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Yuri is late for dinner. He hadn’t realized his online exam would have so many sections and the hotel wifi was janky as fuck, meaning it took about ten seconds for the the page to load each time he submitted an answer. Combine that with rush hour traffic and the freak snow squall, and the fastest Uber in the world wasn’t going to get him to the restaurant on time. Normally, he wouldn’t care. He’s (mostly) grown out of his shitty teen edgelord phase, but being a top level, world class athlete does tend to inflate one’s sense of self-importance. Today however, he was late to dinner with Otabek, Viktor, and Yuuri; a common enough grouping, but one that still made him edgy. Two of the three spending unsupervised time together made him very nervous. Specifically, the Old Man and Yuri’s boyfriend.
It was bad enough that Viktor had Otabek to himself for hours every day during practice, and while Yuri was happy (okay, he was over the moon about it) to finally have Otabek living in the same country as him, it came at a price. Viktor, who was well into his second and dear God please final retirement from competition, was thrilled to have a chance to needle his way into Yuri’s personal life. And yeah, it was possible that Viktor genuinely liked coaching (once he figured out how to do it) but Yuri was pretty sure Viktor just liked having an excuse to come over to Yuri’s and bother him.
There was nothing more frustrating than seeing the two of them at the other end of the rink, Viktor’s attention fixed on Otabek as he tried out a new step-sequence or Otabek listening with rapt attention as Viktor prattled on about something. Actually, the worst was when they all went out after practice and Viktor was full of great bits like, “Yuri, did you know Otabek always puts on his left skate first?” or “you never told me Otabek doesn’t like green beans!” Because of course Yuri knew these things about Otabek – he was Yuri’s damn boyfriend. And okay, maybe Viktor occasionally ( very rarely ) hit on something Yuri didn’t know, but that didn’t give Viktor the right to rub it in his face with his stupid smile and crinkly eyes (Yuuri calls them laugh lines; Yuri calls them crow’s feet).
When he finally makes it to the restaurant, an Asian-fusion place that Viktor picked because of course he did, his worst fears are confirmed. Otabek and Viktor are sitting side-by-side in a corner booth, Viktor’s arm casually draped over the back of Otabek’s seat. Otabek is saying something that Viktor apparently finds uproariously funny, as the next moment he’s doubled over, laughter ringing out loud enough that Yuri can hear it over the chatter of the busy restaurant.
A hostess glides to her position and picks up a menu.
“Table for one?” she asks, a well-honed customer service smile plastered across her face.
Viktor’s guffaws are causing other diners to turn around in their seats. A little girl with thick, black hair actually stands up on her chair to get a better look at the source of all the noise.
It’s with a weary sigh that Yuri jerks his head towards the booth and says, “I’m with them.”
He makes for the table with the air of someone heading for the gallows. Much though it pains him to admit it, he’s actually a bit disappointed that Yuuri isn’t here yet – he can usually keep his husband in check until the main course is served.
“Are you drunk already?” he asks by way of greeting as he drops onto the bench across from Otabek.
Viktor answers, “no,” at the same time Otabek replies, “yes.”
Yuri unwinds the heavy scarf from around his neck and wrinkles his nose at Otabek. “Really, Beka? It’s five-thirty.”
“Yes, but it’s our last night before we fly home and you all did spectacularly so we’re celebrating!” says Viktor, beaming at him.
“Everyone except Katsudon,” Yuri snorts. “I still say he was robbed.”
Otabek gives Viktor a significant look. Well, it’s significant only because Yuri can read him so well. To anyone else, Otabek probably looks slightly less bored.
“Seung-gil took the bronze fair and square. If Yuuri hadn’t hesitated after that last touch, he would have come out ahead,” says Otabek firmly.
“Whatever. We’ve got Copenhagen coming up. Katsudon better not flub it there or he won’t qualify.”
It’s Viktor’s turn to give Otabek a look, though his is much more obvious. Yuri wonders how much they’ve had to drink already.
“Yuri knows he’s in danger of not qualifying,” says Viktor. “But he’s actually taking it pretty well. I think he knows his time is running out.”
“Bullshit,” Yuri scoffs. “He’s got at least two more good years in him. Besides, I need to face him at Worlds at least one more time and win back the gold he stole from me. He’s not allowed to retire.”
Otabek and Viktor turn to look at each other at the same time and burst out laughing, though Otabek’s deep sniggers are noticeably more subdued than Viktor’s full-body chuckles. Yuri scowls at the half-empty pitcher on the table between them as though it’s the one laughing at him.
“How can you guys even look at alcohol after the banquet last night?”
“Quite easily,” says Otabek, though he hiccups a bit on the last syllable.
“Do you want a drink?” asks Viktor. “We can get you a glass?”
“No.”
“Come on Yuri, have a little fun,” Viktor pleads.
This is another reason he hates Otabek and Viktor hanging out alone at mealtime; Viktor always manages to drag Otabek down to his level and somehow Yuri ends up having to be the adult.
“We have to get on a plane tomorrow.”
“So?” asks Viktor, genuinely baffled. “We’re Russian. We’re genetically engineered to be good at drinking alcohol.”
Yuri wrinkles his nose. “I’m not touching this Canadian shit.”
“Do you want a different drink?” Otabek pushes the drink menu towards him, hopefully. “They have something called ‘The Bengal’.”
Yuri’s lips twitch.
“You do realize I’m not a fifteen-year old, cat obsessed weirdo anymore, right?”
“Yes. Now you’re a nineteen-year old, cat obsessed weirdo,” replies Otabek, fondly.
“How is Puma doing anyway?” asks Viktor, leaning forward to refill his glass. Annoyingly, he tops up Otabek’s as well.
“How would I know? I’ve been stuck in Ottawa with you for the past week.”
“You mean you don’t Skype him?” asks Viktor, looking shocked and appalled.
“You Skype Makka and Kenji?” Yuri scoffs. “God Viktor, you’re one martini away from getting cast on Real Housewives.”
He shoots Otabek a look that clearly says, don’t tell him we Skype with our cat , which he’s confident Otabek will understand due to their deep bond of friendship and love. If Pacific Rim was real, Yuri is 100% confident he and Otabek would be drift compatible.
Otabek cocks his head to the side a little before saying, “Yuri’s joking. We spoke to Puma yesterday. Nikolai is spoiling him rotten with wet food every night.”
Clearly their mental link has been impaired by the alcohol. Yuri aims a gentle kick at Otabek’s and mouths, ‘traitor’ at him. Otabek smirks into his glass.
“See Yuri, I knew you cared,” says Viktor, all traces of despair gone from his face. “I bet you make cute little meowing noises at him and everything.”
Otabek looks like he’s about to confirm that yes, Yuri does meow at his cat (and really, cats have no attention span, how else are you supposed to get their attention over Skype?) so Yuri clears his throat and picks up the drink menu.
“I’ll have a drink if we can end this conversation right now,” he says, looking pointedly at Viktor. It was Viktor’s idea, Viktor can pay. “I’ll try that Bengal thing.”
“Done.” Otabek rises and heads to the bar before Yuri can say anything else.
Yuri tosses the menu back on the table glares at Viktor but it goes unnoticed. Viktor has his head in his hand and is watching Otabek weave his way through the crowded dining room, a dreamy look on his face that reminds Yuri strongly of Giacometti.
Viktor sighs. “He’s so attentive.”
“Paws off Old Man,” Yuri grumbles, though he too is watching Otabek’s retreating form appreciatively. He’ll never understand how he tricked Otabek into sticking around, let alone into dating him.
“I would never,” says Viktor in mock outrage. “Though it’s nice to see chivalry is not dead in the younger generations.”
Yuri rolls his eyes.
“So, how do you think you did on the exam?”
Yuri cringes and slides down a little in his seat. “I definitely passed.”
“That’s wonderful!” says Viktor, his whole body radiating excitement.
Despite Viktor being a constant presence in his life since the awkward tween years, Yuri still feels a little overwhelmed whenever Viktor focuses all his attention on him. Most of the time, Viktor plays the ditz who’s just as likely to get distracted by a sunglasses stall or a passing dog as he is to stay engaged in the conversation. But when he wants to, Viktor has incredible focus. It’s different in the rink, where Viktor’s face is just as blurred as the rest of the world while Yuri practices his jumps. But here, with Viktor’s head propped up on his hands and his bright blue eyes staring unblinkingly into Yuri’s, it feels far too intimate.
“Barely though,” Yuri mutters. “I knew going into it that I didn’t give myself enough time to study, but the competition was more important anyway.”
“A pass is a pass,” says Viktor sagely.
“It’s a dumb class anyway,” says Yuri, picking at the label on the soy sauce bottle. “The prof is a lazy piece of shit and instead of marking us on our knowledge scores us on how many times we post on the discussion board. Who has time to post twenty comments a week? Besides, Yakov would kill me if I got anything less than silver. I’ve already had to cut back on my training and if-”
“Yuri.”
Yuri stops destroying the label and looks up. Viktor is staring at him solemnly and suddenly doesn’t look drunk at all.
“You should be very proud of yourself,” he says seriously. “Your marks are stellar and you’re placing at almost every competition. One bad grade won’t undermine your success. Not many people can get their degree while competing at this level.”
95% of the time, Yuri writes off all the dumb things Viktor says and does. The rare 5% of times when Viktor says something heartfelt and earnest, it leaves Yuri feeling completely unsettled.
“Chulanont did. And Katsuki,” he grumbles. He declines to mention that it was partially Yuuri’s success at college that inspired him to get his degree too.
Seizing his opportunity for an out, he tries to shift the conversation to Viktor’s favourite topic: Yuuri. “Where is pork-bowl anyway?”
He straightens up and looks behind him at the entrance as Otabek rejoins the table, an interestingly orange cocktail in his hand.
Before Otabek has a chance to sit, Viktor bursts out, “Yuri passed his exam!”
Otabek turns a megawatt smile on Yuri, the one reserved for special occasions when he’s happy to his core, and Yuri temporarily forgets to be mad at Viktor for completely stealing his thunder.
“Congrats babe!” says Otabek, sliding back into his seat.
He grabs Yuri’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. For some dumb reason, this makes Yuri blush like it’s their first date which, given the way they went to town on each other last night, is certifiably false.
“That’s it for the term, right?”
“Mmhmm.” Yuri takes a slightly larger gulp of his drink than necessary, but if he’s going to be flushed it should at least be from alcohol.
“He was also asking when Yuuri was going to get here,” Viktor continues.
“Oh really?”
To the inexperienced Otabek watcher, that could maybe pass for a neutral tone. But Yuri is basically a master on the subject and can pick up the teasing inflection any day of the week. This level of collusion between Otabek and Viktor can mean nothing good. It almost makes Yuri want to go back to talking about Skyping pets or his academic pursuits.
“I don’t know what you two are doing, but you need to stop.” He looks at Viktor as he says this, as everything is always Viktor’s fault.
“Stop what?” Viktor’s dumb, doe-eyes go wide and he tosses his head just enough so that his hair falls softly over one eye, perfecting the (obviously fake) look of innocence. “I just wanted to fill him in on what he’d missed. Yuuri texted to say he’d be late, by the way. He’s doing some kind of livestream with Phichit and the audience doesn’t want him to go, bless them.”
Yuri picks up a horribly sticky menu and flips it open. “Does this mean we can’t order yet?”
“It’s so nice for him to spend time with Phichit,” Viktor continues, as if Yuri hadn’t just asked a valid question. “They don’t get to see each other that much now that Phichit has stopped competing.”
“It’s just like the good old days,” Otabek agrees. He rubs Yuri’s hand with his thumb and then, for reasons unknown, snorts. “Well, maybe not exactly like the good old days.”
Viktor too seems to find this funny and tries to hide his smile (ineffectively) behind his hand.
“Okay.” Yuri narrows his eyes over the top of the menu. “I refuse to sit here all night with you two dumbasses laughing at your own private jokes. What the hell is going on?”
To his great irritation, this makes Otabek and Viktor laugh even harder. He pulls his hand out of Otabek’s and feels satisfied when that at least makes Otabek’s grin falter.
“Nothing is going on,” Otabek says nonchalantly. “We were just reminiscing about the season where you made your senior debut.”
“What about it?”
“Nothing specific.” Otabek raises his glass to his mouth. “Just the finals, the press conferences, your crush on Yuuri.”
Yuri sits in stunned silence as Otabek takes a sip. He thinks it’s a sign of how mature he’s gotten that he doesn’t fly off the handle immediately.
“My what ?”
“You know, the crush you had on Katsuki Yuuri,” Otabek continues as though this is a perfectly normal thing to be talking about.
Beside him, Viktor’s mouth is clamped tightly shut, though his shoulders are shaking with laughter. Otabek just quirks an eyebrow at him and takes another sip.
“I don’t…I never…what the fuck are you talking about?” By the time he ends the sentence he’s gripping the table and his volume has gone up a notch (he never said his temper was completely under control).
“Of course, it’s all in the past,” says Viktor, clapping Otabek on the shoulder. “But it was adorable to watch back in the day.”
“And even better to reminisce about now,” Otabek adds.
“You can’t be serious.” Yuri goggles at them. “ Viktor’s the one that had the crush. He frenched him on the ice in China!”
“Correction, I was one of many that had crushes,” says Viktor. “And you were one of us.”
“I was not!” says Yuri, outraged. “I made fun of his weight. I called him ‘Piggy’. I kicked him. Like, a lot. I’m actually kind of surprised the ISU never called me on it. Why the hell would you think I liked him?”
Otabek and Viktor share another infuriatingly chummy glance that does nothing to help Yuri’s mood.
“Look, if this is your way of proposing a foursome or something-”
This only makes them laugh louder.
“Yuri,” says Otabek, trying to pull himself together, “you do realize that all that stuff you listed is your way of pulling pigtails.”
“What?”
“You named your cat Puma Tiger Scorpion. You called your first senior exhibition piece ‘Welcome to the Madness’ and ended it by getting shot and dying. Everything about fifteen year-old you was violent; why the hell would your flirting be anything but that?”
“That’s just stupid,” says Yuri, taking another overlarge sip of his drink. “I wasn’t violent when I was flirting with you.”
Otabek stares at him. “You made me tear your glove off with my mouth.”
“That’s dif-”
“With my mouth , Yuri. Thousands of people watching.” Otabek settles back in his seat smugly, like he’s just won his case. “Including your grandfather, and wasn’t that a pleasant introduction for both of us.”
“Besides, by the time you two got together properly, you’d mostly moved out of your teen angst phase,” says Viktor, reasonably. His eyes linger on the studded shoulders of Yuri’s leather jacket. “Though maybe not entirely.”
“Leave my fashion choices out of this Old Man.”
“You’re right, we should just go back to you making gaga eyes at Yuuri,” Viktor smiles.
Yuri glares and Viktor bats his eyes at him.
“Yuri,” says Otabek seriously, though it looks like he’s trying to suppress a smile. “It’s okay, you were fifteen, you didn’t know how emotions worked.”
Viktor reaches across the table to pat his hand affectionately. “It’s okay to be a late bloomer. You figured it out in the end.”
“Oh fuck off.”
Yuri desperately needs another drink. Possibly a third and fourth one as well. True, he doesn’t remember everything about that year (it’s been four years and competitions blend together after a while) but he’s pretty sure he’d remember if he ever sat around pining over Yuuri ‘my eros is pork cutlet bowls’ Katsuki. How is this his life? And how can he make this conversation end before it gets even more insane?
“Viktor, I know you were drunk for most of 2016, but please don’t drag Beka down in your delusions,” he says, aiming for a dismissive tone.
It doesn’t work.
“I’m the one that brought it up,” says Otabek.
Yeah, their mental link is seriously out of whack tonight.
Yuri shoots him a look that clearly says, shut up or you’re sleeping on the couch tonight .
“Beka, no offense, but how the fuck would you know whether I-,” he doesn’t even want to say it, “whether that thing you keep talking about was real? You didn’t even meet us until Barcelona.”
“I had eyes, Yuri,” says Otabek, rolling his towards the ceiling.
“I was obsessed with beating him.”
“You were obsessed alright.”
“I barely said a civil word to him.”
“You had a dance off with him and threw a shit-fit when you lost.”
“I was his polar opposite in every way.”
“You literally skated a short program choreographed to matching music.”
“Yeah, that he designed,” Yuri jabs a finger accusingly at Viktor. “You don’t turn down choreography when ‘the living legend’ hands it to you.”
“Aw Yuri, I had no idea you cared,” says Viktor, sweetly.
“I don’t. I was just using it to win. It had nothing to do with you or Katsuki.”
“Yeah,” says Otabek drily, “and I’m sure you didn’t like the way the press kept comparing you and Yuri as ‘two sides of the same coin’ at all.”
Unfortunately, Yuri has no retort ready for that one. The press had spent the better part of the season running story after story about the two of them and exhausted every possible Yuri vs Yuuri joke imaginable. It had been infuriating.
“Remember that time you mouthed off during practice?” asks Viktor.
“What, you mean every practice?” Yuri grumbles.
“I meant a specific time, Yuratchka. The time Yakov heard you call Lilia a haggard banshee and he made you run quads all afternoon.”
Of course Yuri remembered – he probably suffered permanent bone damage from that practice. It was right after Yakov and Lilia had gotten back together (not that anyone had bothered to tell Yuri about it) and he’d nearly collapsed. It wasn’t Yakov’s finest coaching moment, but the point was made, if brutally. The way Mila tells it, she caught Yuri as he swooned and carried him bridal style off the ice. Mila is not to be trusted.
“We took him home with us that night,” says Viktor to Otabek who is, annoyingly, hanging onto every word. “There was no way he could have fed himself in that condition. And my Yuuri was so good to him; he kept bringing him tea and stayed up late rubbing Biofreeze into his calves.”
Viktor turns to face Yuri, hair falling into his eye as he cocks his head to the side. “It was so sweet, your little face was red all night.”
“From pain you idiot!” Yuri snaps. “I’d like to see you do quads for hours and see if your face doesn’t flush.”
Viktor shoots Otabek a poignant look and Yuri fights back the urge to punch him.
“Okay.” Otabek pushes his glass to the side so he can lean on the table. “But how do you explain your behaviour at the banquet after Four Continents when J.J. stole Yuuri’s glasses?”
“You know I’ll take any opportunity to fuck with J.J. Besides, this asshole,” he jerks a thumb at Viktor, “was off being a media darling. Was I supposed to lead Katsuki around blind the rest of the evening?”
He grabs his drink and takes an almost defensive sip, challenging either of them to refute his logic.
“Still, you were very enthusiastic about it,” says Viktor, lightly. “I never did find out what you did to J.J. to make him turn that particular shade of white.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Yuri growls.
“I wish I could have been there,” Otabek cuts in. “But it was nice of the two of you to phone me from the roof of the hotel.”
Viktor sighs. “It was very unprofessional of you to sneak away like that. I didn’t get to dance with Yuuri all evening!”
“Whatever.” Yuri rolls his eyes. “Yakov makes better deals when I’m not there, and we all know he’s the one saving your useless ass and securing Katsuki’s endorsements too.”
“Hey!” says Viktor, indignantly. “I got him the Burberry deal!”
Yuri snorts. The latest to come from the Burberry deal was a photoshoot of Yuuri wearing progressively fewer clothes until all he had on was a trenchcoat and a pair of boxers. Viktor had taken three of his gold medals off the wall to make room for the photo in their living room.
“I should have known you’re responsible for the perverted one. Why can’t you just be a normal couple and keep that shit behind closed doors?”
Viktor’s eyes sparkle and Yuri realizes he’s made a grave mistake. “Yuri, don’t tell me you’ve partaken in a suggestive photoshoot! Your endorsements are always so cleancut.”
Unbidden, Yuri’s eyes drift traitorously to Otabek who’s looking slightly pink but with the hint of a smirk playing on his lips.
“Or is it the other way around? Is Otabek the model? Please tell me you’ve used the bike as a prop.”
Otabek, bless him, is an unashamedly honest person at the best of times. Add alcohol to the mix and he’s about as safe as a secret between twelve year olds.
“We’ve used the bi-”
Yuri shoots forward and slaps a hand over Otabek’s mouth. “Can we please talk about literally anything else?”
“Yes! Let’s go back to talking about your teen crush on Yuuri.”
Yuri folds back onto the bench with a groan.
“This is so dumb.”
“What’s dumb was you chucking your phone after seeing that photo of him and Viktor at the Japanese Championships,” says Otabek.
“What?” Yuri stammers.
“Completely shattered the screen. There’s temper and then there’s temper, Yura.”
Yuri’s mouth flaps soundlessly before his voice returns in a whisper. “How the fuck did you-”
“Mila,” Otabek interjects smoothly.
Of course.
“She was pretty keen to spill the beans on you once she, in her words, determined my motives were pure.”
“Yeah well, you’d of thrown your phone too if you saw the gross, highly unprofessional scene they were making,” Yuri scoffs.
“Says the man who used to attack his opponents with running jump kicks to the back,” says Otabek, drily.
“The whole world saw us kiss in China, Yuri.” Viktor winks at him. “You’re the only one who trashed their phone over something as innocent as a hug.”
Yuri’s eyes flit between their smug faces. He’s so not drunk enough for this conversation and downs the rest of his drink in an attempt to remedy this.
“You guys do remember I called him my ‘arch-nemesis’ for about a year after Barcelona, right?”
Otabek shoots this statement down immediately. “Fifteen year olds don’t have arch-nemesis. They have objects of fixation that they project all their feelings onto without understanding.”
“You guys are so full of shit,” says Yuri, exasperated. “None of this means anything.”
“No? Then why did you wear his glasses on top of your head all those times at practice?” asks Otabek.
“So Georgi wouldn’t blunder around, blinded by tears and sit on them!” Yuri bangs his fist on the table and his chopsticks jump.
“And you taught him how to braid your hair because?” Viktor trails off.
“Because Lilia always pulls it too tight! She only knows how to do hair for ballet. Do you think I want to end up looking like Yakov?” He eyes Viktor’s receding hairline, and adds nastily, “or you?”
“Oh, silly me,” says Viktor airly, completing ignoring a jibe that would normally have brought tears to his eyes. “I thought it was because you had a gigantic crush on him.”
“I hated him.”
“Hated him so much you wanted to put your mouth on his and battle for dominance.”
Viktor smirks and holds up his hand. Without looking, Otabek raises his arm and high fives him, and oh yeah, he’s definitely sleeping on the couch tonight. This is so dumb. And stupid. Dumb and stupid. But Yuri must be getting drunk because what they’re saying is starting to make sense.
“You guys are so fucking stupid,” he says. “I’m going to get another drink and when I get back we’re going to talk about something else and pretend this conversation never happened.”
He stands up without waiting for a reply. Not that he’s going to get one anyway given that Otabek and Viktor are still snickering. Otabek is actually dabbing at the corner of his eye with a napkin.
“Yuri,” Viktor calls, “just one last thing. If you didn’t like Yuuri, why did you scrap your exhibition program at the last minute and skate a new pairs routine to rival ours?”
“Because I wasn’t going to let you two idiots hog the spotlight,” Yuri snaps.
“You sure it wasn’t because you were jealous?” asks Viktor in a sing-song voice.
“Positive,” says Yuri, icily.
“I’m glad he changed his routine,” says Otabek. “He looked really good in that jacket. I’d seen all his past performances and that was the first time he wore one, which I remember thinking was interesting as he tended to wear a shirt and vest or one-piece outfits. It wasn’t until later that I found out your Yuuri always did favour a suit jacket in his costumes and everything clicked into place.”
This sets off a fresh wave of laughter and Yuri stomps off to the bar.
What the fuck just happened?
There’s a line at the bar now, what with this being the dinner rush, but he doesn’t try to push his way through; the wait will give him more time to fume. He glances back at the table and sees Viktor pouring them both another round. Clearly this conversation was fueled by alcohol. How else could they think he’d had a thing for Katsuki? Sure, some of his crazier fans had suggested it (because who doesn’t lurk their own forums from time to time?) but they also had dumbass theories about him and J.J. and clearly had no taste.
He’s been stood waiting for about two minutes and the line hasn’t moved at all. He changes his opinion about minding the wait – he needs alcohol now. Too frustrated to watch the world’s slowest server struggle alone at the bar, he lets his gaze drift across to the family-friendly half of the restaurant until it settles on a children’s birthday party.
The party is clearly going well; the surface of the table is covered in bits of wrapping paper and half-eaten plates of cake, kids are shrieking and running around the table, and the chaperones have given up their duties in favour of their wine glasses. He watches the quieter end of the table, where a tubby little girl is sitting, long black pigtails hanging down past the edge of the table, happily digging into a large slice of chocolate cake. Behind her, two boys are whispering conspiratorially to each other. Yuri might not be a kid anymore, but he knows their devious grins spell trouble for the girl. The two boys suddenly run up behind her, each one grasping a braid in their hand and tugging. The girl is caught completely unaware and topples backwards off her stool, dragging her plate down on top of her. She bursts into tears and, clearly fearing incoming punishment, one of the boys darts off to the other end of the table. Unexpectedly, the smaller of the two boys stays. It’s hard to tell from this distance, but he looks a little contrite, like it hadn’t occurred to him that the girl wouldn’t want to get pulled off her stool.
Kids are so dumb , thinks Yuri. But then the boy takes the girl by both hands and pulls her to her feet. She stops crying and lets herself be led back to her seat, but she still looks a little wary. As soon as she’s sitting, the boy runs off, but he’s back again a moment later with a new piece of cake. He holds it out to her, grinning, and the girl grins back.
Something about this scene is horrifyingly familiar, though he can’t quite put it into words.
“What can I get for you?” asks the bartender.
Yuri jerks round to face the now empty bar. He takes a step forward and scans the menu, not really taking any of it in. His brain is still trying to process who those kids remind him of.
“What drink has the most alcohol in it?”
“The Long Island Iced Tea.”
“Perfect.” He tosses his I.D. down on the counter, “I’ll take two.”
He leans back on the bar, refusing to look at either his table or the party area again. Everything is very confusing right now. His eyes fall on the door and, to his great horror, Yuuri walks in. He spots Yuri almost instantly and smiles at him. For reasons unknown, Yuri is strongly reminded of that time in Russia when he chased Yuuri down to give him those katsudon pirozhki, and his heart gives a little flutter.
What the fuck?
***
Dinner is a horrendously long and drawn out affair. Though Otabek and Viktor somehow manage to keep their mouths shut re: the Topic, Yuri can’t look at Yuuri without blushing. Yuuri, with all his usual naïveté, assumes this is because Yuri and the others had gotten a headstart on drinking (which to be fair, was true) and wastes no time in catching up. Unfortunately, this means that Yuuri become rather more tactile than usual, forcing Yuri to sit right on the edge of the bench to avoid being prodded and leaned on. Viktor, the bastard, keeps ordering more dishes, just to prolong the night.
Yuri puts his foot down when Viktor tries to order a third pot of tea, drags Otabek from the booth, and leaves the Katsuki-Nikiforovs to settle the bill. Otabek manages to contain his howl of laughter until they’re out of the restaurant but spends the ride back to their hotel fighting to keep it together. If he was laughing about any other subject, Yuri would be thrilled to hear such rare noises coming from his wonderfully stoic boyfriend. But right now he’s pissed.
It’s not until later, when it’s just the two of them in their hotel room, and Yuri has had enough separation from The Incident that the alcohol finally makes him a little curious.
“If you thought I liked Katsudon, why’d you ask me out?”
Otabek, who’s fighting a losing battle trying to take off his shoe while it’s still laced up, stops struggling and looks at him.
“Cause I was half in love you with,” he says deadpan, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Only half?” Yuri smirks.
Otabek rolls his eyes. “Possibly more than half.”
Sitting upright suddenly feels like a chore soYuri flops back on the couch until his head and neck have basically fused with the cushions. Those drinks did their job very well.
“If I was so in love with Katsuki, weren’t you afraid you were setting yourself up for heartbreak?”
Otabek snorts and resumes pulling on his shoe. “I never thought you were in love with him. Is this an admission?”
“No!” Yuri tries to look scandalized but holding his face in a snarl feels funny and he has to let it go.
“Relax Yuri. This was years ago, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that Yuuri and Viktor only had eyes for each other.”
“So why wait so long to ask me out?” Yuri demands.
“There were a lot of reasons, but one of them was because I wanted to wait for you to get over Yuuri. You may not have been in love with him but you definitely had a fixation.” Otabek finally succeeds at removing his shoe and sits up to look at him properly. “Do you realize how hard I had to try to get your attention? I literally had to kidnap you on a motorcycle – a motorcycle I rented specifically to look cool in front of you.”
“Oh.” It takes him longer than he’s proud of to put two and two together, but when he does the realization hits him like a truck.
“You were jealous!” he crows.
“Damn straight I was,” Otabek practically growls. “Here I was, training and improving myself for years, dreaming of the moment I could finally impress you as a competitor. Not only do you not remember me – which, ouch, pivotal childhood moment that you completely blanked – but you’re out there skating your ass off so Yuuri won’t retire.”
“Hey!” Yuri tries to sit up but gravity overtakes him and he settles for slouching slightly forward. “I was skating to win…mostly. Like ninety-nine percent of that performance was about winning.”
“Uh huh.”
“You said it yourself,” Yuri settles back into the pillows. “Any idiot with eyes could see Katsuki was balls deep in love with Viktor.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know that! I might have seen him compete a handful of times, but beyond seeing coverage of Sochi on TV, the first time Yuuri came on my radar was when the internet broke after you flew to Japan to challenge him.”
“But you could tell!” Yuri argued. “You could tell just by watching him skate – even before his god awful Sochi performance; all his routines are styled after Viktor’s. Just look at his 2011 short program. The triple lutz into the triple toeloop was straight out of Viktor’s playbook.”
Otabek blinks at him.
“As you would know because you trained alongside Viktor? Or because you had a crush on Yuuri and were intimately familiar with his choreography?”
Yuri probably gapes for too long before he remembers how to speak.
“I- shut up!”
Otabek is trying very hard not to laugh.
“Yuri, it’s okay. Everyone has at least one unfortunate teenage crush. Mine was on my music teacher which was about exactly as much fun as it sounds.”
In the morning, he’ll tell himself it was the booze. But right now, some long overdue clarity is sneaking into certain memories.
“My whole life is a lie,” Yuri groans. He slaps a hand over his eyes which might be a tad dramatic but it’s what the situation calls for. “This is worse than the time Mila had to explain that the lyrics to that song aren’t actually hold me closer, Tony Danza .”
Otabek does laugh this time, but he clearly takes pity on Yuri because the cushion dips as Otabek joins him on the couch.
“Thank god she did. It was getting really embarrassing to be seen with you at karaoke.”
He tugs at Yuri’s hand and Yuri lets it be pulled into Otabek’s lap.
“How can I not have known?” Yuri asks.
Otabek shrugs. “How does anyone really know what they’re feeling at fifteen? Being fifteen is awful. You’re covered in zits and you start to stink and suddenly boners pop up when they’re least welcome – like in music class. Besides, you were too busy being pissed at everything and training within an inch of your life to recognize that maybe the constant thumping when you looked at Yuuri wasn’t from rage or adrenalin.”
“Ugh.”
“It’s okay babe.” He drops a kiss on Yuri’s forehead and stands up. “You weren’t obvious. I mean, obviously Viktor knew because both of you stalked Yuuri, and I knew because I stalked you. But I don’t think Yuri ever knew.”
“And it’s going to stay that way!” Yuri stands up slightly faster than he means to and wobbles into Otabek. “Not a word of this to Katsuki – from you or the Old Man or I’ll grind both of you into dust with my bare hands.”
Otabke just wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him towards the bed.
“There’s the Yuri I fell in love with.”