Chapter Text
Otabek was sitting in his apartment with his family, enjoying dinner when there was a knock on the door. When he opened it up, his apartment manager was standing next to a delivery man, scowling at both of them.
“Altin, this boy insists you must take this delivery now .”
Otabek nodded before a sharp sound from his Mother behind him reminded him of his manners. “Thank you, sir, I’m sorry for the trouble.”
He took the box and signed the paper, waving the two men off as he closed the door. He was going to open it after his family left, but his little sister saw the box first. She was just at the right age where all packages are presents and must be opened immediately.
So he carefully slid a knife under the flaps of the box, and the scent of iron and flowers hit him.
Inside the small box were flowers, looking like they had been soaked in blood but cleaned- though not very well if the smell was anything to go by.
“Otabek, what is it? Why are you so pale?”
“Maman, I…” Otabek started before shaking his head, he already knew his sister didn't need to see this.
Looking over his shoulder, his father let out a grunt. “Perhaps you should take Amina for a walk.”
His Mother noted the serious looks from both men and led the four-year-old out as quickly as she could.
Otabek grabbed a bag and spread it on the table, dumping the box onto it. There was a smaller box inside, surrounded by blooms covered in blood. It seemed that most were primrose, but there were a few tulips and coreopsis. The oldest were hard to identify, they had almost fallen apart but were pressed in tape- lilacs. And the newest one, a rose of sharon, had a letter tied to it with a small script on it- This will help explain everything Mister Altin.
He looked to his father who simply placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded. It wasn’t exactly common to receive such a package but after a viral story of how one person was saved by a package like this, hanahaki sufferers occasionally sent such things in hopes it would help them too.
Slipping his finger under the seal, he could see the formal scrawl of Russian that only came with age and practice.
Dear Mr. Altin,
I know this package will probably be a shock to you, but I couldn’t find another way to explain it.
My grandson has been sick since he turned 16. It started with the violets, we had them preserved as best we could, hopeful he would share with us the name of his love. As time went on, the blooms changed and we started to lose hope. That was last year.
About a week ago, he began to cough up the Rose of Sharon- a sure sign the end is near. He still would not tell us who it was.
Unfortunately, he needed to be brought to the hospital after his practice yesterday. I found letters in his room. I put them in the box so they would stay relatively clean.
Nikolai Plisetsky, Grandfather of Yuri Plisetsky.
His hand was shaking by the end of the letter. Who would hide the name of their love? Was he ashamed of who he loved?
His father reached past him and grabbed the box, opening it as carefully as Otabek had opened the first one. A dozen or so crumpled up papers, spotted with the same blood stains as the flowers tumbled out. There was one final paper, pressed out and folded around an envelope with the same handwriting as the letter he held.
As he unfolded the first one, a messier scrawl with crossed out words and mistakes was all over it.
Beka Otabek,
Hi, I’m not sure if you remember me. You probably don’t
It ended there, the rest of the page blank. He flipped to the back and found nothing there, so he reached for the next one.
Otabek Altin.
I’m Yuri. We met once. I fell in love with you
Again, the rest of the page was blank.
Otabek Altin,
My name is Yuri. People call my Yura and Yurio though.
I haven’t told anyone the flowers are for you yet… I know my friend’s friend would not let you decide for yourself, he’s
Otabek wondered exactly what that friend’s friend would have done, glancing at another blank back of the page.
Otabek Altin,
My name is Yuri Plisetsky. We took a summer camp on ballet together. You were the oldest boy in the class. I was ten and I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.
This time, he didn’t even bother checking the back. He just added it to the pile and grabbed the next one. Each one had a different tone, but they all painted the same picture- Yuri had no clue what to say to him. He reached for the last one, folded around the
Dear Otabek Altin,
We never formally met but my name is Yuri Plisetsky. People call me “Yuri” …or “Yurio”. I like skating. I like tigers, I love rock music
I have Hanahaki disease.
And I got it because of a beautiful Kazakh boy I met when I was in Yakov’s summer class.
Maybe in another life, you could have been mine. But not this one.
Dedushka doesn’t even know it’s a boy I love. I’m sure if you ever get this… I’ll be gone already. Don’t take it too hard, you couldn’t have known and I guess I’m saying
The rest was scratched out, just like all the other letters had ended with. He gently laid it down, looking to his father again. A squeeze on his shoulder and a gentle push had him sitting down as he looked at the final envelope. He slipped it open and found vouchers for a small company that specializes in flights between the nearby countries and a letter:
Mr. Altin,
I hope you understand why I sent this box now. I am unsure why my Yuri wouldn’t tell me, even in the hospital. We can’t afford the whole plane ticket, but hopefully, this can help out enough. Please, consider coming to meet him. We’re not sure how long he has.
If you do come, from the Sheremetyevo Airport you would need to go to Lobnenskaya Central Hospital. They have a wing on the third floor for Hanahaki patients. When you get there, ask for Kolya and I will come to get you.
Nikolai “Kolya” Plisetsky
“I have to go.”
“I know, I’m already finding you a flight. When your Maman comes back they can help you pack. For now, put this all away. Amina is too young for this.”
He began to carefully place all the flowers back in the box, topping it with most of the letters. Otabek still hadn’t let go of the final letter he read. It wasn’t the longest, it didn’t have the most information but he couldn’t get past the one line But not this one.
His father had pulled up the website for the airline but commented under his breath that none of the flights would leave soon enough. It was a Saturday and the next flight with a seat open was Wednesday.
“Can you stay awake for a 6 AM flight?”
Otabek was still looking at the box, barely noticing his father talking behind him.
“Nevermind that, I’ll be sure to get you there. Son.”
Otabek jumped a little at the change in tone and looked up to his father. “Yeah?”
“Do you want one of us with you?”
He thought it over for a minute before shaking his head. “No, I… I don’t know what I’m going in to. I don’t want them to be overwhelmed. I’m not even sure if his parents knowing I’m coming… I mean, we don’t know what his Grandfather did- if he went around their backs…”
His father cut off the rest of it, holding up his hand. “You’re an adult now, you don’t need to explain everything to me.”
They sat in silence until his mother and sister came back, the only sound an occasional tap on his father’s phone. Otabek spent the fifteen minutes rereading that one line over and over but not this one. He wasn’t sure what exactly Yuri had meant by that.
He had come up with so many thoughts from Yuri or his family not being okay with his own sexuality (though his Grandfather didn’t seem fussed by it) all the way to Yuri was ashamed of loving Otabek. He started to think back to the summer camp- he knew exactly who Yuri was- there were only a few boys in with him. Perhaps the scowl he always wore as a child had made Yuri think he wasn’t a nice person. Maybe it was his fault that the boy wouldn’t have wanted him around-
His thought process was cut off when his sister came running up to him and climbing into his lap. He had been too stuck in his own head to notice the front door opening or his parents talking to each other about the plans for the night while Amina took off her shoes.
Amina was telling him all about the giant bird she saw, complete with flapping wings, and all he could think was how blessed he was to have a sister to distract him at a time like this. Over her shoulder, he saw the note and wondered if Yuri had anyone by him. The way his Grandfather made it seem, at least he would be there all the time.
But would it be enough? Familial love could only help the symptoms for so long. He was trying so hard to remember the studies they talked about in health class… and then Amina was looking up at him with her big eyes, waiting for a response.
“That sounded so cool. I wish I could have seen it.”
“It was. But what was in your present?”
Oh, that’s what she was waiting for. He grabbed the ticket vouchers and showed her, it seemed like the best option. “I am going to see an old friend Amina. His Grandfather sent this to me.”
She was looking at the paper, then broke out into a huge smile. “I know this word! It’s airplane right?”
He leaned over to look at where she was pointing. “Close little love, this says air port."
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry little one, you’ll get it.”
She smiled and gave him back the voucher, grabbing his phone off the counter and starting up the game he kept on there for her. He tried it a few times, but his attempts always ended with the driver dead by 300m. Amina could keep him alive for close to 6,000m.
At that point, he glanced over to his parents. His mother was barely holding in tears and his father was finishing up a few things on his phone. When they noticed him looking, they walked over.
“Come Otabek. We will pack you up now. Your father hasn’t told me how long you’re staying for.”
“I don’t know, Maman. I really don’t know,” he said, casting one last look at the repacked box before walking down the hall with his Mom, wondering if he’d get there only to attend a funeral.
From what he could remember of the boy, he hoped not. If it was the blonde boy he was thinking it was, the kid was flexible and danced with a beauty he’d only seen on stage before that point. They didn’t get to talk so he didn’t know anything outside of his movements, but from that alone, he hoped the kid would still be alive when he got there.
He opened his laptop as his mother flitted around, pulling out clothes and packing them like he was 9 and not 19. Normally he’d point that out and insist on doing it himself, but he had some research to do. She was muttering about how Russia is colder (a quick search said it was maybe six degrees today, but it wasn’t an argument he was ready to have.)
“Maman, remember I’ll probably be in a hospital most of the time.”
She nodded and grabbed some of his t-shirts.
Otabek went back to his search, looking up hanahaki and how it can be soothed. Apparently, friendly and familial love can help ease some of the ache and congestion, but only just barely. It seemed to extend the lifespan a week or two at most. Most sufferers who died reportedly experienced a month of Rose of Sharon before they slipped into unconsciousness, but there were some as little as two weeks before that happened.
He hurried out to the living room and grabbed the box, looking at the grandfather’s letter, letting the rest of the box drop on his desk, some of the flowers spilling out.
He heard a gasp behind him but ignored it, focusing on the letter, trying to find how long ago the grandfather had said.
About a week. He had less than a week to get to know him before the coma would likely hit.
His mother placed a hand on his arm to get his attention, holding the newest bloom. “My boy, you need to try your best. These-”
“I know Maman. I’m looking up how to help the most.”
“Good. And when he gets better-”
“Maman, we don’t know he will get better.”
“My boy, your heart is golden. It will lead you, and I think it will lead you to save him.”
Otabek shook his head. “I will do my best, but-”
“No buts. You will go there and get to know him. You will talk and hug and then you will bring him home and we will celebrate. Proper family welcome.”
“Maman, no, you can’t-”
“I can and will. I will start planning once you leave. You just need to let me know when you’re bringing him home.”
He glanced back at the computer, hoping she was right. She went back to packing and he started to look up the name, hoping to find something and start to grow love in his heart.
Luckily, Yuri seemed rather obsessed with social media.
He had a cat with a strange name.
He loved pirozhki.
He still danced, but his poses favored the right side.
Then he started to look up his dancing career and apparently skating career too. Both were ended in his second junior year with a collision during a warm-up. He had been slammed into a wall by one of the other competitors who landed a jump wrong. It had broken his left femur and he needed to have surgeries to fix it up. He had never competed in skating again and only made one more performance dancing. The reviews seemed to say that it was obvious the boy would never make one of the big companies.
Watching a video from that run, Otabek couldn’t tell what they meant. When he was dancing, you could barely tell he was changing the moves to put impacts on his right side. It was easy to see the recovery was still weighing on him, that kind of injury had a way of holding on; but perhaps when you dance under a prima, nothing less than perfect is acceptable.
Madame Baranovskaya had come out against the statements, saying that as long as he was willing, she was happy to both teach and feature him. That was shortly before he turned 16, shortly before the flowers marked the end of him being able to be on stage.
He switched to looking up his old skating videos. Apparently, they had competed at the same time but hadn’t shared the ice. The first time they were set to skate together was right after the accident. He remembered the new precautions well. The jump practice restrictions and the cones marking off sections so the skaters wouldn’t come near each other.
All his coach had told him was not to worry, the little Russian upstart is alive. He wonders if this would all be happening if his fifteen-year-old self had taken time to ask after the boy and reach out to him. He shook his head and went back to watching old skating videos.
He had found a fan account that looked like it had his entire skating career- including some practices at his home rink- and set youtube to play all while he read some more about the disease. After about fifteen videos, the voice introducing the video changed. It was monotone and rough, like the person had been screaming all night.
Angels, at least those of you still following Yuri, this video is one I wasn’t sure I would post. I’ve held onto it for a couple of weeks now. As you know from his announcement on Instagram, he has hanahaki disease. He isn’t telling us who he’s in love with, as the official statement said he wishes to preserve their privacy. This video is not easy to see, please click away if you are easily upset.
That warning caught his attention, so he put down the article on his phone and looked at the screen. It looked like a normal practice, he had been on the ice, running through one of his old programs, marking the jumps and pulling back on some of the footwork. Then he collapsed on the ice, hitting his knees hard and coughing. A redhead came skating up to him, checking on him as the flowers started to come out of his mouth. Right before the video stopped, he had wiped his mouth and looked at the camera, blood streaked on his cheek.
Otabek closed down YouTube at that. The look on his face was something Otabek was sure would haunt him forever. That same determination had shown through when he was just a little kid in a ballet camp- the eyes of a fighter, of a soldier.
He looked at the clock and realized his father would be in soon to drive him to the airport. Amina had crawled into his bed about two hours before, watching the videos over his shoulder as she fell asleep talking about how he danced like an angel. Luckily she was still asleep and didn’t see the final video.
He slowly shut everything down and packed it in with the clothing his mother set out for him- if her planning was to be trusted, he’d be in Russia for six months.
With a gentle kiss on her forehead, he left Amina and walked out to the kitchen. A kettle was already on the stove, so he heated it up and made tea for his parents- he knew his Maman wouldn’t sleep through seeing him off.
About fifteen minutes later, both his parents were standing in the doorway looking at him.
His father was the first to speak. “Otabek, we know this isn’t easy for you.”
His mother took over. “Follow your heart, my son. We will be here whatever happens in the end.”
Otabek slid the cups forward, nodding at them. He had thought about that. The pressure a patient’s focus would face. But he couldn’t find it in him to procrastinate and let the boy slip into a coma- he was used to working hard at skating, so he would apply the same drive to help keep this Yuri kid alive. If not a romantic love, he’d read a platonic love could give the patient time to move on.
So that was his goal for now- a nice simple friendly love.
He let his mother gather him in her arms and whisper all her love and warnings, a goodbye he got every time he left the country with skating as well. His father pulled him into a tight hug, guiding him to the door.
His mother called after him. “We’ll check the food and keep this place presentable for when you bring him home.”
Otabek let out a soft sigh of the word if just loud enough for his father to hear.
They made their way to the airport, mostly silent. Otabek was looking up articles written about and for anyone finding themselves a focus. He had found that word about two hours into the searching. It was a label he still wasn’t sure about- he had been many things in skating, but this seemed more personal. It wasn't just fans commenting on his routines.
It was a life in his hands.
No, it was a life in his heart.
A part of him he couldn’t exactly control.
What if his offerings weren’t good enough? What if Yuri completely gave up instead of trying to move on?
Would everyone blame him?
Would he blame himself?
Would Maman blame him?
That last thought made him shudder. He started to think about everyone who loved Yuri- there had to be at least a few. He wondered how he would be treated.
His father gently pulled the car over and offered him one last squeeze to the shoulder and handed him the printed out tickets and his travel essentials that he kept with his skating gear, the paperwork and masks, the identification and cards and cell phone for international travel. He offered a small smile before climbing out and grabbing his bag, heading into the nearly empty airport to catch the early flight his father found.
He quickly fell into his standard airport routine, making it through security and onto the plane fairly quickly.
He plugged in his headphones and started watching the videos he had downloaded of Yuri again, this time he focused on interviews the young blonde gave- which weren’t exactly common, normally his coach did all the talking and he just stared ahead, occasionally offering a smile.
The interviews screamed out his immaturity in the earlier years, his ego was apparent, but before the accident, he had the talent to back it up. He probably would have after too, given the time to fully recover.
But he pushed himself and debuted early- then hanahaki struck and it was over.
No, not over yet. I can give him that chance.
The woman next to him had fallen asleep early in the five-hour flight, so he was able to switch between the videos and the articles again.
Some claimed a focus should never be revealed because it was unfair to them and raised an expectation to unreachable levels.
Others claimed the patients had every right to reveal whatever they wanted to about their focus and that it was a human life.
Otabek wasn’t actually sure what he felt. On one hand, if the letters were anything to go by, Yuri would not have told him while alive- and there was a chance, however small, that he would have been alerted after.
That would have haunted him forever.
But if he never knew… would it weigh the same on his soul? Would he be judged the same at death either way?
He switched to the other articles- the ones full of tips for a focus. Things to help the patient- but some were utterly worthless suggestions (I mean really, who believes in love potions anymore) but some were helpful. He liked the idea of playing games with friends and getting to know Yuri. Maybe they could bring a few things in and play a game of truths (the dare would probably not go over well in a hospital) or never have I ever.
When there was an hour left, he pulled up the information specific to the hospital Yuri was at.
They were big on anonymity. He could check in simply as a focus, and then they would bring him to the right room.
Each suite had accommodations for the focus to basically move in. They were all set up like one bedroom flats, and you could even have groceries delivered from the local store. There was a private bathroom and bedroom, then a living area where the patients who weren’t in comas were encouraged to stay as often as possible. There was a small kitchen in each suite in case you had a desire to cook.
They also offered two bedroom suites for patients who needed the extra space for friends, family or their focus.
He wondered which Yuri had, and where he'd be staying.
One article, which he wasn't exactly proud of looking at for as long as he did, suggested sex was a way to encourage a bond. In the end, he determined it seemed a little far-fetched and not likely to help.
A response to that article had linked another article he was planning to look at when he had service again. The title was “Intimacy and Hanahaki- a study of platonic touches.”
Soon, the seatbelt light had come back on and they were preparing to land. He shuffled through motions again, gathering his bag and requesting an uber. He was standing near the doors, one hand on his phone, legs bracketing his luggage.
He had already let his family know he landed and got a final you be good to him from his mother. Booed, he pulled the letter from his pocket, the one he never seemed to be able to pack away. He smoothed it out as much as he could, focusing on those words again But not this one.
He wasn't sure how long he stared at those words before his phone buzzed you alert him the car was here.
He shuffled into the car, directing them to the hospital before tucking the letter away and wishing Yuri's grandfather had given him a number to contact.
But maybe the man didn't hold hope for Otabek to show up.
Soon they were pulling up to the hospital and panel was glancing between the building and his bag, wondering if should have gotten a hotel and gone there first. He pulled out his phone, getting ready to text his father about checking hotels in the area for him.
Before he got a chance he heard a semi-familiar voice calling his last name. He scanned the crowd, seeing the familiar face Japanese skater that took gold last year and he smiled.
“Katsuki! Or should I say Nikiforov now?”
“Yuuri is easier, we'll figure out names when we do the formal service.”
“Oh yeah, you two just did something small with Victor's family and a couple of people from yours right?”
“Yeah, the kid that Victor basically took in as a little brother wasn't doing so good… so we called in everyone who could make it on short notice and has a service before it really started to show,” he let out a laugh that sounded hollow before continuing, “he said if he looked like shit in our wedding photos he'd haunt me and the old man for the short time it took us to die. We’ll see probably next week if we’ll have Casper the Angsty Teenage Ghost hanging around.”
“Oh, I'm sorry, were you just visiting him?”
“Yeah.” Yuuri paused, looking back at the building with a sad smile, “What's with the luggage?”
Otabek rubbed his hand on the back of his head trying to figure what to share. He just remembered the letter about his grandfather not knowing he was in love with a boy. Yuri seemed like the private type, even in interviews.
“I, uh, got a Hanahaki box. I just hopped on the first flight I could find. I didn't exactly plan things out. Hell, we haven't even talked yet. Well, I mean, I guess we did… but that was before and it was so brief…” he glanced up at the building, sighing. This was probably the least thought out thing he'd ever done.
“Well, where are you staying?”
Otabek laughed. “I was about to text my father to find a hotel while I go re-meet them.”
“No, that won't do. Victor and I have room, here, let me text you the address. You can either text me or get a cab when you're done visiting. Hand over the luggage.”
“You really don't-”
Yuuri put up a hand. “It's fine. As long as you aren't allergic to animals.”
“Nope, I'm good. It's been a while since I've seen Makkachin, I wonder if he'll remember me still… he was just a puppy when he got away from Victor at that one competition.”
Yuuri smiled, grabbing the handle of the luggage. “Plus we could use a distraction. Victor has rearranged the furniture eight times since-” Yuuri cut off looking at the hospital again.
Otabek just let out a huff, he felt the same restlessness and the barely knew Yuri. Yuuri made sure he had the address before grabbing his bags and heading home.
Otabek pulled out the letter one last time before heading into the hospital.