otabek pulled his hand away from Yuri’s face. “A part of me is scared, too,” he said, resting his hands on Yuri’s upper arms, “but one of the most important lessons my grandmother ever taught me is that you can’t let fear keep you from living your life. Otherwise, you might miss out on something really incredible – and Yura, you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

Yuri’s breath hitched at the back of his throat. “Really?”

“Really. I would be a world-class fool not to want to be with you if I had the chance, so what do you say? Do you want to be my boyfriend or not?”

Yuri smiled, reminded of that day long ago in Barcelona when Otabek had rescued him from a group of overzealous Angels, whisking him away on the back of his motorcycle and taking him to Park Güell, where he had asked a very similar question. Agreeing to be his friend had been an easy decision, one that he never for a moment regretted. Agreeing to be Otabek’s boyfriend, however…

His smile faltered, just a little.

He wanted to say “yes.” Really and truly he did, but it was difficult to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind that kept asking “what if?” If only he could see into the future and know for certain that he was making the right decision, that no matter what happened, he and Otabek would always remain friends...

Gah, why did he have to be such a fucking scaredy cat?

“Hey, it’s okay,” Otabek said softly, dropping his hands to his side. “I meant what I said. I don’t want to pressure you. If you want things to remain the same between us –”

Yuri shook his head. “No.”

Everything had already changed. They could try to go back, to pretend the kiss and everything afterward had never happened, but they would only be kidding themselves. Otabek’s kiss was already permanently seared into his memory like the tattoo of the Olympic rings etched into the skin of his right calf. He could never forget that – and more than that, he didn’t want to, either.

He wanted more. He wanted everything, no matter the risk.

Safiya was right, in all her grandmotherly wisdom. He couldn’t let his fear keep him from going after what he really wanted.

“What do you mean, Yura?” Otabek asked. “I don’t understand. Are you saying ‘no’ to dating, or –?”

“No, I’m saying ‘yes,’” Yuri said, quashing the little voice inside his mind once and for all. “Yeah, I’ll be your boyfriend.”

In response, Otabek smiled and held out his hand.

“Dance with me.”

Yuri took it without hesitation.

Inside the ballroom, the music had changed from a fun ABBA tune to Elton John’s “Your Song”. Though he was the shorter one between them, Otabek took the lead, pulling Yuri close and placing his right hand on Yuri’s lower back. Yuri, in turn, rested his left hand on Otabek’s bicep while Otabek clasped his other hand at a comfortable level. He didn’t have much experience slow dancing, far more accustomed to twerking at the club than doing the foxtrot, but Otabek made it easy to follow him, sticking to a simple box step that was hard to fuck up.

Over Otabek’s shoulder and through the glass of the French doors, he caught a glimpse of Mila jumping up and down at the sight of them dancing together, no doubt excited she had won her own bet against Sara.

“So, are you ever going to tell me?” Otabek asked, pulling Yuri’s attention back on him.

He furrowed his brow. “Tell you what?”

“What you were going to ask for if you won the bet. You said if I told you what I wanted as my prize, you would tell me what you would have requested.”

Oh, right. He had kind of promised that, hadn’t he? To be honest, he had been so focused on the bet he had made with himself, Yuri never really came to a concrete decision about what he would ask for if he won the original wager. It was a moot point now, anyway, but if he had won the gold…

“This,” he decided, resting his head on Otabek’s shoulder. “I wanted this, to dance with you at the banquet.”

“Then I guess we both got what we wanted, huh?”

Yuri smiled. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

JJ may have won the gold, but in the end, what they got was so much better.

Each other.