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He hummed softly to himself as he gently sorted through the pile of clean clothes in front of him. Folding each piece of clothing into its respected pile and putting everything aside that needed ironing to do later.
It was a Wednesday and he had been given the day off from the studio because apparently, he was working too much.
“Papa.”
He glanced up at the call of his name, quickly spotting Yuri leaning against the doorway of the lounge, typing away on his phone while he was folding the laundry.
It was sometimes still a little mind-blowing that the small, three-year-old that they had brought home with them all those years ago was now almost an adult.
“Yuri,” he replied while picking up one random shirt from the pile in front of him and folding it carefully.
“You had top surgery, right?”
He paused in surprise at the question, shirt uncurling as he stared at his son in confusion.
“Yes?” he replied hesitantly while slowly lowering his hands, “Why?”
He had insisted on telling Yuri the truth about his gender from a young age, not wanting the boy to be confused by anything that could and would be said around him.
And well, Yuri had accepted it rather well.
They did have one bad moment, many years ago now, but it was nothing but a distant memory now.
“Did it hurt?” Yuri questioned. He carefully returned the shirt in his hands back to the pile of unfolded clothes before standing up.
“Why?” he questioned while gesturing for Yuri to follow him as he headed for the kitchen, “Tea?”
“Yeah, sure,” Yuri said while moving to sit at one of the counter stools.
He was quiet for a moment as he made them both a cup of tea.
He had never really spoken about his top surgery. Victor had been there and knew the same, if not more than him about everything. Everyone else had been content with knowing that he got it and had never pestered him for information about it.
He eyed Yuri closely as he carefully set a mug in front of the boy, watching as the boy set his phone to the side – face down which was rather curious – before lacing his fingers around the mug.
“Top surgery,” Yuri said again, looking him in the eyes, “Painful?”
“As painful as any surgery,” he said, shrugging his shoulders in response.
“Papa,” Yuri huffed, pouting at him, “Is it painful?”
“Why do you need to know?” he questioned. He watched curiously as Yuri’s cheeks turned an adorable shade of red – a colour he only saw when the boy was embarrassed.
He hid a smile behind his mug as he took a sip of his own drink before leaning back against the counter.
“It was painful, but that was my own fault,” he admitted.
“Huh? What do you mean?” Yuri questioned, looking at him eagerly for answers.
He stood there for a moment before letting out a sigh.
“I didn’t… know about transgender until I was seventeen, eighteen,” he admitted with a shrug. He watched as a confused look slowly crossed the boy’s face, clearly not understanding the point of his comment.
“When I started, um, growing breasts,” he said while making a rather awkward hand gesture towards his chest, “I hated it. Because I didn’t know about transgender, I tried a lot of things to try and make myself… feel better.”
“Binding,” Yuri pipped in. He smiled as he nodded his head in response.
“I wanted a flat chest, because I felt better with a flat chest,” he said while glancing down at the cup in his hands, “So, I did things I shouldn’t of to make myself feel better.”
“Like?” Yuri prompted. Even after years, just the thought of some of his beginning binding methods brought a dull pain to his chest.
“Bandages, tape,” he mumbled quietly.
“What!?” Yuri all but shouted, causing him to look up from his cup. The boy had a horrified expression on his face.
“I didn’t know any better,” he sighed softly, “I did a lot of things you shouldn’t do when I was younger. I wore double sports bras while exercising, well, after I tried to skate with tape and bandages – horrible, horrible idea.”
“So, um, how did that affect your top surgery?” Yuri asked. He carefully took a sip of his tea before moving to set the mug down.
“Binding effects skin elasticity, more so in people who bind for long periods of time for extended periods,” he explained, “Which affected the recovery period of my surgery.”
“Because the skin can’t stretch as much?” Yuri guessed, arching an eyebrow. He nodded his head.
“Yeah,” he confirmed, giving the boy a soft smile.
“Do you remember how long it took me to recover?” he questioned. Yuri had barely been six when he finally got around to getting the surgery, old enough to remember the event but not the details.
“Like, a month?” Yuri guessed with a shrug.
“It was about two months roughly,” he sighed, “The normal recovery period is about six weeks.”
“Six weeks?” Yuri gasped, looking horrified. It didn’t surprise him, Yuri was obsessed with the ice, spending six weeks away from the ice would probably feel like torture to the boy.
“So, what was with the sudden interest in top surgery?” he questioned, causing Yuri to suddenly sit up straight in his chair.
“No reason,” the boy said a little too quickly, causing him to arch an eyebrow at the boy.
“I don’t believe you,” he told the boy simply.
“What?” Yuri all but squeaked in response while shaking his head, “I just wanted to know, papa.”
He eyed the boy for a moment before leaning forwards, eyeing the boy closely before scooping up the boy’s phone.
“PAPA!” Yuri shouted, almost diving over the counter to try and get the phone back. He pressed the home button, blinking at the messages that stared back at him.
“Beka?” he questioned, watching as the boy’s cheeks turned an adorable shade of red, “Beka with a heart and a teddy bear.”
“Papa, give it back,” Yuri whined, making grabby hands in his direction. He stared at his son for a long moment before handing the phone back.
“Is Otabek trans?” he questioned as Yuri cradled the phone to his chest. Yuri shrugged his shoulders quickly in response – neither denying or confirming his question – while picking up his mug and finishing off the last of his tea.
“Gotta go,” Yuri said, setting the mug down and bouncing out of his chair, “Don’t wait up, Beka and I are going out for dinner together.”
“On a date?” he questioned, smiling to himself as he heard the boy stutter out a response in embarrassment.
He let out a small sigh as he took another sip of his tea.
At least the boy hadn’t asked about the scars.