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Of all the things Yuri Plisetsky had thought he would do in his life, he certainly had not expected to find himself in a suburban part of Almaty in early January, almost freezing to death.
Next to him stood the man he had to blame for all this. But Otabek seemed entirely unimpressed, used to the harsh temperatures of Almaty in this season. After all, he had grown up here, and therefore he knew that it could become much colder than this if they were unlucky. But the sun was shining, as if to welcome him home. He had not been in this part of Almaty for years. He had been too busy with training for the competitions, including the Grand Final, and he had spent a considerable amount of time in America and Canada to train with the best. The latter had been JJ’s idea, and although he could not really stand JJ’s slightly arrogant demeanor, he had to admit that the Canadian was a gifted skater and that he could learn a thing or two from him.
Yuri had not come with him, but the moment Otabek had landed again in St. Petersburg, he had known that it was time to return home, even if it was just to wish his parents and siblings a happy new year.
But this time, he was not coming alone.
Yuri was shivering next to him, stepping from one foot onto the other as he tried to keep himself warm.
“Is this it?” Yuri asked with chattering teeth, letting his gaze wander over the row of houses in front of them. “Is this where you live?”
“Where my family lives,” Otabek replied, taking a drag from his cigarette as he followed Yuri’s gaze, glancing at his boyfriend for a moment. “And you call yourself Russian,” he commented at the sight of Yuri’s chattering teeth and the little exercises he was doing to keep himself warm.
Yuri huffed. “This isn’t cold. This is madness. And those things will kill you,” he added, gesturing at the cigarette in Otabek’s hands. It was stress reaction, nothing more. Otabek was very aware of the effects that smoking could have on an athlete’s health, and therefore, he only smoked when he was in distress. Or on high holidays. “Why aren’t we going in?”
Otabek didn’t reply.
The last time he had been to this part of Almaty, it had been a rather unpleasant experience. His mother had cried a lot, and so had his grandmother, and his siblings. They had been sad to watch him leave for America to train, although his mother had assured him that they knew that it was only for the best. And yet, he could not forget the sadness in his mother’s eyes as he had left together with his coach, the understanding, yet sad nods of his older brothers, the cries of his younger sister as she had clung to his leg and begged him to stay, and the look his twin sister Maya had given him as he had hugged her over and over again.
Leaving had been hard.
Returning, however, seemed to be even harder.
His mother had been overjoyed when he had announced that he would come home after New Year’s, and even more so when he had mentioned that he wouldn’t come alone. She had known that it would be Yuri, and she had promised to cook a full Sunday roast for them. Otabek was not sure if his mother was aware of the kind of relationship he had with Yuri, but if anyone understood, then it was her. She had always been very open minded, and she had supported him throughout his career. She had been the one to convince his father that ice skating would not turn him into a girl, and that it was just as honourable as a sport as football or tennis. Otabek owed her a lot, and he desperately hoped he would not ruin everything by bringing a man home with him instead of a woman.
Yuri nudged him with his elbow. “You didn’t tell them, eh.”
Otabek tossed the cigarette into the snow and buried his hands in his pockets.
“Thought so,” Yuri murmured, but he didn’t sound disappointed. “I mean, I was shit scared of my grandfather’s reaction but you know-” He trailed off as Otabek looked at him, in this certain way that meant serious business. There was determination in his eyes, albeit Yuri was sure that there was insecurity in them as well.
“My family is rather traditional,” Otabek said. “But they are not bad people.”
Yuri blinked in surprise. He knew the problem well - it was not uncommon in Eastern Europe for people to be rather conservative, and they both knew that not everyone approved of their relationship. But it was, obviously, an entirely different matter if it concerned one’s family.
He understood what Otabek was trying to say. Any sort of negative reaction to their relationship would not have anything to do with them personally.
And so, Yuri patted Otabek’s shoulder. “We’ll manage,” he said. “We can always leave and get drunk somewhere.”
Otabek huffed, but there was a small smile in it as well. And then, as if to prove his point, he reached out and took Yuri’s hand, intertwining their fingers as he began to walk down the street towards the home of his childhood.
Only then Yuri noticed that this was not a wealthy area. It was suburban, traditional, but certainly not where the rich lived. It looked very much like the neighbourhood where his grandfather lived, and he suspected that just like the old man, Otabek’s parents refused to leave their home although their son supported them financially. Yuri knew that Otabek sent his parents money regularly, like most people who had grown up in less than ordinary circumstances but had come to a certain wealth later.
Eventually, they stopped at the gate of a surprisingly pretty little house at the end of the street. A garden surrounded it, and Yuri was sure that it was full of flowers during summer. But now, everything was covered in thick layers of snow, and only a narrow path that led up to the front door had been cleared. Yuri glanced at Otabek for a moment, wondering if this was a good idea, but Otabek did not hesitate any further and headed straight to the door, knocking firmly. Never letting go of Yuri’s hand.
A few moments later the door opened and a beautiful woman in her early twenties stood before them, her dark hair put up in a ponytail. Her eyes were of a dark brown, just like Otabek’s, and the line around her mouth and jaw was something Yuri had seen on his boyfriend before as well. Maya just looked like in the pictures Otabek had of her on his phone, and she looked just as constantly stoic as her twin brother. But at his sight, Maya began to smile, and she pulled her brother into her arms.
“Took you long enough, Beka,” she said surprisingly softly and buried her face in his shoulder for a moment before she pulled away again. Otabek nodded. Maya’s gaze dropped to their joined hands, and she gave Otabek a questioning look.
“I’ll explain later,” Otabek said and straightened his shoulders as he let go of Yuri’s hand. “Yuri, my sister Maya.”
Yuri nodded, shaking Maya’s hand, who studied him curiously from head to toe.
“Nice to meet you,” she said before turning to her brother again. “Beka, you know this will be something for our parents, right?”
“That is why I’m here,” Yuri said and moved a little closer to him, but Otabek remained completely calm. At least on the outside.
“We’ll see,” Otabek said. “Where is everyone?”
Just in that moment the door to their left flew open and the rest of Otabek’s siblings streamed into the hallway, reaching out for their brother and pulling him into the tightest of hugs. Yuri quickly stepped back, hitting the wall as he watched them smother Otabek entirely. He was sure that his boyfriend hated every single minute of it, but Otabek endured it all patiently, allowing his brothers and sisters to greet him.
“It’s been ages, Beka!” One of his brothers grinned and patted his shoulder heartily. Yuri noticed that they were all considerably taller than Otabek, even his younger sister.
“Good to see you, brother,” the other one said. “Don’t you want to introduce us to your friend over there?”
“Beka.”
A woman had entered the narrow hallway through another door, and her presence alone sent shivers down Yuri’s spine. He had seen pictures of her, every morning, even, as Otabek kept a photograph of her on his bedtable. But seeing her in person was something entirely different. She was in her mid forties, but she looked much younger, also due to the smile on her face that was meant for Otabek and for Otabek only in this moment.
“Mama,” Otabek said. He freed himself from his brothers’ grasp and rushed into the arms of his mother, hugging her tightly, only to pull away a second later, his eyes slightly wide as he glanced down at his mother’s belly between them
“Surprise!” She laughed, cupping his cheeks and kissing him several times.
“Surprise indeed,” Maya chuckled, leaning against the doorframe.
“You have swallowed a planet,” Otabek said. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I am, Beka,” Mrs. Altin said and rubbed his arms gently. “I’ve had you all, I’ll just have another. Not a big deal. Now, I want to meet Yuri. Where is he?”
Yuri blinked in surprise as his name was mentioned and stepped forward, shifting a little under the curious gaze of Otabek’s family.
Otabek withdrew himself from his mother and turned around, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he always did.
“Everyone, Yuri,” he said calmly, gesturing at his boyfriend. “Yuri, my family.”
“Taciturn as usual,” Mrs. Altin laughed and walked past her son to greet Yuri with a warm hug. Yuri was not used to hugs. In fact, the only person he ever hugged was his grandfather. And Otabek, occasionally. “Welcome, Yuri. We meet at last! Beka has told me so much about you each time he called.”
Yuri looked at Otabek in surprise at that. He had not known that Otabek had told his mother about him, especially not to what extent. But Mrs. Altin seemed happy to see him, and so, Yuri shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Altin.”
“The pleasure is all ours!” Mrs. Altin assured him. “Now these are Dimitri, Andrei, Maya, and Jekaterina. And the little one, who is still unnamed,” she added with a laugh and patted her stomach. “My husband is still at work, but I’m sure he’ll be home any minute. Now come in, come in! The hallway is so icy. We’ve made a fire in the living room.”
“Come in, come in!” Otabek’s oldest brother, Dimitri, held the door open for them, but Otabek hesitated. “I’d like to greet Babulya first.”
“Right,” Maya said, patting her brother’s shoulder as she made her way past him and into the living room, followed by the rest of Otabek’s siblings.
“She’s in the kitchen,” Mrs. Altin told her son. “She’s been making Chworost all morning. She will be so happy to see you. And you too, Yuri!” She gently rubbed Yuri’s arm and pushed him towards Otabek, who was already heading for the kitchen door. “She will be delighted to meet you! You see, Beka has never brought a friend home before.” And with that, she had pushed him through the open door into the kitchen, where an old woman stood at a battered kitchen table and worked on a rather giant batch of chworost. She was tiny and sturdy, wearing a colourful headscarf. For a moment, Yuri believed to see his own grandmother, who had died a few years ago while he had been away to train abroad. He had never forgiven himself for that. But it was touching to see Otabek’s grandmother alive and healthy, and the way she turned around to him slowly, the way she smiled at him and how the tears rolled down her wrinkled cheeks as Otabek hugged her showed Yuri that they had missed each other very much.
“I’m fine, Babulya,” Otabek assured her as she slowly reached up to pinch his cheek the way only grandmothers do, answering her unspoken questions. “Yes, I’ve been eating and drinking enough and I always got enough sleep. No need to ask.” He kissed his grandmother’s hands gently. “I’ve brought someone with me, Babulya.” He let go of her hands again and turned around, gesturing at Yuri, who stood awkwardly near the door, not sure if he was interrupting an incredibly private moment. “This is Yuri. Yuri Plisetsky. I don’t know if you’ve been watching the tournaments on TV but he’s been in them as well.”
Yuri had never heard Otabek speak that much before. Usually, Otabek spoke very little, a few words only. But with his grandmother, it seemed to be very different. She meant very much to him - that much was obvious.
Otabek’s grandmother looked up at Yuri, studying him from head to toe as if he were a box of vegetables at the local market. But then, she nodded, and reached for a plate of chworost, holding it out to him. Yuri blinked.
“Take some,” Otabek said, reaching for some chworost from the table. Yuri frowned a little, but followed his advice and took a piece from the plate.
“Thank you,” he said to his grandmother, but Grandma Altin didn’t withdraw the plate.
“More,” she croaked, fixating him with a determined stare that Yuri had seen before. It was not hard to guess where Otabek had gotten his legendary gaze from.
Yuri frowned, slowly taking one more piece, but she wouldn’t pull the plate away.
“More.”
This continued until the plate was almost empty, and only a small piece was left and Yuri had gathered a small pile of chworost in his arms. The old woman reached out to grab Yuri’s collarbone, feeling it for a moment before she withdrew her hand again, shaking her head as she went back to work.
Otabek smirked. “You don’t need to eat them all right now,” he said and gave Yuri a plate for the pile of chworost in his arms.
The thing that surprised Yuri the most about Otabek’s family was the fact that they were loud .
After knowing Otabek for several years, he had assumed that the rest of his family was just as quiet and taciturn as his boyfriend. However, it turned out to be quite the opposite case. Since the moment they had stepped into the house, there had not been a single quiet minute. There was always someone chatting, joking, shouting, or yelling. But most of the time, they were laughing, and the love between the family members could not be overlooked.
Yuri sat at the end of the table with his back to the fireplace, with Otabek to his left and Maya to his right. Maya seemed to be the only one that Otabek occasionally talked to during the meal, making small remarks to what she was telling him about, but otherwise, he remained quiet as usual. Yuri knew that Otabek didn’t like to talk while eating, but for his twin sister, he seemed to make one of his rare exceptions.
Otabek’s father sat on the other end of the table. He had arrived just a few minutes ago, and, after giving his son a gentle pat on the shoulder and shaking Yuri’s hand to welcome him to his home, he had taken a seat at the table and had begun to argue with Dimitri about work. Otabek had not told Yuri much about his father due to various reasons, and the way Otabek shifted on his chair told Yuri that his boyfriend did not feel entirely comfortable in his presence. Even Maya seemed to have noticed, and she shot questioning looks at her brother, but Otabek ignored her and kept eating, his eyes fixed on his plate.
Fighting the urge to reach for Otabek’s hand had never been harder.
“So, Beka,” Mr. Altin said, clearing his throat. “How long will you stay in Kazakhstan this time? I still don’t understand why you prefer St. Petersburg.”
Otabek raised his head for a moment. “We’re here for the weekend,” he said. “Our training continues on Tuesday.”
“I wish you would visit more often, Beka,” his mother said softly. “But training is important. We know that. Right, dear?” She looked at her husband.
Mr. Altin let out a small hum and reached for his drink. “It is,” he agreed and took a small sip. Then his gaze fell onto Yuri, and he reached for the bread basket. “You met at the Grand Final, right? We couldn’t come, but we watched it on TV. Impressive, I have to admit that. So you’re skating partners now?”
Yuri opened his mouth to give a reply, but Otabek shifted on his seat and cleared his throat, as if he were about to make an announcement. Slowly, he reached across the table and intertwined his fingers with Yuri’s. Their eyes met, and for the first time, Yuri believed to see something like anxiety in the deep brown eyes that he loved so much. Usually, Otabek was the calm one of the two; reserved and always in control of himself. But now, he seemed almost lost, and Yuri realised that Otabek needed his support.
And so, he gave his hand a gentle squeeze, holding his head high as Otabek turned to look at his father.
“Yuri and I are together, Papa,” he said, his voice slightly shaking. “We are a couple.”
The whole table fell silent instantly, and Maya drew in a sharp breath, looking first at them, then at her father in anticipation. Only Otabek’s grandmother kept eating as if nothing had happened at all.
For a moment, Otabek was sure that his father would yell at him. That he would call him the most unspeakable things and throw him out, declaring that he had one son less now and that he never wished to see him again. He was sure that his grandmother would burst into tears and raise her hands towards Heaven to beg God for forgiveness, and that his mother would begin to lament about her sins, claiming this to be her punishment.
But no such thing happened.
Mr. Altin’s gaze came to rest on Otabek’s and Yuri’s joined hands.
“Mr. Altin,” Yuri said, trying to sound braver than he felt. “We-”
But Otabek’s father stopped him with a wave of his hand. He sighed, shook his head and rose from the table, turning away and making his way to the living room without looking back.
Andrei was the first of Otabek’s family to speak again. “Well,” he said, grinning at Otabek and Yuri. “I guess someone owes me a tenner.”
“Fuck off,” Dimitri sighed and reached for his wallet.
Otabek blinked in surprise, staring at his brothers in confusion for a moment as his mother suddenly rose from the table and walked over to him and Yuri, pulling them both into a warm hug.
“I know, Beka, I know,” she said, kissing the top of his hair. “I’m very happy you found someone.”
“You…” Otabek stared at his mother, completely at loss for words.
“We’ve known that you’re gay for ages,” Andrei explained with a big grin and stuffed the banknote he had gotten from his brother into his pocket.
“I’m pregnant, not blind,” Mrs. Altin smiled and ruffled his hair lovingly. “And you, Yuri, you are most welcome here. Everyone who makes our Beka happy is one of us.”
Yuri opened his mouth to reply, but just then, Otabek’s grandmother had appeared beside him, putting more mashed potatoes on his plate. Again, she grabbed his collarbone and shook her head in disbelief at Yuri’s skinniness as she returned to her seat.
“Don’t worry about your father,” Mrs. Altin said and patted Otabek’s shoulder. “He’ll get over it.” She pressed another kiss to his hair and then returned to her seat, the family continuing with the meal as if nothing had happened at all.
After lunch, Otabek took Yuri upstairs to show him his old bedroom.
It had been his mother’s idea to send them out, as they had wanted to help with the dishes, but Mrs. Altin would not have any of it. She knew that after lunch had slightly gone wrong, they would need a moment or two to themselves, and no one would disturb them upstairs.
Otabek ascended the stairs of his childhood wordlessly, his hand brushing over the worn out rail. Yuri was walking right behind him, not saying a word either. He knew it was wiser to keep his mouth shut about what had happened until Otabek chose to speak about it, no matter how long it took. On top of the stairs, they turned left, and Otabek headed for the door at the end of the corridor that still had his name on it.
The room itself was small, barely big enough for a bed, a desk, and a small wardrobe. A vase with fresh flowers stood on the desk by the window, and the bed had been just made, as if the room had not been empty for years. A few posters of famous rock bands hung on the bleached out walls, most of them being firm parts of Otabek’s shower playlist.
“Nice room,” Yuri said, trying to fill the silence. “Did your-”
Otabek shut the door behind them and slumped down against it with a deep sigh, rubbing his face. “Fuck,” he muttered, clenching his fist.
Yuri had never seen Otabek so upset before. Usually, it was he who lost control of himself, who had outbursts of anger, and who cursed like a sailor whenever things went wrong. Otabek was always the calm one, the controlled one, the one who didn’t care what other people thought.
It was a new situation for both of them, and Yuri had never felt so helpless before.
Slowly, he sank down beside Otabek, touching his arm.
Otabek sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes. “He never wanted me to skate,” he muttered. “Said it would turn me into a girl. My mother talked him round.”
Yuri knew that kind of talk far too well. The moment he had begun to skate, the people had started to gossip, and he had seen how much the talk had hurt his grandfather.
People were shit.
“The others didn’t seem to care, Beka,” Yuri murmured, moving a little closer to him. To his surprise, Otabek leant into his touch. “Your brothers even had a bet going. And your mother-”
“My mother is an angel,” Otabek interrupted him calmly. “But it’s my father who…” He sighed deeply and buried his face in Yuri’s shoulder, the way he always did when he sought comfort. “He will not forgive me for this.”
Yuri wrapped his arms around Otabek, resting his chin on top of his head.
“My grandfather wasn’t too happy either, remember?” He said. “But he got over it. And if your mother says that your father will get over it then maybe you should trust her.”
Otabek didn’t reply, and kept holding onto Yuri for what seemed to be an eternity. Eventually, he raised his head and pulled away slightly to look at Yuri. It seemed that he had calmed down a little, and although there was still some of the anxiety left in his eyes, Yuri could see his usual stoic self returning.
“We can always leave and get drunk somewhere, right,” he said, quoting what Yuri had said before they had knocked on the front door.
Yuri nodded. “Whenever you want,” he said.
Otabek leant closer and pressed a surprisingly tender kiss to Yuri’s lips, one of the kind that did not ask for anything in return, one that was only meant to express gratitude.
Just then, a gentle knock on the door interrupted them and Otabek withdrew from Yuri, albeit rather reluctantly. “Yes?”
“Papa wants to talk you in the living room,” Maya said. “He’s pulled out the vodka.”
They heard Maya walk away, and Yuri looked at Otabek in confusion. “What does she mean by that?” He asked.
Otabek rose from the floor, grabbing the handle of the door. “Could mean anything,” he said, opening the door. But just as they were about to descend the stairs, Otabek stopped once more, turning his head to look at Yuri, who had almost run into him.
“Stay with me, yeah?” He said. “What he has to say he can say to both of us.”
Yuri raised an eyebrow, not sure if this was a good idea, but he nodded anyway. If Otabek wanted him there, he would not deny him.
“Thanks,” Otabek said, grabbing Yuri’s hand, holding it firmly in his as they made their way back downstairs.
Holding Yuri’s hand made him brave. It always did.
The living room had always been Otabek’s least favourite room in the house. It was where the whole family gathered in the evenings, and therefore, it was always the loudest room in the entire house. Only the kitchen, the realm of his grandmother, offered him some peace and quiet to clear his head. His grandmother had never talked much, but she had always known ways to make him feel better whenever he had a bad day. Even if it was just a plate of chworost. His grandmother meant the world to Otabek, and the fact that she had not wasted a single word about his relationship with Yuri worried him more than his father’s reaction.
His father sat in his old armchair by the television, a bottle of vodka and three small glasses on the table in front of him. Otabek didn’t say a word as he moved to sit down on the old sofa that was covered in his grandmother’s knitted blankets as usual, and so, Yuri remained silent as well.
Otabek’s father shifted slightly in his armchair, clasping his hands. “Look,” he said, clearing his throat. “If this is an ice skating thing then-”
“It is not an ice skating thing , Papa,” Otabek interrupted him dangerously calmly. His grasp on Yuri’s hand tightened, and they instinctively intertwined their fingers. His father saw it, but looked away again after a moment, as if the view were making him uncomfortable.
“I always knew you were… you know…” Mr. Altin gestured at him. “Not like other boys. I have to admit that I kind of expected something like this. It’s not that I judge you, Otabek, I really don’t, but just… give me some time to understand this, will you?”
That he had not expected to hear from his father, but Otabek would have accepted any kind of answer that seemed at least to some degree positive. And so, he nodded, meeting his father’s gaze.
“Alright, then,” Mr. Altin sighed and reached for the vodka bottle, pouring each of them a glass. “Sa sdorowje.”
“Sa sdorowje,” Otabek muttered and took the glass, emptying it in one go. Yuri did the same, coughing heavily as the strong alcohol burnt its way down his throat. Otabek patted his back understandingly.
“I might need an organ transplant,” Yuri breathed, gratefully accepting the glass of water that Mr. Altin pushed over the table towards him.
“It’s the family spirit,” Otabek’s father replied. “You will get used to it.”
He poured another glass and sat back in his armchair, glancing at the kitchen door through which Otabek’s grandmother had entered with a plate of chworost in her hands. She held it out to Yuri again, who took three pieces at once this time to show his good will. This time, she seemed satisfied, and as she put down the plate, she accepted the glass from Otabek’s father and emptied it in one go, not even blinking once at the strong alcohol.
“I can live with whatever it is you’re having, Beka,” Mr. Altin said calmly. “But we both know it’s not up to me to pass final judgement.” He looked up at the old woman beside him, as if he were expecting her to say something.
But Otabek’s grandmother remained silent. Instead, she put an arm around Otabek’s shoulder and gave him a gentle, reassuring hug. Then she reached for a blanket from the back of the sofa, putting it around Yuri’s shoulders. As she walked away, they could hear her mutter something that sounded very much like “skinny children are always cold.” Yuri couldn’t help but laugh.
Mr. Altin clasped his hands. “Well, that’s settled, then,” he said and refilled their glasses, but left Yuri’s empty. “We’ll go to the mosque tomorrow. All of us.”
Otabek raised an eyebrow. “Papa, you never go to the mosque.”
“Well, now I do, and you will come with me,” Mr. Altin said firmly and emptied his glass in one go. “And Yuri. If you hurt my son, I will kill you. Understood?”
Yuri huffed. “I didn’t wait for years for this idiot to tell me he loves me just to throw it all out of the window.”
Mr. Altin raised an eyebrow, and for a moment, it seemed as if he were impressed.
“Good,” he said. “Just wanted to make that clear.”
And with that he got up, stretching as he walked out of the living room and into the kitchen, asking for more chworost.
Only then, Otabek exhaled audibly and he leant against Yuri in relief, grabbing some chworost from his lap and biting into one as if he were famished. Yuri followed his example, and they ate the sweet pastry in comfortable silence, listening to the chatter and laughter coming from the kitchen. It felt as if a heavy weight had been taken off his chest, and for the first time that day, Otabek felt completely at ease in his childhood home.
“I told you we’d be fine,” Yuri said after a while when they had eaten all the chworost.
“Hmm,” Otabek hummed in agreement. He had closed his eyes, wanting to enjoy their moment of solitude as long as it lasted.
“I didn’t know you were muslim, though.”
“Non-practicing,” Otabek replied, opening one eye. “Problem?”
“Do I look as if I care?”
Otabek chuckled, and the sound of it was music to Yuri’s ears.
“One more thing,” Yuri said. “Your grandma. She terrifies me.”
“Me too,” Otabek said, putting an arm around Yuri and leaning back against the sofa. “Don’t worry. She loves you. The moment she gave you the blanket you were basically baptised.”
And so, Yuri chose not to comment on it any further, and rejoiced in the fact these people had accepted them. That they had accepted Otabek the way he was.
“We can still go and get drunk, right?” He asked, looking over at his boyfriend.
“Shut up,” Otabek muttered sleepily.