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Otabek doesn’t question it when Yuri tentatively slouches into the frame of his bedroom doorway and holds out his leather jacket, the collar hanging from his fingertips. Otabek simply sets down his book on the bed before standing up and walking over, taking the proffered item. “Bike?”
Yuri shakes his head. “Walk.” His voice cracks on the word and Otabek watches his jaw clench. “If that’s alright with you?”
Otabek nods. “Give me a moment to dress.” Yuri gives a half-shrug and refuses to meet Otabek’s eye as he turns around and shuffles back to the living room, dimly illuminated by the TV and harsh orange light from the streetlamp outside. It washes out Yuri’s pale complexion, making him look more exhausted and haunted than usual as of late as he leans on the back of the couch and stares blankly at his phone.
Otabek hurries to change.
It’s cool in Almaty for April, and Otabek instinctively hunches into his jacket as a breeze sweeps down the quiet side street he lives on. Yuri doesn’t flinch, even as the wind tugs at and tangles his loose blond hair spilling out from under his hood. He’s already partially hunched, his body coiled tight in on itself, and Otabek has to stop himself from letting his hand stray to the space between Yuri’s shoulder blades.
Otabek would never say it, but every time he saw Yuri shirtless, changing in a locker room or his bedroom, there was part of him that was tempted to check his back for scars. The news outlets still called him a fairy, much to Yuri’s continual ire, but Otabek always found the comparison apt. When Yuri skated with abandon, all-consumed by his passion for skating, nobody could dare look away; it felt like seeing new life bloom on the ice before Otabek’s eyes. Eternally ethereal and bewitching, even as he slid into adulthood, Yuri was the embodiment of the creatures of folktales. Even when he skated with rage and spite, the fury and determination clear on his face, it still entranced people. It reminded Otabek of a rusalka, the hostile type of fairy that lurks near the water and enjoys seducing men only to drown them or kill them with loud laughter. Whatever type of spirit Yuri was, he skated and danced like he should have wings, but even if someone had torn them from him as an infant, he wouldn’t let something as irrelevant as gravity stop him.
Once, slumped against each other in Otabek’s bed rewatching their performances at Worlds from a few weeks past, a commentator made a passing comment about “the dazzling performance of Russia’s Fairy,” and when Yuri’s inevitable muttering began, Otabek shared his rusalka comparison. Yuri grumbled a little less after that.
Now though, Yuri looked more painfully human than most.
They turned a corner and wandered down a larger boulevard, guarded carefully on both sides by trees bravely shooting out small buds and leaves. Even with the late hour, cars still occasionally zipped by, hurrying to carry their occupants home. This scene was becoming a ritual over the past two weeks, ever since Yuri had shown up on Otabek’s doorstep shortly after the season had ended, duffel slung over a shoulder, suitcase in one hand, an elderly Potya mewing pitifully from a carrying crate in the other, and the exhausted explanations falling from his lips: “I had to leave. I kept looking for him, like it was all fake. Like Grandpa’s just gonna pop up in a shop or outside my place and apologize for not calling.”
So, when Yuri couldn’t sleep, almost every night since he arrived, they went out. Usually Otabek slung Yuri on the back of his motorcycle and he’d do his best to outdrive the nightmares that plagued his friend. There had been several nights like this though, where things were quieter. Softer. Otabek was learning that these nights meant Yuri wanted to talk.
“You’re lucky you missed the snow. There was a freak snowstorm here while we were at Worlds.”
Yuri scuffs the ground with his foot, half-sliding as he walks, the sound loud against the barren sidewalks and building fronts. “That’s good,” he mumbles without looking up from the ground. It’s not much of a response, but Otabek appreciates the attempt. It’s been like that for some time now — Otabek trying out little things, seeing what helps and what doesn’t, and Yuri, even in his despondency, acknowledging them with the bare scraps of energy he has left.
Otabek lets the silence wrap around them again, knowing that Yuri will understand what he meant with his offering.
They meander through the neighborhood, skirting busier streets where music spills from bars and threatens the sanctity of their night. Otabek lets Yuri guide them, trusting him to ask for directions if he needs them. Eventually Yuri comes to a halt outside a laundromat and stares inside at the rows of machines. “I need to do laundry,” he says, sounding vaguely confused, like it’s a revelation that life has somehow continued marching on.
Otabek carefully leans into him, pressing their shoulders together. He watches as Yuri’s reflection sways into his own. “We can do it tomorrow if you want,” he replies.
Yuri nods, and they stand there for another minute before he sighs and jaggedly runs a hand through his hair, knocking back his hood. “Let’s head back.”
They’d mostly been walking in circles, so it isn’t long until they’re back at Otabek’s apartment building, but before he can enter the lobby Yuri tugs at his sleeve. “Do you know how to get on the roof?”
The question throws Otabek for a moment, but he grabs onto Yuri’s initiative and changes course for the alley that runs alongside the building. Above their heads is a fire escape.
There’s no hesitation. Otabek crouches alongside the wall so Yuri can clamber onto his shoulders, both men bracing their hands against the concrete as Otabek slowly straightens up and positions them underneath the metal bars. “Haven’t done this for a while,” Yuri huffs in amusement, straining his arms for the lowest ladder rung, and Otabek cracks a small smile.
After only one near-fatal fall from a poorly-timed lunge, Yuri snags the ladder and pulls it down with a loud clatter, swinging off Otabek’s shoulders and landing gracefully on the ground. Both of them stay frozen at the sound, staring wide-eyed at each other as they wait for someone to notice. A moment passes without incident, and Otabek snorts. “We’re acting like teenagers, expecting to get scolded for sneaking out.”
Yuri’s returning half-grin is sunshine in Otabek’s garden. “Sometimes I find myself worrying that Lilia’s going to catch me out at something and yell, even if we’re not in the same country.”
“A reasonable fear. I think that woman will be scolding you until you’re 40, no matter what country you’re in. 24 years old is still a child to her.”
Yuri lets out an amused breath as he begins to climb. “Especially when we’re doing the same dumb stuff we did at 16.”
Otabek doesn’t feel like pointing out that he was 19 back then and probably should have known better both then and now, and instead, shaking his head, simply follows Yuri up the ladder.
It’s not a particularly tall building, but it has a fairly unobstructed view of the surrounding area and the distant mountains cradling the city. They stand side by side at the edge of the roof, dusting flakes of rust from their hands and taking it in. Otabek feels another tug on his jacket and lets Yuri lead him to the center of the roof. It’s filthy with slicks of dirt and other dark substances half-revealed by the moon and ambient streetlight, but Yuri tucks his hair back inside his hood and lays down anyway, and Otabek settles down beside him on the cold ground, a few scarce centimeters apart.
There’s too much light for proper stargazing, but a few pinpoints of light break through the fold. Otabek admires them and the craters of the moon, adamantly not looking at the man next to him as he patiently waits. Full minutes pass by this way, until—
“What do you think happens when we die?”
It’s phrased as a question, but Otabek knows it’s not meant for him to answer. He thinks of the books that he’s read, conversations long past with his imam and his mother, long, ponderous trains of thought as he pressed against the window of yet another airplane, and softly says, “I’m not sure.”
There’s a soft hum in his ear before: “I think we get reborn.”
Yuri says it almost casually, like he’s quite certain, and the proof happens to be tucked away in his backpack downstairs. He ambles on in that same way as he continues to talk. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think the most likely outcome is that we just die, y’know? Out like a lightbulb. Nothing.” He pulls a hand out from his jacket pocket and lets his fingers stretch out towards the night sky.
Otabek doesn’t need words to hear the bitterly unspoken, If there was something after death, Grandpa would have said something by now. Nikolai had been gone for more than two months.
Yuri’s hand curls into a gentle fist and Otabek hears it fall against Yuri’s chest. “But I’d definitely make a side bet on reincarnation. Everything else sounds like bullshit, but that one… it makes the most sense.”
Otabek is quiet for a moment. “Why?”
He hears a scrape against the concrete and he turns to find Yuri tilting his head to match Otabek’s steady gaze. His eyes are bright with the moon’s reflection. “How else would you explain us?”
It’s not the answer Otabek’s expecting, and the words echo in his mind. He distantly watches as Yuri’s mouth curls up, clearly happy to have caught Otabek off-guard. “Who remembers a random kid from their prepubescent ballet class with that much detail?” His head lolls back so he’s staring up at the hazy stars again. “And when I first looked at you — not the first time I like, physically saw you, but when I really looked at you and we shook hands — there was just this feeling in my chest. Like something settling into place? I dunno, it’s hard to describe.” His hand flits above his chest, waving away his lack of clarity like he isn’t striking Otabek dumb. “But I’ve never forgotten what your face looked like in that moment. And everything after… it just felt like I had known you for a long time. Like I was waiting for you to show up, and things made more sense after you did.”
“...isn’t that just being happy at making a friend?”
Yuri snorts. “Is it?”
The silence lingers on for a minute. Eventually, reluctantly, Otabek finally speaks, the words swelling from a secret place in his heart. “I… think I’ve felt like that. Another DJ I met, when I was 17. I was surprised how much it felt like seeing an old friend, someone I had known forever, even though we had literally just met at an event.” He can see Yuri’s mouth flatten into an unhappy line, and part of himself takes a wicked hint of pleasure in the obvious jealousy, though his strongest urge is to reassure and to soothe. “We never exchanged information, and I haven’t seen her since. Part of me was sad, but also glad. What if we had met again and that feeling wasn’t there? It would have been disappointing.” He takes a breath. “But it’s never faded for you.”
Yuri startles at that, and sits up. “What?”
Otabek offers a small smile and sits up to match Yuri. “When we first met, something drew me to you. I didn’t have a name for it, but the urge to know you never left. When we saw each other in the lobby with JJ that first time, it came back and flooded me to the point where I was feeling overwhelmed. Then you called me an asshole, and I figured it would be best if I just left.” Yuri looks torn between embarrassment and impatience, but he can tell Otabek isn’t finished and manages to keep himself quiet, save for the breath that snorts out his nose. “When we talked in that park, and you agreed to be friends… it felt like how you described, a sense of something settling. A piece that had been missing returned.”
Yuri scrambles towards him and braces his hands above Otabek’s knees, leaning into his space. “You did feel it! You know what I’m talking about!”
Otabek just raises an eyebrow. “I felt something. I’m not sure it’s convinced me to believe in reincarnation.”
“We clearly were important to each other in another life, and some part of ourselves recognized the other.” Yuri says it with absolute earnesty and conviction. “That’s why we felt that way. That girl that you met was probably someone too. Like, maybe a sister or something.” His gaze cuts away for a moment, a blush barely visible over his washed-out complexion, and despite the conversation Otabek feels the urge to chuckle at Yuri’s possessiveness. Some things would never change.
“So it was destiny to find each other?”
Yuri finally unclenches his grip from Otabek’s thighs and leans back to rest on the heels of his hands. “Destiny is bullshit. I think we just got lucky.”
“You have all the answers.” Otabek is quick to cut off Yuri’s reply with his own follow-up. “But we are lucky. Whether reincarnation is real,” he shrugs, his hands upturned and open, though he holds Yuri’s intent look, “I know that a life without you in it is one that is less rich. I’m sure other versions of myself, if they existed, would agree.”
Yuri reaches out to take one of Otabek’s hands in his own. It’s covered in specks of black grime, but Otabek holds it firmly. It’s quiet while Yuri gathers his words, and his thumb runs once over Otabek’s knuckles. “I would always pick a life with you in it. I’d fight for it.” He laughs self-consciously, and lets his hair fall forward over his face, shielding his luminous eyes. “Maybe that’s one of the reasons I always felt the need to win so badly, even when things seemed impossible. If I had quit or failed, we wouldn’t have encountered each other as much, and we wouldn’t have ended up like we are today.”
There are dozens of things Otabek wants to immediately respond with — I think you would have wanted to win regardless; you belong on the ice; how can you say something like that with such certainty? — but instead he merely tightens his hold on Yuri’s hand.
It’s quiet on the rooftop for a long time after that. They sit side by side under the curtain of soft silver light, listening to the trickle late-night traffic and lost in their thoughts. Otabek finds his words eventually. “I’m grateful to have you in this life, and I hope I get the chance to find you in the next, if that’s how things go.” He breathes deeply, then nudges Yuri with his knee, drawing his gaze upwards to meet his own. “And I hope you find Nikolai again in this one.”
It’s as if Yuri is the moon itself, his face bright and softened by the light, holding all the secrets men of centuries past had craved to understand. “We will. Maybe not in this one, but again. Knowing you and I found each other again gives me hope for the next time ‘round.”
Otabek’s chest tightens with emotion. “Should we find a way to make it easier to recognize each other? We almost missed each other after all.”
Yuri laughs at that, startled but light. “Like a secret handshake? How would we even remember it?”
Otabek shrugs. “We could just think really hard about whatever it is. Like a prayer. And when we think we’re about to die, we hold it in our minds and focus on it, and hope it carries over.” It sounds ridiculous as it comes out of his mouth, but his embarrassment is tempered by the late-night atmosphere of possibility and the pleased curve of Yuri’s mouth and the glitter in his eyes.
“What should it be then? It’s gotta be something cool.”
“Something simple,” Otabek insists. “Anything complicated would be hard to carry over.”
Yuri pouts for a moment, then says, “Barcelona? It worked for us once.”
Otabek considers it, then shrugs. “Is that enough?”
“Ugh, fine. Barcelona and… is it cheating to say figure skating?”
“It worked for us once,” Otabek parrots, gently teasing, and they smile at each other. Yuri’s other hand crawls across the concrete until he’s leaning forward, grasping both of Otabek’s hands.
“It’s settled. When I’m 102 years old and dying in my bed, surrounded by my ten cats and my tame tiger—”
“Where am I?” Otabek interrupts.
“You’re there. Or maybe you’ve already died. You are older than me after all, and making it to 105 is pretty unrealistic.”
“And 102 isn't?”
“Shut up Beka, you’re ruining it. Okay, so I’m laying in bed, and somehow I know my time has come. Cats everywhere. I’m just on the edge of consciousness. I’m going to fill my head with thoughts of sunset in Park Güell and the motorcycle ride through the city center and overpriced tea shops. And then, when I feel myself slipping away, I’m going to play your triple axel and your quad salchow over and over in my head, how it sounds when you land on the ice, how your face looks like you’re a true king to the peasants. And finally, when it’s almost completely dark, the very last thoughts I’ll have are your name and your eyes.” Yuri pauses his monologue to catch his breath and focuses on Otabek’s dumbstruck expression. “I’m not the only one with eyes of a soldier, after all.”
Tears press hotly against the back of Otabek’s eyes, and he tightens the curl of his hands around Yuri’s. “It’s a promise.”
“It’s a promise.”
The world feels like it pauses for them to have this moment. There are no cars, no music, no distant door slamming shut, only them and their vows.
But, eventually, life must be lived, and Yuri breaks the silence.
“I really hate to ruin the mood, but my ass is freezing on this concrete.”
Otabek snorts, suddenly exhausted. “Is that your way of asking to use my jacket as a cushion?”
Yuri sticks his tongue out. “No. I would never desecrate such a beautiful article of clothing. That’s me asking you if we can go back inside.”
“You’re hungry too, aren’t you.”
“Always. Feed me Beka, before I wither away into nothing.”
Otabek grins crookedly at Yuri as they both stand up, dusting off their backsides. “That’s fine. I’ll just see you in the next life, after all.” He watches as Yuri rolls his eyes, and a warm feeling sits happily in his stomach. What felt before like a puzzle piece slotting into place, satisfying and right, now feels like the puzzle has suddenly smoothed out into a whole painting, cohesive yet wild, like nothing he’s ever known. Two halves are finally fused together, and Otabek knows they will never be separated again, not until their time runs out.
“You coming?” Yuri’s hand is stretched out before him, a smile on his face, brighter than anything Otabek has seen in weeks. “I want lamb manti.”
Otabek reaches out. “Always.”