Chapter Text
The coffee shop was packed but they managed to find a table, Mila sat and Otabek sat across from her. They met there as they usually did, every Wednesday since they started dating, both of their schedules were hectic so this was one of the few chances they had to spend some quality time together.
She was wearing a calm expression, her eyes unwavering on his, but he could see her fidgeting with the cup in her hands. Otabek knew what was coming, they'd been together for almost half a year but they knew each other for much longer, and he wasn't a fool, he had seen the new glimmer in her eyes.
“Honestly, I have now idea how should I say this," she smiled nervously, unable to break eye contact. "But I'm breaking up with you." She pushed the words out of her mouth.
"I know." He could see that this moment was the end, he had psyched up with the prospect since they agreed to have a relationship. Hearing her though, made a chill run down his spine. It was difficult and neither of them wanted to say it, but it had to be said.
Mila couldn't fake a smile, the look in her eyes was a worried one tinted with slight helplessness. There was no regret in it and Otabek was glad for her, she didn't have to feel wrong for something so good. He cared for her deeply, he didn't quite 'love her' in a romantic way but they shared a bond and trust that made titles irrelevant. He smiled sincerely, "What is it like?"
Her shoulders relaxed and she sighed in relief, she took a few moments and despite her remaining frown, she answered. "It is wonderful Beka, she's wonderful, it's everything I imagined it would be and more."
He laughed fondly. "You sound so cheesy, are you really Mila?"
"Oh shut up, you're the sap here." She smiled more openly and giggled too. The tension had been slightly relieved but there was still something oppressing his chest. “You’ll know eventually, I’m sure your soulmate is out there but you’ve been too oblivious to find them.”
“Sure, I'll wait for that strike of lightning.” This wasn't a topic he was particularly comfortable with, at least referring to him. “But enough about my still non-existent fated encounter. I can almost hear your internal screaming so come at me. You say her name is…”
“Sara!” Mila replied excitedly before he could finish. “I met her at the hotel I was staying at for last week’s competition. She was staying there too, and I saw her in the reception. I didn't notice at first…” She sighed frustrated. “I could've missed her Beka! If she hadn't noticed me I wouldn't have met her.”
“Oh, that does sound like something you'd do.” Otabek touched his chin to simulate concentration. “Finding something awesome, completely ignoring it and probably ruining the moment, but somehow being lucky enough to conveniently pull it out? It fits.” He met her utterly unamused face and understood this was not the best time to joke. “And the colors? Aren't you supposed to see them or something?”
“Bingo, ‘or something’ describes it perfectly,” Mila said. “They always tell you ‘oh you'll know when it happens’ but it's a lie, I had no idea that was my cue. There was certainly something different, but I couldn’t imagine what.”
“That's why you couldn't figure it out.”
“Well, obviously. I wasn't prepared for it or anything, same for her.” She pouted as if thinking hard enough could reveal the secrets of the universe. “I actually had my doubts you know? She came to me and touched my shoulder from behind and just said ‘your hair’.” Her uneasiness was growing but simply only because of the possibilities. “I took out my phone and, damn! My hair is red, it's weird… I mean, like an apple? Blood? I don't know how to explain it.”
“Dude, I know red, don't worry.” At least in theory, like math formulas or names of extinct animals, even if he wasn’t able to see them he has an idea of it. The sky is blue, the grass is green, concepts learned since childhood that held no real meaning but that he still possessed a general knowledge about them. “So you saw your freaky hair, then what? Maybe she was able to see them since before but hadn't noticed until she saw you.”
“I thought so too but here comes the thing, I hardly saw a hint of red in my hair but then I looked at her eyes,” A small gasp escaped her throat. “And I saw it, they were bright and lovely and I couldn't stop staring at them.” She smiled with the fondness of the memory. “The colors became more vibrant and I learned her eyes are purple, or violet, but that's beside the point.”
“So then you knew, the colors.”
“Yes, but it wasn't only because of the colors, after our weird meeting we went outside and we talked,” He was talking about the colors but yeah this is more interesting. “We talked, and laughed, and smiled and I met her brother and he was creepy but somehow relieved that I was a girl? Anyway, she's best girl and, ugh!” She let out a frustrated grunt, again. “I just met her but I already think of her all of the time. It's too soon to call it love…”
“But with time...”
“She lives in Italy."
“Oh, you can still text each other though.”
Now she did laugh, at least if her loud snort counted as one. “Believe me we're doing it. But, she's older, what if she wants something else? We're ‘bounded by destiny’ but that means barely anything nowadays.”
“So? Win her affection, get to know each other, you'll know if she's really the love of your life.”
“You'll know…” She looked at him more serious, almost defiant. “You are the one who'll know, you can talk about what should I do, but first you should think about what you're going to do because I know you want to find them. What if they already found someone other than you?”
He hardened his expression, that hadn't been a nice comment. “I was only trying to help.”
“I am only trying to help.”
She did, he was aware of that, but she had touched a soft spot with unnerving accuracy. Of course she had, she knew him as well as he knew her.
Against his own moral code, he did feel a bit jealous, he could admit that but only to himself. Thankfully the feeling was almost gone at the end of the afternoon, mostly because he was tired, in the good sense, sort of. He had heard everything and a little more about Mila's soulmate. His ears were ringing with all the "Sara is so perfect" ramble that followed that he could barely remember the rest of the conversation.
Still, one thing stood out for him about the myth and grand mystery about soulmates and colors. Mila was lucky that Sara saw her, she admitted that she didn't notice at first but what if neither had? He hadn't been on alert 24/7 but at least he knew he still hadn’t crossed with his own soulmate, but he would, at least he hoped he would.
I've set up a phone background with two colors, they have the same saturation so you won't notice but once you find your soulmate you'll see the difference. If you get a headache, get overwhelmed or if you're smarter than me and actually identify colors then look at this, don't risk your opportunity.
Mila had said it as if it was easy but naturally it wouldn't be, if he wanted to find his soulmate he had to work for it, he had to earn it. There was still a 50% chance that he would be seen first and he hoped that would be the case. For now, he had to wait and keep his eyes open, since he didn't know if his soulmate would.
A notification woke him up, he groaned and reluctantly peeled his eyelids open just to see that it was still dark. He didn’t want to wake up yet but at least he could look at the time. Surprisingly it wouldn’t be long before his alarm went off, but he would’ve thanked five more minutes of sweet slumber.
He looked at his notifications, most of them were of Mila’s night blogging trip. He only had an account because of her, and this certainly didn’t help his raging hatred towards social networks. Anyways, she was on her way to Rome, how rare, but she did mention she was planning to propose to Sara this time. Good for them, he wished they’d be happy, even if he thought that it was too soon after only knowing each other for two years or so.
There was no way he would be able to return to sleep now, no reason to fuss over it, this was going to be a busy day, especially since he had barely arrived in his hotel in Saint Petersburg last night and had no idea on where his destination was located.
After a decently filling breakfast, Otabek took the bus his phone told him would leave him nearest to Love & Life, the ice rink owned by the skating legends Yuuri Katsuki and Victor Nikiforov. Once there he would meet the pair and start his training under them. For how long? That was yet to be seen, they were known for taking lots of apprentices but most who only stayed with them a couple of months, a year at most. He wasn't really thinking about the length of the agreement, his utmost priority was to focus on learning from them as much as he could.
Upon arriving at the establishment the first thing he could think about was that it was huge; also, to it was attached a considerably large parking lot with several cars, indication that it was open to the public along with being used for private practice.
He registered at the front desk and headed to the rink, or rinks, actually. There were two areas, from the right one came more generic sounds: chatter, laughter, and occasional bumps against a wall. From the left side there was only soft music and the sound of sharp blades against ice; between both areas, a trophy cabinet was being used as a divider.
Deciding that staying put was the best course of action he waited for a couple of minutes before a familiar face came to greet him. Familiar in a vague sense, even if they had been in contact this was their first meeting face to face.
The former skater, who was somewhere in his forties, came to greet him with a smile. “Otabek Altin, I'm glad you could find your way here without trouble. Victor Nikiforov, it is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He stretched his hand out and Otabek met it with a firm shake.
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Nikiforov. I deeply thank you for receiving me and I will do my best to not waste your teachings.”
“Oh my, I appreciate your words but don't worry about being formal now, it’s time to show off all your hard work from last season,” Victor explained carefree as he turned around and started moving, Otabek following him closely from behind. “Also, you can call me Victor.”
“No.”
The harsh response made Victor laugh. “I get it, I respect your professionalism young man.” Who could blame him? He wouldn't be able to talk to an authority like Nikiforov with that degree of closeness, less within five minutes of meeting him.
They walked through the left corridor, across a pair of rinks and to what looked like a locker room. “We'll give you a proper tour later but for now this will do. To the left we have the public rink; look! There’s Yuuri!” They both turned their heads and saw only a glimpse of the other former skater, he was surprised at the unexpected call but was able to look at them and wave briefly.
Victor moved on trying to act as if nothing had happened but Otabek was able to see the traces of a love struck face. “Where was I? Oh, sure, as I was saying, here we have the training rinks. The furthest one is being used currently so you'll be practicing on the other. The cafeteria and offices are on the floor above. Oh! The stairs are behind the trophy cabinet by the way.” They arrived and Victor continued pointing at things as if he was giving an airplane security demonstration. “The showers are over there, the lockers on the back. You can use any, they don't have a lock.”
Once he seemed satisfied Victor left Otabek next to a bench, the latter understood that this was the end of the impromptu tour. “I think that's all for now, we’ll close to the public in half an hour but you can start warming up. My husband will come then, I'll take a little more time since I've got some paperwork to finish.” With that, he left, never dropping the cheerful aura that seemed natural to him.
Otabek did as he was told, he changed and left his stuff on the locker that had the same numbers as his age, he wouldn’t forget where he left them like that, hopefully. Outside and ready to start his warmup he could notice now distinctly that the volume of the other trainee’s music was significantly high, but at least it was not to the point where it was unbearable.
Stretches and light cardio were the best exercises to make his blood pump faster, and he could match his tempo with the tune’s. He didn’t know Nikiforov’s and Katsuki’s style in training, but knowing how their choreographies were all about flowing with the music, this could turn out to be quite useful.
After an adequate amount of time had passed, the current melody came to an end. Following it was also a classical music piece, though not one that featured an orchestra. This was heavy on piano too, yet that previous one sounded like it could’ve easily fitted in a ballet performance.
The piece started with an apparent slower tempo, hidden well by all the undertones, tricky when trying to follow it. Otabek found himself ready to move to the ice, where he would continue with balance and strength exercises. The music picked up with a bass accompaniment.
Even though he knew that he had to stay focused on his warmups he couldn’t stop from throwing a glance at the other rink, curious about what the other skater was doing. He had heard a jump a few seconds ago, still, the whole nature of their training was a mystery. One soon to be solved, the skater did a backward move and then landed a triple salchow. So he was practicing his choreography, interesting.
Next a camel spin, and Otabek realized he was peeking a little more than he originally intended, but he ignored the voice in the back of his mind that told him to focus on his own training. The voice was right most of the times, although this time he was going to ignore it. After all, the performance of the other man was astonishing, he possessed such a control that made it seem like he was floating. His choreography continued with a slower pace in the music, including a spread eagle that was the most remarkable. Afterwards jumps, lots of them, and all of a high difficulty that he displayed with fluidity and ease.
The step sequence came, keeping Otabek’s attention. Honestly, he wanted to watch it to its end, so he decided it would be better to stand still and avoid an injury. Now he directed all his attention to the routine and noticed the preparation for a jump; the skater didn’t slow as much as before, so it stood out that he was going to do a more difficult one.
The frozen man saw the skates of the other rise and now he honestly couldn’t tell if the other was actually flying, the takeoff of that flip had been so smooth he couldn’t pinpoint the moment the blades had left the ice. The landing wasn’t so gentle, as the man fell face flat on the ice, shoulder flat would be better said, and Otabek was brought out of trance by a loud profanity shouted in frustration. He stood up regardless and did another spin, the music slowed one last time as the man finished with a hand extended towards Otabek. He suddenly felt ashamed for watching and let his eyes drift to the side.
Only then he came to the realization that that was the end position and that it most probably had nothing to do with him. He returned his gaze to see the skater, this one still held the same position, his closed eyes and panting indicating the amount of the intense effort. In a moment or two, he snapped, skating back to the center of the rink and taking an initial position for a fresh start.
The same piece started once again, Otabek saw what the beginning of the routine looked like, but decided that it was enough, he hadn’t come to watch others, he came to train, and he would have to show the results of that.
He had cooled down some in the couple of minutes the song had lasted but with a few more exercises he was good to go. He lasted a couple of replays of the same song until someone entered the area but he ignored them in favor of recovering some of the lost time. The person stood at the exit of his rink and waved at him to catch his attention. Otabek looked up and saw it was Yuuri Katsuki, he halted his current moves and skated towards him.
“Otabek! Victor already gave you a brief introduction but I wanted to come myself as soon as possible and meet you properly.” Yuuri also had the trademark Katsuki-Nikiforov smile, obviously different from his husband’s one. Victor’s was more energetic and confident, Yuuri’s, in contrast, was more reserved, but somehow it was warm.
“Yes, again, I wanted to thank you personally for the welcome and the attention. I hope we can work well together.” Otabek was as formal as always, at least it seemed like Yuuri valued it.
“I hope so too,” He tilted his head slightly forward and continued on a more serious tone. “I see you’ve been warming up so I’m glad I came at the right time. We have the music of your routines from last season, the ones you sent to us.We’ll begin once you’re ready so please,” Yuuri clapped his hands and then signaled the center of the rink. “First, show me your short program.” It was more an order than a suggestion and Otabek willingly obliged.
He positioned himself and signaled that he was ready, the music started and his muscles moved perfectly in time. He had the routine engraved in his muscles and memory, he only had to worry about the presentation. In all fairness it was a good program, it had been able to grant him silver on the Grand Prix and gold on the Four Continents. But he recognized he still lacked something, even at his twenty-year mark he was yet to win a gold at any World competition; that was the reason why he came here.
He finished it and pulled to the side, he needed a couple of minutes to breathe and recover. He wasn’t a stamina fiend or anything similar. He stretched some to let his body prepare fresh for the next one. Both routines were strong and precise, inspiring in him a determination that poured from his every pore, with every jump, with every spin.
When both routines were over he returned to Katsuki, who assessed him with an analyzing gaze in silence before giving out his verdict. Yuuri stated it was good, really good, his flow and strength were remarkable, especially regarding his jumps; but there were flaws too, and for future reference, he suggested that it would be more interesting if he experimented with a greater variety of moves in his programs. For now, he focused more in corrections, which Otabek would practice in the next few hours. The coach left him and went to the other rink, calling out the other skater, most likely also giving him instructions.
His solo practice continued, he was able to put into practice what Yuuri mentioned, and about an hour later Victor came to supervise. He entered the rink with his skates and asked to see Otabek’s routine too, Victor moved around and pointed things out at every moment that should be improved. He had a more interactive way of teaching and it was effective, with all the years of practice along with those as a coach, his technique actually enabled a more fluid communication between them.
Eventually, he also left, leaving Otabek to continue polishing his programs. This was only practice after all, after both of the coaches had seen his response and his adaptability to their comments, they could begin working on something new.
After many long, however, fruitful hours later Victor returned, this time he didn’t ask to see him skate. On the contrary, it was late and they were soon to close, so he suggested Otabek to start to cool down. Drenching in sweat he engaged in some speed exercises and flexibility stretches to loose the knots that had formed in his muscles.
As he headed to the showers Victor intercepted him again. “Otabek, you have been doing a great work today! Now that practice is over, join us for dinner, we want to welcome you to the family.”
“I’m flattered, but would that be okay? You don’t have to worry sir, my hotel is not far from here and I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you in any way.”
“Please, I insist, we’ve already planned a dinner for our guest of honor.” Nice words to say that there was no way out of this one. If the overly sympathetic tone wasn’t a clue, Nikiforov’s unsettling smile helped greatly.
“Then… I thank you for the invitation.” Otabek knew a lost battle when he saw one, so he would use this opportunity to leave a good impression. “Would you send me the location so I can head up as soon as possible?”
“Do you have a car or some sort of transportation?”
“Not really, I haven’t picked up my motorcycle from the airport but I’ll use the public transit system, it won’t be a problem.”
“Nonsense, wait on the entrance for just a bit, Yuuri and I will be finished soon and Yurio is also almost done. There’s more than enough space on the car so we can bring you home.” There was still no point in arguing, so Otabek just thanked him again.
Once he was showered and dressed in his casual clothes Otabek returned to the main area, there were benches so planned to seat until the others arrived, Yuuri, Victor, and Yurio. Victor mentioned the unknown name and he was pretty sure the older man was talking about the other skater. Aside from the routine that had him completely dumbfounded he hadn’t really paid him attention. Good, that meant distractions wouldn’t be a problem then.
He sat down for a couple of minutes, but eventually opted to look at the trophies displayed, he was so tired that if he continued to stay in a single position there was a risk that he’d fall asleep.
From far away he could see the numerous awards, cups, medals. Upon a closer look, it could be appreciated that almost all of them were of first and second places, Nikiforov, Katsuki, Katsuki, Nikiforov. They ranged from World Cups to Grand Prix and even the Olympics. Any competition you could name, they probably had a medal for it. Talk about a power couple…
There was only one that stood oddly against the rest, for the Special Olympics Junior category, and it was apparently awarded to Yuri Plisetsky, perhaps ‘Yurio’s’ real name. There was only one trophy and it dated from a couple of years ago, but that couldn’t have been his only competition, from what Otabek had seen today he was a top tier athlete.
Regardless, he wouldn’t question it, it had nothing to do with him after all. He continued observing the trophy and thought it suited Yuri. It even reminded him of Yuri’s hair, truly it was a good match.
Why did it remind him of Plisetsky’s hair? He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something ringing a bell.
Since a couple of years ago he was used to picking up his phone whenever he felt slightly confused or unnerved, now he did it almost automatically. He unlocked his phone and instead of seeing his usual plain wallpaper there was the shape of a bear in it.
So… oh…
Maybe that was it.
He went to Instagram and typed the only username he knew by memory, and swiped quickly the photos until he found the same one he had been looking at in the morning. Even though the composition was clearly different, he would recognize that face anywhere. But now he knew what she meant, her hair was certainly peculiar. He glanced at his own outfit and noticed her hair looked similar to his shoes. Red, they were red…
The sky wasn’t visible but he knew that once outside he would see it and it would be blue.
Suddenly everything sank in and he had to return to seat, for he feared he would fall down. His head began spinning, more because of the sudden realization and less because of the fact that he could he colors.
Since when?
He tried to look back through his memories, but he was too agitated to be able to think about it. Focus, close your eyes, breathe and repeat.
In the morning, he had seen his shoes and they had looked as always, he would have to check outside to remember clearly but he wouldn’t tell there was a difference with what he’d always know from other places.
It had to be more recent, Yuri’s trophy, Yuri’s hair, that was what made him realize so there had to be a clue within those two. He remembered he gave a glance to the trophies when he first entered with Victor and they all looked the same, now that he observed them carefully he could see a clear difference. The first prizes were most similar to Yuri’s hair color, the second places looked the same as before so that must've been their original color. No offense but he was relieved that Nikiforov wasn't the one who made him see colors.
If he closed the options there could be only two candidates, Yuuri Katsuki and Yuuri Plisetsky. He hoped it wasn’t the former, or he wouldn’t be able to continue training here.
In his despair he was able to hear Victor’s voice, probably talking to employees but it was getting gradually closer. An idea sparked in his head, Victor, he would be the answer to it all. Otabek remembered their first meeting, the handshake, his forehead... But that was a stretch, he just needed to remember clearly his hair color. He concentrated and the memory popped up immediately, thankfully. He walked with Victor and only saw a glimpse of Yuuri, then continued to the lockers and then he saw Plisetsky’s choreography.
He remembered the bad jokes at the entrance of the bathrooms, he recalled the exact shape of Victor’s hair, and it was the color of those second place medals so that meant…
“Otabek! We’re almost good to go, we only have to wait for my boys to come over.”
“Huh?”
“What?” No! That wasn’t what he meant.
“Sorry, I was, clearing my throat.” Victor seemed to fall for it, how cheap. He had to look to another side because of the shame, he had talked back to Victor that way because he couldn’t keep his internal screaming, internal enough.
No way, was it a joke? Victor’s hair was actually that color naturally? Great, genius plan failed. He would use any other color reference but the place was mostly monochromatic, and he hadn’t pay much attention to his surroundings for that matter.
New voices appeared, Yuuri’s calm one together with another one that was much louder. Victor forgot the incident from a second ago and hurried over to the owners of the voices. “I’ll go see if I can help with something, I’ll be back in a minute.”
Otabek stood up once again with recovered balance and approached the cabinet once again. Out of curiosity and having nothing else to do he took out his phone and googled: “What’s the color of gold?” A little bit of knowledge wouldn’t hurt.
Except when it hurt his pride; the answer was 'gold/golden'. Bravo Otabek, he was a lost case at this point.
“I won’t do Agape, I’ll skate Eros.”
“Yurio, we’ve talked about this.” Even if he hadn’t known the voice for long, he couldn't imagine it could sound that tired.
“I’ve been saying the same thing, I don’t know why we still have this argument if you know I won’t change my mind.”
“Fair point, hey Yuuri what if we leave him under the waterfall?”
Otabek looked at the three people approaching, the golden haired man in the middle almost as tall as Nikiforov.
“We won’t leave him in the waterfall Vitya, we’ve also talked about that.”
“Why not? It would be an important learning experience.”
“You know why not.”
“Shut up! Stop worrying about me, I’m blind, not helpless.” That made the three of them close their mouths forcibly and remain in an uncomfortable silence.
Otabek looked at the stranger closely, his walking was careless though graceful, completely in balance with the white cane’s support. He was tall and composed but from what he had heard he also had a barking mouth. He stopped once they got closer and frowned towards Otabek’s general direction.
“What are you looking at?”
“You don’t even know if he’s looking at you.”
“I don’t need to, he was also staring at me during practice. Thought I wouldn’t hear you moving closer from the other rink? Fool.” That still didn’t mean that Otabek was staring, even if he was. Yuri and his coaches walked past him heading to the exit.
Otabek chose not to answer back and instead recalled, yes, he had been looking intently at Plisetsky’s private practice but that was only because he was amazed at the level of mastery he had displayed on the ice. This new information meant that he had done it all without being able to see. Otabek was left bewildered at the discovery; if he respected his skill before, now he had to add a good dose of admiration to it.
Inside the car was significantly quieter, the soft murmur of the engine, the married couple’s domestic conversation, and the sweet nothings from the radio were the only sounds he could identify. They weren’t bothersome at all, the whole setting was emanating a peacefulness and warmness he hadn’t felt in some time, much less coming from a skating-related environment.
“Yurio,” Said Victor with a slight raise in his volume. “We’ll be having Borsch for dinner, do you want it veggie or meaty?”
“Meaty, if you could.” Otabek looked at Yuri who was resting his head on the window. “And my name’s not Yurio.”
“I thought he had already gone through that phase.” Whispered Victor to his husband.
“I though your baldness was a phase.”
“Yuuri! Tell him something.” Replied Victor with crocodile tears, apparently hurt by the honest comment.
“Yurio, don’t be like that, you know that’s a sensitive subject for him.” Said Yuuri seemingly taking pity on Victor. “Besides, if you make him stress about that his hair will only fall quicker.”
“Yuuri!!” Now it really did seem like the grown man was on the verge of tears. Despite this, the snarky duo laughed. At least Yuuri openly laughed, Otabek saw that Yuri was failing in suppressing a smirk.
They arrived at the Katsuki-Nikiforov household soon after. As they took out their respective bags and equipment, Otabek asked where he could leave his while he was there. Yuuri told him the entrance door was okay, and also asked him to take his shoes off at the entrance.
“Make yourself at home.” He heard, however, he couldn’t identify who told him that since the noise Yuri made while bursting inside dulled any other sound. It had been a ruckus, in ten seconds top Yuri had thrown his shoes, his cane, and then strode upstairs. Shortly followed a loud door slam to perfectly finish the hurricane that had just happened.
“You can wait at the living room.” Offered Yuuri, completely unaffected by the sudden flurry of action.
Yuuri told him where to head and asked him that if he took something he should return it to where it was; Yuri was able to move around freely in the house because he had it completely mapped out.
Once in the living room he felt weird, it would’ve been awkward to turn the TV on after he just met the owners of the house who weren’t even present. Sitting on the couch gazing at the void was tempting but that would only show his discomfort. He looked to a side and saw shelf, with more trophies to add to the ice rink collection. He looked closer and chose to start from the furthest left and go on.
The first thing that he saw was a Grand Prix Final gold medal, Yuuri’s. Next to it a photo with a younger Victor and Yuuri wearing tuxes surrounded by people and flowers, probably their wedding day.
He moved a step to the right and saw them again, slightly older but not much, carrying a baby between them. It looked more like a candid photo since there was an excited big fluffy dog beneath trying to get to the kid. Afterwards there was one with an infant about four or five years old, with golden hair and looking to a side of the camera, like the common studio photographs for kids. Otabek took out his phone and looked on the internet a color list, he discovered the kid’s eyes were green.
He couldn’t contain a smile on the next one, it was clearly Yuri on a frozen lake, using little skates on his little feet and being held from one hand by Yuuri and from the other by Victor. The next pic was even better, now Yuri was trying to skate alone, trying and failing, since the photo showed him face flat on the ice. He remembered the routine from earlier and Yuri’s single fall, comparing that one to this one there were more differences than the ones he could point out, but somehow, the same essence remained.
Following that one there was one with an older version of the blond sitting on the lap of an old man, the man wasn’t Santa but with the look on Yuri’s face, it might as well have been Christmas. He had his eyes closed, touching the face of the man with his still child hands.
After that there were pictures that you’d expect more of from an athlete’s family, there were trophies corresponding to each podium photograph, in the early ones there was an equal number of silvers and golds but moving a little further to more recent years the amount of gold was overwhelming. The last photo dated to a year before the Special Olympics trophy on the ice rink.
Otabek still was unsure on how to classify Plisetsky’s relationship with the former skaters but he could see that they had known each other for years. And that they shared a very close bond, that much was clear.
Having some more time to kill he finally sat on a couch and took out his phone. He messaged Mila asking how was her trip going, by now she should’ve already dropped the bomb. He superficially talked about how he was doing in Saint Petersburg, briefly trying to cover everything save his ‘colorful findings’.
He was summoned to the kitchen and given the instruction to call Yuri for dinner. Otabek climbed the stairs and easily identified to which room he was supposed to go, the clue was finding where the muffled music came from. He knocked once and twice but the music was too loud, he tried a little more violently and he was met with a barely audible, “What?”
“Dinner is ready.” Replied Otabek, only a unit louder than his normal speaking voice. The music was turned off and so he considered his job done. Back at the table, he helped to set the cutlery and bringing the dishes, even if he was a guest he still wanted to help.
They were all sitting down when a sunglasses wearing Yuri came downstairs, followed closely by a siamese cat.
“Seems that Potya is already hungry.” Mentioned Victor starting with his own food.
“Being fed, sleeping and taking baths, what a blessed life has that cat.” Remarked Yuuri lightheartedly.
They were all eating silently, exhausted from the training, but Victor was quick to see that everything was rolling too peacefully. “You’re yet to be introduced isn’t it?” He left his spoon to one side to signal between Yuri and Otabek. “Otabek, this is my son Yurio…”
“I’ve told you my name is not Yurio.”
“Then introduce yourself.” Even if Yuri couldn’t see Victor’s innocent smile he knew perfectly well when his parent set a trap.
“Yuri Plisetsky, nice to meet you.”
“Otabek Altin, the pleasure is mine.”
They all continued with their food, but it was obvious that Yuri had something in mind. When would he say it? No clue.
“Hmm, I don’t think this guy will last long.” Yuri said, immediately resolving the mystery.
“Maybe not as much as the Japanese peanut did.”
“You mean Minami?” Inquired Yuuri.
“He was here for a long time.” Added Victor simply.
“It wasn’t like he set a record or anything, but he stayed for eight months! The boy had guts.”
“Are you saying that because of your attitude?”
“Yeah, I admit I’m not a sugar pie right now but my 15 year old self was scary.” Yuri shivered with a frown. “I still get the creeps remembering those times.”
“You mean you’ve changed? Ouch!” Victor let out a shriek while Yuuri’s side moved suspiciously with a jerk reaction. Though Victor was fast to return the kick under the table.
The two oldest people in the table were fighting as if they were five year olds and their son only continued to eat his soup. It was all a mess, but a good one, he didn’t know how but maybe this was their usual family life and Otabek couldn’t help but feel left out.
It was a relief that the rest of the night had been less of a wreck, he didn’t mind the commotion but he didn’t know how to act during it. He just nodded and answered questions when asked, thankfully the hosts didn’t mind.
The pair offered to take him to his hotel but Otabek felt that it would’ve been abusing of their generosity. He took a nearby bus and looked for the route on his phone, he wasn’t too far into the suburbs, but it would take some time to reach his destination. He looked out the window and saw a traffic light. He knew the stop and go signals but he wasn’t aware that they were color coded. From red to yellow, to green. Just as the colors he had discovered that day.
Only then he realized he completely forgot about the whole soulmate dilemma, he wanted to facepalm so hard, but that wouldn’t give him an answer. He would worry about that tomorrow, for now, he only wanted to get a good night’s sleep.