Archive of Our Own ^beta

MILA

If not for the teenaged boy practically vibrating in his seat next to her in a truly disgusting display of disregard for the time of day, Mila was sure she would already be downface in her diet-approved, pre-competition hotel breakfast. She never slept well the first couple of nights in a strange bed, no matter how hard she pushed herself at practice, but Yuri clearly didn’t have that issue.

She stole a piece of fruit off his plate as punishment, but what would have normally caused a ruckus went by unnoticed; Yuri was completely absorbed in his phone, opening and closing an app over and over, the screen never dimming.

Then suddenly, Yuri’s head snapped towards the entrance to the hotel restaurant, his phone clutched tight in his hand, and as soon as short, dark, and handsome appeared, Yuri was off like a shot.

Mila grinned, abruptly awake as a wicked sparkle danced up her spine, and waved. “Come over here and eat with us, Otabek!”

Yakov’s head spun around from the next table over at the noise, and immediately realized his tiger had escaped its enclosure. “Yuri! Sit back down and eat or so help me! You need to be warming up in an hour!”

Mila scooted to the side and snagged a spare chair from Yakov and Lilia’s table, positioning it snuggly between her seat and Yuri’s. If it was three centimeters closer to her, nobody else would ever know.

As she expected, Otabek dutifully followed his livid friend, though her plans were foiled when Yuri dropped into the sandwiched seat and pulled his breakfast towards him. Otabek offered her a placid greeting from Yuri’s other side and Mila sent him her best audience-dazzling smile. He barely nodded in return as he settled into his breakfast, and Mila decided to switch targets. “You’re no fun,” she whispered, just loud enough to make Yuri worry. He glared at her, looking poised to bite, and it took everything she had not to laugh at him. She truly didn’t want to induce apoplexy in him though, so Mila reluctantly took pity.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” she murmured. “You get to eat breakfast with your friend without pissing off Yakov for sneaking off.”

“We weren’t going to sneak off,” Yuri hissed back. “We were just going to the other side of the room! Don’t pose this like you’re doing me some favor, hag, you just want to sink your claws in him!”

Mila knew two weeks after the Grand Prix Final in Barcelona last season that she and Otabek would likely never be a couple, no matter how cute their babies might have been. Watching Yuri text Otabek constantly, to the point where Yakov locked up Yuri’s phone in his office during practice, and hearing Yuri constantly rattle off things about Otabek any time anything vaguely relevant came up in conversation were clear signs of his massive crush to everyone. Well, everyone except for Yuri.

She had decided to push a little, just for fun, and teasingly asked Yuri to give her Otabek’s number. Yuri’s pale complexion usually made every mild blush look starkly red against his face, but she had seen fresh tomatoes less red than his face that day. “He’s my friend, not your new boy toy!” He had screeched before launching into some ridiculous tirade that was certainly going to get less cute the taller he got. But Mila gave him that one; she deserved it, or at least, some of it, for poking his sensitive little heart, newly exposed to the ideas of love.

A time would come when she finally shared with him the truth of the matter — Mila knew how important Otabek was and would potentially become to Yuri, and she wouldn’t dare hurt her obnoxious pseudo little brother by getting within a kilometer of romantic intentions towards Otabek, at least not in the next few years. If she tried to tell him that now though, she had a feeling it was going to shut Yuri down and push him even further into denial about… whatever was going on there.

Then her eyes and nose slowly brought her up to speed with the scene in front of her. “Yuri,” Mila said slowly, “Isn’t that coffee?”

“Yeah? So what?” Yuri snarled as he took a small sip and wrinkled his nose.

“Oh nothing, just curious when you went from considering it ‘Satan’s piss’ to an acceptable breakfast beverage.”

Yuri scoffed like it should be obvious. “It’s not for me,” he stated imperially before passing the mug to Otabek. “It’s cool enough for you to drink.

“Thanks, Yura.” Otabek’s mouth twitched up in a barely-there smile, and Yuri’s shoulders immediately relaxed as he beamed at his friend. Then, without ceremony or explanation, they both silently and synchronously returned to their meals.

Mila sat there for a long few moments, blinking. “Um. Why?”

Thankfully, sharing a rink for as many years as they had meant that no further questions were needed for Yuri to get her point. He rolled his eyes and around a mouthful of eggs replied, “So Beka doesn’t burn his tongue, duh. I’m tougher than him so I don’t mind checking.”

Otabek — Beka, oh my god, Mila could not wait to tell Sara about this development — nodded like this was a sane thing to do and continued to politely spoon yogurt and fruit into his mouth without comment.

Part of her was sad that someone so hot had to be so odd, and Mila said her final good-byes to her hypothetical Ota-babies.

But, on the bright side, this would make one hell of a betting pool.

Mila unlocked her phone and began to type out a text.

-

GEORGI

The Russians were getting used to seeing more of the illusive Otabek Altin, not that it helped Georgi understand what was going on behind the stoic mask any better than it had a year ago. Otabek had hung out with Yakov’s pack of feral skaters a number of times at this point, usually lurking at the edge of the group with Yuri at competitions, and on one memorable occasion when he came to visit Yuri and train with Yakov for a week.

“You agreed to train the boy?” Georgi had overheard Lilia tartly ask Yakov, several days before Otabek’s arrival. Yakov grunted then said, “He’s a strong skater, it’ll motivate the others to work hard. He’s quiet too, so hopefully some of that will rub off on the rest of those idiots.”

There had been a pause, some silent exchange Georgi couldn’t make out, and then Lilia, a hint of amusement threaded through her arch tone, added, “That, and Yuri is much more likely to comply with your requests if you hold this over his head, is he not? Extorting a child is generally frowned upon, Yakov.”

“What am I supposed to do?! He stopped being scared of me years ago. You and Altin are the only ones he listens to.”

Georgi couldn’t help but agree as he slipped away.

That first visit was rough. Yuri had been on edge, warning everybody to not bother Otabek and to not say “stupid shit” in front of him, but desperately trying to be on his best behavior so Yakov wouldn’t follow through on some of his choicer threats. Georgi and the rest could hear Yuri’s teeth grinding for days. Despite that, it didn’t really stop them from heckling Yuri. He couldn’t easily retaliate that week anyways, and it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Now they were in the throes of Otabek’s second trip to the Russian Federation, and thankfully, things seemed to be going better than last time. Yuri appeared more confident in his friendship, and puberty seemed to be calming down for him, so the general levels of rage and tension were lower than ever. Georgi might have even gone as far to say it was a pleasant week overall — Yuri was in a good mood with his friend here, and he hadn’t even threatened to stab anyone in the eye with a skate blade in a record-breaking 72 hours.

Still, Georgi couldn’t help but freeze when he walked into the locker room, long after everyone else had gone home, and saw the two teenagers on the floor.

“...uhhhh….”

Despite the intrusion, Otabek didn’t stop what he was doing, his motions rhythmic and controlled. Yuri turned his head to glance at Georgi with a raised eyebrow, his body moving up and down in a smooth motion. “What?”

“...why?”

Yuri shrugged. “Why not?”

Otabek grunted through another repetition. “He wanted it for Instagram.”

“Like you didn’t want it too,” Yuri scolded, poking his friend in the forehead. “Now we’re seeing how many he can do in a row. He’s at 18 right now. 19. 20.”

Georgi just blinked and watched as Otabek completed another push-up, his arms shaking more visibly now, with Yuri carefully draped across his back. He made it to 24 before his arms gave out and he hit the floor, the breath rushing out of his lungs in a low, “Oof.” Yuri quickly rolled off his back and snagged his phone from where it had been propped up against a water bottle, filming them. “It looks good, even with Georgi’s interruption,” he said, laying on the floor next to a panting Otabek. Georgi glanced down at the floor, confirming that, yes, it was still a disgusting locker room floor, back at the two boys laying in said filth, then decided he did not have the energy to care.

He subtly took a photo of the two weirdos, Yuri too caught up in arguing that he could at least do five push-ups with Otabek on his back, and texted it to Mila.

Georgi: I walked in on Otabek doing push-ups with Yuri on his back in the locker room.
Georgi: Are we sure they still aren’t dating???

Mila: you mean you don’t do push-ups cuddled up with your pals for funsies????? lol
Mila: but also, idk it’s Beka and Yura

Georgi: there are serious homoerotic undertones to this, I swear

Mila: w o w there are so many jokes I could make here, but I don’t want to give our resident grandpa a heart attack

Georgi: For the sake of our friendship, I’m going to ignore that
Georgi: I’m so glad I’m retiring after this season. You get to deal with the shitstorm that is Yuri figuring out his feelings eventually

Mila: we’ll all be dead by that point so it’s fine
Mila: but also they really might not be interested in that, y’know? actually you probably don’t know, since you can’t be single for more than a week before you succumb to whatever witch’s curse has possessed you
Mila: but for the rest of us, sometimes being friends is all you want from a person. romance isn’t the end-all

Georgi: What did I do to deserve this
Georgi: I’m just trying to help our Yuri find love and you’re bullying me

Mila: you deserve honest friends <3
Mila: I know you want our resident gremlin cat to be happy, but just let him and Beka do their weird little thing. if there’s something there they’ll figure it out. if not, they’ll just keep doing what they do, which honestly seems pretty great for both of them.

Georgi: ...Well currently what they’re doing involves Yuri attempting to do a push-up with Otabek on his back.
Georgi: I would take another photo for you but I’m pretty sure there is no angle I could take one from that wouldn’t look highly inappropriate.

Mila: pics pics pics
Mila: blackmail material Georgi, think of what we could use this for

Georgi: I’m not interested in being murdered by strangulation with laces from an ice skate tonight, thank you

Mila: You’re just mad you already lost the betting pool

Georgi: Can you blame me?! When this sort of thing happens in front of me regularly?! You’d think the youth would have pity on their elders… especially after the date I had this weekend…

Mila: aaaaaaaaaand blocked ❤

-

PHICHIT

As Phichit aimed his phone towards a blushing Guang-Hong and Leo, surreptitiously holding hands in the corner, a notification popped onto his screen. He automatically went to clear it before the name registered in his mind, and he hurriedly opened his messages. The eight photos he already took should be sufficient, after all.

Have you seen Yurio & Otabek? Yuuri’s text read. Yakov’s mad. Yurio was supposed to stick around to talk to a sponsor, but we can’t find them.

Phichit’s eyes lit up in fiery delight. No, but I’ll look! He furiously typed back, not even bothering to look at his phone as he started walking around the ballroom. Yurio and Otabek usually found a way to slip out of post-event banquets (how long they lasted before they bailed being a source of more than one betting pool) (seriously, the amount of betting pools surrounding these two was starting to get mildly concerning, even for Phichit), but if there was a chance they were still lurking around, Phichit was definitely going to be the one to track them down and finally get his hands on the photographic evidence he had been chasing for three years.

After Otabek’s widely-publicized “kidnapping” of Yurio back in Barcelona, followed shortly by Yurio’s wild exhibition skate, Phichit, Leo, and Guang-Hong had been in fierce competition with each other, trying to beat each other to get the scoop on what in the actual hell that was going on with those two. Guang-Hong scoured the internet for photos, diving deep into Angel blogs, but came up empty-handed. Leo had sworn he would win, betting on his past connection with Otabek as rinkmates and casual music friends, but to no avail. Phichit had heckled Yuuri endlessly, who continuously, and suspiciously in Phichit’s humble opinion, pleaded innocent with a plea of no knowledge.

But now, if those two were tucked away somewhere...

Well. Phichit certainly didn’t get to where he was by sleeping on things.

He immediately discarded all his first ideas. If the Russian rink gang was looking for the pair, they would have already checked the obvious places, which left Phichit torn. He didn’t know Otabek or Yurio particularly well, though not for lack of trying, and he wasn’t sure what their goal was in sneaking off. Secret sexy rendezvous? Quiet heart-to-heart? Better food? Better music? The options were endless.

Phichit had a feeling they wouldn’t be too far though. Yuuri had mentioned that Yurio tried to minimize the trouble he caused when Otabek was around, or close to visiting, in order to get as much leeway from his coaches as possible and to not reflect poorly on his friend. It was absolutely adorable, and it meant that the two of them were probably lurking in the vicinity of the hotel ballroom in case they needed to dart back in to assuage an angry coach. Unless of course, they were too distracted to check their phones.

A memory popped into his head and an idea struck him like a whirlwind. Phichit surreptitiously slid along the wall and made his way towards the kitchen entrance. If only he wasn’t trying to be sneaky; he would have loved to livestream this to Chris, who would’ve forgiven him for the late night call for hijinks of this caliber.

He waited until a staff member bustled out the door then darted in behind them, thankfully not slamming into any surprises. He kept his head down, flashing his award-winning smile at anyone who gave him a funny look, and glanced furtively around until, finally, he spotted what he hoped was the door to the cave of wonders.

Or at least, a sizable chunk of winnings from a number of friends and rivals alike.

Phichit approached the service door, carefully checking to make sure there were no surprise alarms — nobody needed a repeat of last year’s Golden Spin — and eased open the door, slipping out into the alley.

Lo and behold, there was a glimpse of a suit jacket and the smell of a cigarette likely bummed from one of the kitchen staff. Phichit sent a silent thank-you to the Kazakhstani skating fan who snapped a photo of the one and only Otabek Altin at a hookah lounge in Almaty last year after a disastrous competition. The photo had been taken down fairly quickly, but Phichit was omniscient, and Phichit never forgot.

Yuuri liked to bring up some of Phichit’s less-than-stellar grades to argue that point, but Yuuri was a jerk who wouldn’t confirm whether or not not-so-tiny Yurio and Otabek were a couple, so he didn’t get an opinion.

Phichit quietly crept down the alley towards the entrance, where Yurio and Otabek remained just out of sight. As he got closer, shivering in the cold, he began to hear the cadence of their conversation, which slowly shifted into actual words.

“Oh yeah, Hemingway was a fuckin’ knob. Can you imagine how he would’ve related the internet to his whole schtick about a lost generation? Like, the internet makes us all experience that sensation of hopelessness and… shit, Beka, what was that word you used last night?”

“Ennui,” Otabek supplied easily.

“Yeah, that. He would’ve been all over it, publishing essays in the New Yorker or whatever that would make me want to delete Twitter.”

As Otabek murmured a response, Phichit tried to close his slack-jawed mouth. This… this was not the conversation Phichit had expected to wander into between these two. He knew there had to be more to their friendship than just skating, but he figured it would be more along the lines of music and travel, maybe casual vandalism and graffiti, or just swapping spit whenever they got to see each other.

After each photo dump Yurio posted from skating events, inevitably containing at least eight selfies with Otabek and more than a few photos of shopping, eating, and scenery that Phichit was certain were also related to the stoic Kazakhstani skater, more than one commenter would express their confusion about how these two seemingly different people were such good friends.

What these fans didn’t know was that nobody else had a damn clue either. For as publicly as Yurio made their relationship with his selfies and off-season photoshoots in Almaty, the captions and hashtags never gave anything more in-depth than the fact that these two happened to be occupying the same space at the same time. When Phichit tried to pry, Yurio would at best roll his eyes and exasperatedly retort, “Why are you friends with Katsudon?” before marching away. Otabek would simply shrug and say, “We talk about the same things as anyone,” before politely inquiring about the state of Phichit’s current programs. Phichit genuinely couldn’t tell if he was changing the subject to hide something, or if that was just how Otabek was, but either way Phichit wanted to shake him upside down until he got some genuine reactions.

And now, faced with the reality behind all the secrecy, all Phichit could think was Why? What was the point of sneaking off to talk about dead authors when they could just as easily do that in the ballroom? Otabek could’ve smoked his secret cigarette in five minutes in the bathroom if he’d really needed a hit, rather than face the cold and dirty alley.

Phichit lingered for another minute, shivering and gathering intel as Yurio and Otabek’s conversation drifted towards, of all things, the radical transfem art scene in Russia and former Soviet states, before Yurio suddenly interrupted them by saying, “Okay, that was ten puffs, you’re done.”

Otabek sighed, and Phichit heard the sound of a cigarette butt hitting the pavement. He took that as his cue to move.

He snuck back towards the service entrance, then slammed open the door with as much noise as he could make. “Yurio! Are you out here? Your coach is looking for you!”

Even from where he was standing, Phichit caught Yurio’s “Oh, fuck,” and grinned. Otabek and Yurio quickly appeared around the corner, jogging towards Phichit.

Yurio looked pale as he scrolled through his phone notifications, only lifting his eyes to toss a truly unwarranted suspicious look at Phichit followed by a quick nod. Otabek offered a “thank you,” as he followed Yurio inside, only stopping when Phichit placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Viktor has breath mints,” Phichit told him meaningfully. Then, just to make things absolutely clear, “Just in case you don’t want Coach Yakov to think Yurio was smoking too. Probably wouldn’t be good since Yurio’s planning on visiting you soon, right?”

Genuine emotion flashed across Otabek’s face, and Phichit grinned. “Yuuri mentioned it,” he offered before the other man could ask.

“Thank you, Phichit,” Otabek said with feeling, his shoulders drooping in the slightest sign of relief. Phichit wished he had strapped a GoPro to his head to save this moment to play at his funeral as part of the highlight reel of his life. This would definitely make the top twenty, maybe even the top ten.

Phichit patted Otabek on the shoulder and released him. “No problem. What are friends for, right?”

Otabek nodded and turned away, slipping into the kitchen after Yurio. Ah well, Phichit had tried. He and Otabek would be best friends soon enough.

It took some time for Phichit to get a moment alone with Yurio. The younger skater had been nearly burned to death by the lasers Coach Yakov seemed to have replaced his eyeballs with, but a lifetime of pushing boundaries seemed to make Yurio sturdier than most and he had survived long enough to skulk at the edge of the ballroom after finally speaking with his sponsor.

Phichit leaned against the wall next to Yurio, watching the crowds of people as he fiddled with a glass of champagne. Yurio, scrolling through Instagram by the looks of it, glanced over at him and proceeded to stuff his phone in his pocket. The night was simply full of surprises.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Phichit said with a grin.

“Thanks for earlier. Forgot to take my phone off silent.”

“Of course! Happens to the best of us. Leo says my superpower is being able to find anyone in a crowd, so I have to put it to good use sometimes.”

Yurio snorted. “Is that just because you have tracking software installed on every other skater’s phone?”

“It’s the only way to ensure I get the best gossip,” Phichit said, throwing a wink at Yurio, who rolled his eyes but smiled a little. It gave Phichit the courage to push a little further.

“So… Hemingway, huh?”

Yurio immediately snapped his head towards Phichit and narrowed his eyes. “So you were eavesdropping.”

“Me? Never. Just like I never would’ve pinned you for an American literature enthusiast.” Phichit raised his eyebrows, unable to keep the teasing smirk off his face. “I only know him from going to school in Detroit; I was surprised you’d even heard of him.”

The look Yurio gave him could peel paint. “Education is important to my grandfather. He didn’t get to have much schooling, so any extra money we had went towards my tutors,” he reluctantly admitted, each word sounding like it physically pained him. “I’m taking online university courses right now. One of them is on American literature.”

“Wow Yurio, that’s amazing! Is Otabek a literature fan too?”

Yurio’s posture instantly softened. “He reads everything,” Yurio confided with a small, amused huff, eyes darting away from Phichit to scan the crowd, presumably looking for his missing half.

There was so much information being freely handed to Phichit that he wasn’t sure what to do with it all. He had come up with so many elaborate plans to try to win this betting pool, but all it seemed he needed to do was save the two of them from certain doom in the form of one terrifying coach.

He took his shot.

“I can see why you like him so much,” Phichit said, aiming for nonchalant, but Yurio threw up his walls before Phichit had even finished speaking.

“We’re friends,” Yurio replied curtly, shutting down any possibility of further questioning. Damn. Time for a tactical retreat and to repair this tentative bridge.

“Reasonable. I wish he was easier to read though, I’d like to get along with him better! Leo and Otabek shared a rink at one point and Leo said that Otabek’s really cool when you get to know him.”

Of all the looks Phichit expected, incredulous was not one of them, but there was no other way to interpret Yurio’s expression. “I don’t know why people always say that. He’s the most straightforward person I’ve ever met, he’s super easy to understand.”

One day, Phichit would truly like to experience whatever plane of existence Yurio and Otabek existed on. It seemed like a nice, happy little bubble.

Phichit nudged Yurio with his shoulder. “Then you two should hang out with me, Leo, and Guang-Hong sometime. Next time we’re all at the same competition or ice show, we could go out somewhere? I promise we’ll keep a limit on the selfies.”

Yurio still looked unsure, but he slowly bobbed his head. “...Alright. Maybe… we could go out to a club or something, now that I’m 18?” he asked, like he wasn’t sure if that was a normal thing to offer.

“Oh my god, yes! We absolutely should. What’s the next competition for you this season? I’m going to start a group chat with all of us.”

Phichit wasn’t going to win this betting pool tonight, but that didn’t mean he was giving up just yet. There were always more opportunities, not to mention more friends to make.

He took in Yurio’s pained look of regret. Okay. Maybe it would take a little longer to be friends. But they’d get there. And maybe along the way, Phichit would get a few clues to the mystery of Otabek and Yurio.

-

LEO

“Otabek!” Leo whisper-yelled as he frantically scanned the seemingly-empty onsen gardens. “Yuri!”

“Because that’s really going to work,” Phichit snarked without glancing up from his phone. Leo resisted the urge to smack him.

“What happened to your superpower? I thought you could find anyone!”

“I’m not a miracle worker. Those two have gotten better at hiding, too.” Phichit looked thoughtful, his fingers stilling over his screen. “Honestly, I could use some tips from them.”

“What’s the point when you’ll just post a tagged Instagram photo from your location in the first two minutes?”

Phichit apparently had no qualms about smacking his friends, unlike Leo. Leo rubbed his arm exaggeratedly while Phichit stuck out his tongue. “Guang-Hong wouldn’t be this mean to me if he were here,” Leo muttered, looking around the garden again, as if he could somehow summon the missing skaters. “How did we even get roped into this?”

“Because we care about our friends and want to make sure they haven’t drunkenly stumbled into the ocean or anything. Also, if Yuuri finds out Yurio’s missing, it might be the thing that finally gives him a heart attack.” Phichit shook his head as he finally tucked his phone away. “This wedding is going to be the death of him.”

“Maybe they should’ve gone with the Romeo and Juliet theme after all,” Leo commented mindlessly as he started walking around the outside of the buildings. They’d searched most of the inn by this point, and he was running out of ideas of places to look. Phichit’s comment about drunken nighttime ocean swims was starting to feel more and more like a looming possibility.

“Bite your tongue, Yuuri and I barely managed to talk Viktor out of that one,” Phichit complained as he caught up to Leo. “Think! You’ve known Otabek longer than me; where would he have whisked his not-so-tiny-anymore fairy away to for a romantic rendezvous?”

Leo wanted to tear his hair out. Was this why Yuri’s coach was bald? “Longer doesn’t mean better. It’s not like he and I were sharing tips on the best places to kiss at a Japanese hot springs resort in between training sessions. No,” he held up a hand at Phichit’s wide-eyed look, “I have no idea if they’re actually kissing. And even if I did, I wouldn’t help you win the betting pool! I already promised Guang-Hong I’d pass on any intel to him now that I’m officially out.”

“Traitor.”

“I prefer the term ‘loyal boyfriend.’”

“Also known as ‘terrible, no-longer-my-best-friend jerkbutt.’”

“Nice try, but I know Yuuri’s your real best friend. You’ll have to do better than that if you want to hit me where it hurts.”

They circled the property, playfully bickering all the while, but had no luck. A long, strangled sigh fell from Leo’s lips. “Do you want to check inside one more time? Or should we try walking down to the beach? Or maybe into town?”

“I already asked Chris to check inside for us, he’ll let me know if he sees them.” Phichit smirked at Leo’s look. “What, you thought I was just wasting time on my phone? Please, give me some credit.”

“I knew you were always smarter than people said you were,” Leo teased, dodging Phichit’s assault this time with a grin. “Okay then, I’ll check the road to town, you check the road to the beach?”

“I’ll do my best to save them if I see them drowning!”

“And then hold it against them until they agree to help with your ice show, right?”

Phichit blew Leo a kiss. “What are friends for?” He called out, denying nothing as he skipped down the road towards the glistening ocean. Leo shook his head at his friend’s antics and turned to make his way towards what passed for downtown Hasetsu.

Leo said a thankful prayer to whoever was looking out for him and this wedding when he spotted a blonde head of hair illuminated by a forlorn streetlight only a few minutes later. He hustled down the street and skidded to a stop in front of an unassuming bus stop bench, breathing hard and not quite sure what to make of what he was looking at.

Yuri sat stiffly on the bench, unmoving even at Leo’s appearance, while Otabek quietly snored, draped over Yuri and half in his lap. Leo bit back a laugh at his friend’s predicament, but from the way Yuri’s brow furrowed, he didn’t think he was entirely successful.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I forgot he does this sometimes.”

Yuri snorted. “Lucky you.”

Leo's mind flashed back to his early teens when he and Otabek shared a rink for a couple years. Otabek, quiet and fiercely determined even back then, who worked himself to the limit but still dutifully completed all the homework his tutors assigned and made time at the end of every day to call his family back home in Kazakhstan. Leo admired the younger skater, but he learned that so much effort had a few drawbacks.

Namely, Otabek had an absolutely horrific sleep schedule.

This resulted in one of Otabek’s lesser known talents: the ability to sleep anywhere, anytime. Leo had found him dead asleep in the uncomfortable plastic seats in the stands while waiting for his rink time, on a bench in the locker room after practice at least four times, and on one memorable occasion, under a piano at their coach’s house during a post-season party. When Leo asked about the latter, Otabek muttered that it had seemed like a good choice at the time, then thanked Leo for waking him before their coach found him and scurried off, presumably to find a better place to sleep.

And apparently his chosen sleeping spot tonight was on top of Yuri on a bus bench at 9:12pm on the side of the road in Hasetsu.

“We’ve been looking for you,” Leo whispered, and Yuri rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve felt my phone buzzing for fucking ages. What time is it anyway?”

“I… it’s a little after 9. Why didn’t you answer your phone if it wasn’t on silent?”

Yuri lifted his free hand from where it was resting on Otabek’s back to point to his other arm, which was neatly pinned by the sleeping skater. “Little trapped at the moment.”

“...and you didn’t think about waking him?”

“...No?”

Leo was certain his own expression mirrored Yuri’s Are you nuts? look, but he’d been awake for too many hours at this point to want to argue. Honestly, part of him wanted to join in on the cuddle pile, but that was probably a sign that he should find some caffeine. Or maybe a doctor.

“Okay, well, can you wiggle out? Yuuri’s looking for you, since you’re supposed to be helping him with wedding preparation stuff, so we need to get going.”

Yuri sighed like he’d be grievously injured and muttered something in Russian. Then, with a gentleness that Leo had only seen Yuri use with a stray cat, Yuri began to rub Otabek’s back, whispering softly to him. He moved his hand to run it through Otabek’s hair, and Leo wondered if he should look away from what felt like a private moment.

He knew Guang-Hong would threaten to break up with him if he missed anything important though, so Leo, as voyeuristic as he felt, kept watching the tender scene unfold.

Eventually, Otabek’s face scrunched up, clearly offended by his nap being interrupted, and cuddled up even closer, his hand clutching at Yuri’s jacket. “Beka, солнце,” Yuri murmured, amusedly exasperatedly. “ты должен проснуться.”

Leo had enough Russian to know that Otabek’s response was an obstinate “No,” followed by a rumbling few words that Leo wasn’t sure he could’ve understood even if they had been in English. He sighed, endeared despite the second-hand embarrassment, but he had a schedule to keep. Leo scuffed the ground with his shoe and loudly cleared his throat.

Otabek shot up, nearly clipping Yuri in the nose had he not jerked back at the last second. “I’m awake,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes with the back of his wrist. He blinked, squinting at Leo, before recognition dawned. “Hi,” Otabek croaked.

Leo smiled. “Hi. Do you think you can make it back to the onsen? Yuri and I can try to carry you, but, uh…”

“S’fine,” Otabek slurred, straightening up and running his hands briskly through his hair. He asked something in Russian, which brought a teasing smirk to Yuri’s face, who replied in a wicked-sounding tone before hopping off the bench and holding out a hand. Otabek clutched it and dragged himself to his feet.

Otabek staggered back to the inn between Yuri and Leo, who gently kept him heading straight on the sidewalk. After a few minutes of this, Leo leaned around Otabek’s back to catch Yuri’s eye. “Why were you two out here anyway?”

“We were going into town,” Yuri said with a shrug. “Beka was jet lagged but didn’t want to sleep yet, so we were going to grab some canned coffees from the convenience store.”

“But… doesn’t the onsen have coffee in the kitchen? Or tea at least?”

“Yeah, but Beka’s never been to a Japanese 7-11 and I wanted to take him.”

Leo thought about pointing out that maybe the night before his friends’ wedding was not the best time to undertake such an adventure, but then again, he wasn’t sure logic really factored into any aspect of Otabek and Yuri’s relationship.

Later, long after Otabek had been deposited in his bed and Yuri handed off to a frantic Yuuri, Leo stumbled down the hallway to check in with Phichit and make sure there were no other impending disasters he needed to help with. As he rounded a corner though, he bumped into someone. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Leo wheezed, clutching his chest. He glanced up into the bright blue eyes of Mila Babicheva, who wore a startled look and clutched a box of sturdy vases that had nearly doubled as his murder weapon.

“Are you okay? I’m the one who should be sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” Leo straightened up and eyed the way she held the box with surprising ease. “I’d offer to help, but it doesn’t seem like you need it. Unless you want help decorating or anything?”

Mila giggled and shook her head. “I’ve got it, thank you though. I’m just dropping these off with the other ceremony supplies and then I’m going to bed. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” They nodded politely at each other, saying good night, and shuffled past each other. Then, Leo froze. He quickly turned around and called out, “Mila?”

She paused and turned to look at him. “Yes?”

“Do you know what ‘son-say’ means?”

Mila’s eyes narrowed in on him. “It’s a term of endearment that means ‘sunshine.’” Suddenly, she seemingly teleported to stand far too close to him. “Where did you hear it?” She asked eagerly, eyes wide and searching like a bloodhound as she crowded into his space.

“Oh, just, uh, something Yuuri called Viktor,” Leo lied, mentally shoving the scene from the bus stop away from the forefront of his mind, worried that Mila’s piercing gaze could somehow read his thoughts. “Thanks, I’ve gotta go find Phichit and head to bed! Have a good night Mila!”

He scrambled away, and once he was certain the red-headed skater wasn’t following him, Leo whipped out his phone to compose a message to Guang-Hong.

-

YUURI

Yuuri slouched back against the boards, his body burning with trembling heat despite the ice under his feet. No sooner had an exhausted breath left his body than a pair of arms snaked around his chest, pulling him into a hug.

“You looked magnificent,” Viktor murmured in his ear, placing a small kiss on the soft skin just behind Yuuri’s ear. “Though your back leg could’ve been a little straighter, and your expression looked more bullish than hopeful.”

Yuuri huffed out a laugh and planted a hand against his husband’s face, shoving him away. While Viktor squawked, Yuuri grabbed his water bottle and carefully sipped, watching the other side of the rink. Phichit’s hands waved excitedly as he outlined some concept to Chris, Seung-gil, Otabek, and Yurio, who all listened attentively, interjecting occasionally with questions and comments.

Suddenly, Otabek and Yurio broke away while the others watched, skating towards the center of the rink. Without any sort of signal that Yuuri could hear or see, the two began to skate in perfect harmony, pushing and pulling against each other through a step sequence ladened with bright energy that clashed with the deeply intense looks both young men were wearing. Then, in the space of a breath, Yurio’s hand rested in Otabek’s, and they slid into a smooth backward inside death spiral. Yurio’s back arched away from the floor while Otabek anchored him, bringing a tuneless melody to life.

After a few rotations, Otabek gracefully pulled Yurio back to a standing position, and they skated through the next few steps in the routine before sliding to a halt. “Did you mean like that?” Yurio asked, ignorant to his audience’s mood and loud enough in the shocked silence for even Yuuri to hear from across the rink.

Yuuri shook his head as Phichit shouted something, Chris right behind him, while Yurio exasperatedly blew a piece of hair out of his face, hands on his hips, barely brushing against Otabek.

“You know, for a while I was convinced that the two of them signed a blood pact or something when they disappeared in Barcelona,” Viktor whispered conspiratorially. “It would explain so much.”

Yuuri smiled. “Which time?”

“Oh, any of them probably. Yurio would have run away to the ends of the earth had Otabek asked him back then.”

“And now?”

“I’d like to think he’d at least call us first, to let us know where he was going.”

That got a laugh out of Yuuri, and Viktor nuzzled into the side of his head, despite the sweat. “Vitya, I’m all gross,” Yuuri halfheartedly protested, which just made Viktor more committed to his actions.

Yuuri was so wrapped up in his husband’s affections that it took him a few seconds to realize that they had company.

“Seriously? Isn’t Phichit supposed to be your best friend or something? Quit canoodling with your husband and stop Hamster Boy from rewriting the entire show!” Yurio sneered. Only years of close proximity let Yuuri see the glimpse of panic in the younger man’s eyes.

Yuuri tried to untangle himself from Viktor, but his husband would have none of it, so he slumped into his embrace, happily resigned. “Um. Why is Phichit rewriting the entire show?”

“He wants Yura and I to play a more central role,” Otabek explained. “The King and the Skater routine set in the garden.”

“I thought Phichit was talking about Sara and Mickey doing that one.”

“I have a feeling darling Phichit took one look at Otabek and Yurio’s performance just now and realized their, ah, chemistry, would look better in those roles.”

“It doesn’t even make sense!” Yurio exploded. “We just look good out there because we’re fucking amazing skaters who actually studied the preliminary choreography Phichit sent out, anyone with talent would make it look good. Plus, our styles don’t even fit the scene, the Crispinos are all grace and fluidity, they make much more sense for conveying the emotional arc Phichit’s trying to achieve in the program.”

Otabek nodded in agreement while Yuuri and Viktor simply stared.

“You watched the movie?” Yuuri asked, incredulous.

“You studied all of the choreography? Even the pair skates? And you practiced them with Otabek?” Viktor exclaimed, his pitch rising with each question.

“Why?” They asked simultaneously.

“Really? You two, the kings of pair skating exhibition skates, are asking why we practiced a pair skating routine?” Yurio rolled his eyes so hard, all Yuuri could see was white. “It’s fun. Duh. And we watched the movie a while back.”

“Phichit, Leo, and Guang-Hong had a movie night at that ice show we all did in Moscow last year,” Otabek offered, rolling his neck. Yuuri didn’t miss the way Yurio watched him, and internally added a tally to a long, long column.

Yurio snapped his head away and skated forward, leaning over the boards and flailing a hand at the bench. “Viktor, grab my phone. I wanna show you our cat.”

“You already showed us the pictures of Potya’s birthday party,” Yuuri pointed out, but allowed the boy to change the subject. “I wouldn’t mind seeing them again though.”

“No, no, not Potya, I said ‘our’ cat. Me and Beka are getting a cat!”

Yuuri wished they were on the same side of the ice so he could subtly jab his husband in the side and wipe the feral grin off his face before he scared off Yurio.

“Otabek, are you moving to Russia?” Viktor whispered loudly, with all the drama of a stage actor.

“No—”

Viktor didn’t bother waiting. “Yurio!” He screeched. “You’re moving to Almaty?! When? Who will your coach be?”

“Shut up, SHUT UP, oh my god—”

Yuuri waved his hands to Phichit and the rest of the skaters, who had started making a beeline for them at Viktor’s yelling. Go away he mouthed, and Phichit, the blessed friend that he was, pouted but waved and reluctantly herded Chris and Seung-gil back towards the far end of the rink, glancing over his shoulder the whole time.

With a sigh, Yuuri turned to face the ongoing trainwreck of Yurio trying to yank Viktor over the edge of the boards and onto the ice. Otabek watched impassively from the sidelines, but gave a little nod when Yuuri made eye contact with him, acknowledging what Yuuri hoped was his plan to intervene if things got too rowdy. Yurio and Viktor needed to duke it out occasionally to maintain the equilibrium of their relationship, but it never ended well if things went on too long.

“Yurio! Vitya! Settle down!” Yuuri barked with a tone he had learned in his first month training in St. Petersburg. Yurio didn’t let go of Viktor’s collar, but it was good enough. “You’re not moving to Almaty, correct?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to say, but your idiot husband doesn’t listen—”

“That’s enough. Viktor, stop riling up Yurio. Yurio, please unhand my husband before you do permanent damage. He’s getting more delicate with age. Like a fine wine, or rare china,” he hurried to reassure his hurt-looking husband.

“Like shoddy craftsmanship,” Yurio muttered, but he opened his hands and slid backwards until he bumped into Otabek, who steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.

Yuuri had to bite back another sigh. “Yurio, you said you had pictures?” He asked in an attempt to placate at least one of the Russians. Cute animal photos would go a long way towards soothing Viktor too.

The words were barely out of Yuuri’s mouth before Yurio had his phone screen in front of them, the fight completely drained out of him as he bounced on his skates.

“Isn’t she beautiful? She’s a Bengal cat.” Yurio swiped through a series of photos of a litter of kittens and then photos of a single cat. “We haven’t settled on the name yet, but we have a few options in mind.”

“It will depend on her personality,” Otabek added, leaning over Yurio to look at the pictures. Yuuri caught a small smile on his face. “I’m going to train her on a leash so I can take her with me when I can.”

“So… she’ll be living with you, in Almaty?” Yuuri felt like he was groping around in the dark for an answer, and was relieved when Otabek and Yurio both nodded.

“Yeah, most of the year she will be. But Beka will bring her with him to visit, and I’ll see her when I visit him. I’ll also make sure Beka takes some of my clothes I’ve already worn so she has my scent, and I’ll see her on video chat every night, so she’ll still hear my voice.”

Another tally. “Well, it sounds like you have a plan.”

“If you’re going to train her on a leash, does that mean she can go on walks with Micchan?” Viktor asked, pulling the phone closer to his face so he could see the photos better. He really, truly despised wearing his glasses, no matter how often Yuuri told him he looked good in them, but ah, well. An argument for another day.

“Sure, I don’t see why not. She’s going to be smarter than any dog after all,” Yurio boasted.

They all admired the cat photos a while longer until Phichit sent Yurio a text message asking if it was safe for him to come over to their side of the rink. “Guess it’s back to work,” Yurio sighed happily.

“Yurio, Otabek, before you go,” Viktor said with a sly grin. Yuuri had visions of bloodshed and felt tempted to close his eyes. “Is there a registry we should buy things from?”

Forget mere bloodshed. Islands sinking into the sea, never to be seen again, seemed like a more accurate portrayal of what was to come.

“A registry?” Yurio asked, his brow furrowed. “What for?”

“Well it wouldn’t do for a child to have unwed pa—”

Yuuri, for the second time in the space of under fifteen minutes, smacked his husband in the face like an obnoxious fly. It might be a record. “A new parent registry!” Yuuri laughed nervously. “You know, people set up registries when they have a child! For gifts and things!”

Yurio and Otabek both stared. “It’s a cat. Not a child. Not everyone is as bonkers as he is—” Yurio jabbed a finger at Viktor, clutching at Yuuri’s wrist in a futile attempt to dislodge him— “about their pets.”

Otabek cleared his throat, a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, and Yurio whipped his head to glare at him.

The moment was immediately defused when Otabek reached up to tuck a loose strand of blonde hair behind Yurio’s ear. Both men froze, Otabek’s hand still hanging midair. Yurio’s fair skin flushed pink, and both wore stricken expressions. Their gazes dropped to the ground and they began to babble.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked—”

“No, it’s fine, thank you,” Yurio protested, tilting his head forward and dislodging the hair Otabek had just fixed. “My goddamn hair tie snapped earlier—”

“I have an extra one in my bag I keep for you, if you want it—”

“That’s, I mean, sure, that would be great. Thanks. Thank you.”

The two skated off without another word, taking furtive glances at when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

Yuuri finally released his husband, who immediately blew a raspberry on his cheek in retaliation. “Yuuuuri, if we don’t push them, how are they ever going to get anywhere? Look at them! They’re adopting a cat together, sort of, and they’re still too scared to confess their feelings!”

“I know, Vitya, I know.” Yuuri wiped the slobber from his cheek and turned to watch Yurio and Otabek waffle over who was going to go through the exit first.

“Were we ever this bad?” Viktor mused, curling around Yuuri like an especially handsome octopus. Or maybe a koala; their fur was grey, closer to Vitya’s hair color. They looked a lot cuddlier than an octopus too.

“No,” Yuuri said decisively, then squeaked when Viktor leaned over the boards to grab his ass. “Vitya!”

Viktor gave him a defiant squeeze and hooked his chin over Yuuri’s shoulder. “It’s been, what, nearly six years since Mila started the betting pool? I think we’re going to reach the statute of limitations.”

“Probably best if nobody wins,” Yuuri replied. “We all get to keep our money at least.” He placed a quick kiss to Viktor’s cheek before wiggling out of his grasp to get back to practice. Phichit’s ice show had to be a raving success after all.

“I wonder if anyone will ever know what in the world is going on with those two.”

-

NIKOLAI

Nikolai didn’t like to push his grandson into sharing things. It wasn’t usually an issue; whenever they were reunited, Yurochka barely breathed in the first hour, he was so excited to tell Nikolai the highlights of the past few months.

Sometimes though, Nikolai was sorely tempted to pick up the phone and demand an explanation.

His neighbor was a lovely woman, a bit prone to gossip perhaps, but blessed by the saints themselves when it came to baking. Nikolai was proudly adept in the kitchen — had to be, after his wife, may she rest in peace, had passed away far too young — but he could not begin to rival the confectionaries that miraculously came from this woman’s apartment.

It just so happened that she had a granddaughter, several years younger than his own grandson, who was a fan of figure skating, and especially of Yurochka. It worked out well for both Nikolai and his neighbor then that occasionally, she would bake him a plate of whatever he wanted in exchange for some signed memorabilia. The deal also came with the side effect of figure skating gossip via the granddaughter, for better or for worse.

When Nikolai saw the photos in the gossip rag his neighbor stuck under his nose with the words “Yuri Plisetsky, the Fairy of Russia, kidnapped by Otabek Altin, the Hero of Kazakhstan?!” boldly emblazoned over top, it took everything in him not to call Yurochka or his coach, or even fly to Barcelona himself.

But, as his neighbor excitedly asked him if he’d heard from Yuri and if he knew who this Altin fellow was, Nikolai carefully examined the photos and felt his blood pressure begin to fall. There was no fear on his grandson’s face in any of the pictures. At worst, his body language read as awkward, but he didn’t seem to be terribly upset at being supposedly kidnapped. The article mentioned that this Otabek Altin person, another figure skater apparently, had “arrived out of nowhere and swooped Yuri away from a group of adoring fans,” which sounded more like a rescue to Nikolai.

And at least Yurochka was wearing a helmet in all the photos. The Altin boy couldn’t be all bad, Nikolai generously supposed.

So, he waited. He watched Yurochka skate on the television, as graceful and emotional as ever, and if Nikolai let slip a few proud tears when the gold medal was placed around his grandson’s neck, there was nobody else there to comment. They spoke briefly on the phone after the awards ceremony, but there was only congratulatory talk and promises of future celebration, no mention of the Kazakhstani boy. Nikolai was patient though, and he knew there would be time for discussion later.

That patience nearly flew out the window when he saw the exhibition skate Yurochka performed alongside the Altin boy. He did reluctantly chuckle at the end though, when the cameras panned to the rink exit as Yurochka and his “friend” left the ice, and Coach Feltsman’s apoplectic face came into view. It helped Nikolai let some of his frustrations go, knowing that his grandson was about to experience a multi-day lecture.

They spoke on the phone several more times in the next two weeks, but never for long as Yurochka ran from interview to photoshoot to yet another interview. Eventually though, his grandson managed to flee the cameras for a weekend trip to Moscow.

Nikolai cooked all his grandson’s favorites while Yurochka chattered happily about anything and everything, except, notably, for Altin and the exhibition skate. While they tucked into their dinner, Nikolai decided he would give Yurochka until tomorrow afternoon to bring it up.

As it turned out, he had nothing to worry about.

Their plates were scraped clean and their bellies round when they settled in front of the TV. Nikolai heaved a sigh as he relaxed in his armchair, fighting a wave of drowsiness as he reached for the remote.

A quiet “Grandpa?” brought him to full alertness, however.

Yurochka curled up on the couch, fiddling with a loose thread on one of the cushions. It struck Nikolai how small and how young he was, despite everyone in the world that seemed eager to argue that point, including the boy himself. Nikolai sat up straighter and gave his grandson his full attention. “What is it, Yurochka?”

“You… you watched my performance, right?”

“Of course. You know I would never miss one.”

“I know, I know, but… did you watch all of them?”

Ah. “You mean did I watch your exhibition skate?” Nikolai tried not to laugh when his grandson hunched in on himself so much that his shoulders nearly reached his bright red ears. He looked an awful lot like his mother when Nikolai had caught her stealing from his vodka stash as a teenager. All things considered, an over-the-top performance was nothing to be too worried about.

“It didn’t seem like the kind of thing your coaches would approve of,” Nikolai remarked blandly.

Yurochka gave him a suspicious look, then cautiously said, “It was a last-minute idea I had. Well,” he swallowed, “it was my idea, but my… my friend, Otabek, he and I planned it together. The night before.”

“Otabek Altin, yes?”

“Yeah, he’s a figure skater from Kazakhstan, he came in fourth. Even though he should have taken third,” he added with an angry mutter.

Nikolai hummed, then decided to end his grandson’s suffering. “A figure skater from Kazakhstan, huh? I thought he was a hero of Kazakhstan?”

He chuckled as Yurochka dragged the neck of his sweatshirt over his face and groaned loudly in embarrassment. “Did your nosy neighbor show you the articles?”

“Oh yes, she took great pleasure in showing me and asking if I had known about you and this Altin fellow. I’m sure her granddaughter is going to start pestering me for signatures from both of you now.”

Yurochka groaned again, then slowly let his eyes peek out. “I’m sorry, Grandpa.”

“Do you have anything to be sorry for?”

His grandson squirmed. “For giving your neighbor more reasons to annoy you. And for not telling you sooner what had happened.”

“Yurochka.” Nikolai leaned forward, making sure he had his grandson’s full attention. “As long as you are safe, that is all I care about. You’re starting to grow into the man you will become, and you’re allowed to keep some things to yourself. Just don’t leave your grandfather out of the important things, alright?”

The air was knocked out of his lungs as Yurochka lunged off the couch to crush him against the chair in an admittedly uncomfortable hug. Nikolai returned it anyway, with as much vigor as he could muster.

“Of course, Grandpa. You’re my favorite person, I’ll always want to tell you everything. I just… I wanted to tell you in person? I don’t know why, it sounds silly now.”

Nikolai patted his back, and Yurochka got the message, pulling back. “Sometimes we want to share important things in person.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is this Otabek Altin important to you?”

Yurochka blushed again, and Nikolai sent a prayer to his wife and the saints. He had hoped professionally skating would keep his grandson too busy for teenage romance, and the inevitable heartbreak, but luck was not on his side it seemed.

“He’s my best friend,” Yurochka exclaimed, nearly vibrating, likely with the excitement of finally sharing this secret. “Can you be best friends after just a few days? Whatever, he’s definitely my best friend. Did you know he and I went to Yakov’s training camp when we were kids? Do we have any photos of that? It was the summer when I was 10. Can we look for them later? I want to see if I can find any of us so I can send them to Otabek. He’s so cool, Grandpa, he rides a motorcycle and he’s a DJ in his freetime. He has such great taste in music, and his skating! Holy shi— I mean, uh, he’s just really good. Can I show you some of his routines? He didn’t really get to skate during my exhibition skate and I want you to see what I’m talking about.”

Yurochka was already bouncing away to grab his laptop from his backpack, leaving Nikolai with a spinning head. Soon enough, he was watching a figure skating routine from the Grand Prix, bombastic music playing as a figure in blue, brown, and white leapt across the ice.

His grandson’s eyes were shining with the screen’s reflection, and maybe something else. “Isn’t he awesome? Wait, wait, watch this— did you see the distance and height he got on that salchow?”

Nikolai nodded slowly, trying to find the right words. “He’s a much different skater than you or that Kachuki person.”

“Katsuki,” Yurochka corrected mindlessly, eyes tracking the skating on the screen.

“The other Yuri,” Nikolai amended. “Otabek seems like a strong skater. Powerful.”

“Yeah, that’s a good word for his style. Like he’s leading an army to war or something.” Yurochka sighs. “I wish I could skate like that. I don’t think Yakov or Lilia would let me though, it doesn’t fit with my image right now.”

“Well, maybe when your growth spurt hits it can become your image.”

“I wish. Otabek’s not even that tall though, he’s only a couple of centimeters taller than me.”

Nikolai smiled and ruffled his grandson’s hair, who leaned away with a huff. “You’re only 15, you have time. You are not set in stone just yet.”

As conversation meandered, towards Yurochka’s skating dreams and his plans for the next few months, they still inevitably returned to the Kazakhstani skater. Sometimes it was just a passing comment about how Altin agreed with something Yurochka thought, and other times it was a breakdown of the man’s career trajectory.

Nikolai got the suspicion he was going to be hearing a lot about Otabek Altin in the coming months. He was grateful that at least the two were in separate countries; he wasn’t quite prepared to give certain talks about physical and emotional relationships, and maybe the distance would prevent anything like that from becoming an issue in the first place. He wasn’t ready for his grandson’s first romantic heartbreak, either.

But a year passed without incident. Yurochka still inevitably mentioned Otabek in their conversations and he regularly showed Nikolai selfies of the two of them whenever they had a mutual competition, to the point where it had become the new normal. Nikolai’s neighbor had even stopped mentioning it beyond a passing, “Oh, and how is Yuri’s friend? They’re doing well?”

Things came to a bit of head when Otabek came to Russia for a week of training under Coach Feltsman’s tutelage, but during Yurochka’s panicked phone call, asking his grandfather if it was too late to ask Otabek to cancel his tickets, Nikolai managed to calm him down and remind him that they were friends for a reason, and nothing was going to change that, even if his rinkmates did try to embarrass him.

Another year came and it felt remarkably similar. Yurochka continued to do well in school and in skating, though puberty had started to truly sink its claws into him, which meant slightly fewer gold medals and a little less income. Nikolai didn’t mind — he was always willing to cut back on some things to make sure the fees for Yurochka’s coaches and tutors were paid and his savings account still received its regular deposits — but he was surprised that he didn’t receive more worried phone calls from his grandson. When he finally brought it up, Yurochka admitted Otabek had been giving him advice and support. The Kazakhstani boy had also urged Yurochka to talk to Viktor Nikiforov, his fickle but famous rinkmate, since he had experienced a similarly painful growth spurt.

Nikolai still hadn’t met Otabek, but he found himself growing affectionate towards the boy. Anyone who looked out for his grandson with such kindness and common sense was worthy of at least a few of Nikolai’s famous piroshkis. So, when Yurochka mentioned Otabek was coming back to Russia for what seemed to be evolving into an annual week of training, Nikolai told him that they should both fly to Moscow for a weekend.

At last, he thought to himself, I will see what is really going on here.

He met them at the airport, where Otabek greeted him with a steady gaze and a firm handshake before loading up his and Yurochka’s luggage. Yurochka took the opportunity to hug Nikolai, more careful than he had been only a couple of years ago. Nikolai expected a whispered plea of “Be nice to him, Grandpa,” but instead what he got was, “Missed you, Grandpa. Thanks for having us.” He pulled back with a brilliant grin. “I’m so glad to have you both in one place! This is going to be such a good weekend.”

And Nikolai knew.

Whoever Otabek Altin had been, was, or might become, he was now Yuri Nikolaevich Plisetsky’s person. And as Yurochka’s other person, Nikolai was going to do his damndest to get along with the boy.

Thankfully, it wasn’t difficult. Otabek was polite to the point of stiffness on occasion, and shockingly quiet compared to Yurochka, but he warmed up by the second day. Nikolai hoped shoving him full of food, asking him questions about his programs, and having a surprisingly lively discussion on Soviet folk music had something to do with it, but he had a feeling it was simply being near his grandson. Their eyes never left each other much, unless they were side-by-side on the couch, talking and watching some silly show Nikolai had only put on for background noise.

Nikolai hadn’t been sure where to put the boy — it felt wrong to ask him to take the small, beat-up couch, but he wasn’t entirely certain of his intentions with his grandson — but Yurochka again surprised him by practically ordering the older skater to take his single bed while he slept on the couch. Otabek went, but only after Yurochka agreed to swap the following night.

Yurochka had other friends. The red-headed girl at his rink, Mila, had adopted him early on it seemed, and Viktor and his fiancé, the other Yuri, came up frequently in conversation as well. He’d even been bringing up a few other names lately that Nikolai vaguely recognized from watching competitions on TV: Leo, Guan-han, and Pee… Fi… the Thai boy, whose name never seemed to stick in Nikolai’s mind. Yuri had sent a photo of the four of them at some competition a few months ago, and while Yuri had been making a sour face, there was no arm around his neck forcing him to stay for the photo.

Still though. Watching him laugh and smile and talk and complain with Otabek in a way that even Nikolai didn’t quite recognize — well, it made him a little sad, to know that he was going to have to share his grandson. But mostly he was happy that there was someone to look out for Yurochka, and that his grandson was finally letting someone have the best parts of him, in addition to all the prickly bits.

The trip ended too soon, but there were handshakes and hugs and promises of a future reunion. Nikolai patted them both on the shoulder as he dropped them off at the airport, and told them he would try to meet them in St. Petersburg next time, but only if they fed an old man some good food.

More years swirled by, both faster and slower than Nikolai expected. As he suspected, he saw his grandson a little less; his off-season vacations, when not stuffed with money-making ice shows and special training camps, were split between Moscow and Almaty, and occasionally Japan. Nikolai found ways to fill his time though; he now had two professional figure skaters to watch after all, and he took pleasure in watching them both grow on and off the ice.

There was an ice show in Moscow one year, and both Yurochka and Otabek were slated to perform. They invited Nikolai to the rink a few days beforehand to see them practice, and Nikolai, thinking of the stiff plastic seats and his bad back, said yes anyway.

Another set of skaters was on the ice at the moment, but Nikolai wasn't particularly interested. Yurochka and Otabek were coming onto the ice soon, and they were lounging against the side of the rink, oblivious to everything around them except each other. Nikolai watched as they spoke, clearly discussing something with passion; it could be the health of Yurochka’s aging cat, a book or an article, or an upcoming competition. Anything was possible with them, Nikolai had learned.

Their names, Nikolai suspected, would never be heralded as the love story of the century like their colleagues Viktor and Yuri, but there was a nearly-visible, undeniable bond draped over their shoulders. Neither wore rings on their fingers, but the way their shoulders pressed against each other, Yuri’s free hand gesticulating wildly as he looked at something unseen on the ice while Otabek gazed intently at him — it was everything anyone needed to know.

Nikolai crossed his arm and watched the oblivious couple. They’ve grown up well, haven’t they?

What their relationship had grown into though, even Nikolai wasn’t quite certain. He didn’t think it was a young person thing, based on the way some of Yurochka’s friends had pounced on Nikolai after the ice show, not-so-subtly hunting for hints as to the exact nature of the two men’s relationship — he thought he heard a mention of a betting pool — but whatever was going on seemed to work for the two of them.

Until it didn’t.

Nikolai stumbled through his living room early one morning, summoned by frantic pounding at his door, and debated whether he should finally give his cantankerous landlord a piece of his mind for waking him like this. But when he yanked open the door, his eyebrows nearly shot off his face at the sight of his bedraggled grandson.

After an awkward moment, Yurochka stepped forward to give Nikolai a tentative hug before quickling pulling away. “Sorry for just showing up like this. I finished that ice show in Thailand for Phichit, and I changed my ticket for Moscow at the last second. I would have called, but I didn’t want to wake you.” He tried to smile, but his mouth didn’t quite cooperate. “I guess I ended up waking you anyway,” he said, gesturing at Nikolai’s sleeping clothes.

“You’re always welcome, Yurochka, no need for apologies. Is everything alright?”

Hitching his bag up higher on his shoulder, Yurochka fiddled with the strap and refused to make eye contact. “Yeah, I wanted a break and to see you. That’s all. Do you have any food in the house? Should I go grocery shopping?” He moved to head towards the kitchen — and do what, Nikolai wasn’t sure, but it likely involved either inventorying and reorganizing his entire kitchen or hyperventilating into a jar of pickles — but Nikolai stepped in front of him.

“Are you sure everything is alright? Because I do not think it is.”

Nikolai thought it would take more than that to get his grandson to confess his worries.

Apparently he was mistaken.

He wrapped his arms around his suddenly sobbing grandson, tall enough now where he could no longer tuck him under his chin, but Nikolai rubbed his back and soothed him the way he had when Yurochka had been a baby with quiet shushing noises.

It took some time, but Nikolai eventually settled Yurochka at the kitchen table with a glass of tea. The heart-wrenching sobs had quieted to sniffles, but Nikolai hated to see the way Yurochka seemed to fold in on himself.

He didn’t like to push his grandson into sharing things, but there were always exceptions to the rules.

“Tell me.”

“It’s stupid,” Yurochka whispered hoarsely as he fiddled with his tea cup. Nikolai wanted to argue that, but he was patient. Instead, he waited.

Eventually, Yurochka’s voice filled the silence. “I told you Otabek and I were getting a cat together.”

“...Yes,” Nikolai said, though he didn’t quite grasp the joint pet ownership situation in its entirety. “She’ll be mostly living with Otabek you said. You showed me the photos. Did... something happen to the cat?”

Yurochaka lifted his head up, and his expression was so painful Nikolai wanted to wrap him in a hug again. Or beat someone with a wooden plank for hurting his grandson.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Grandpa?”

Nikolai was well and truly lost now. “Say what?”

“That I’m in love with him! With Otabek!” Yurochka shrieked, half-sobbing as he ripped at his hair. “I’m such a fucking moron! Everyone knows it. Who co-parents a fucking kitten across two countries? Of course I’m in love with him. You knew, didn’t you?”

Nikolai hesitated, and it was all Yurochka needed. He rapidly deflated, huddling in his chair, the image of absolute defeat. “That means Otabek probably knows. And he hasn’t done anything about it, which means he probably doesn’t want it. Me.” He paused to take a sharp inhale, and then:

“We kissed. On accident. Or at least we said it was an accident.”

“Oh, my little one.”

Yurochka went on as if he hadn’t heard. “A group of us went drinking one night during rehearsals for the ice show. We were both a little tipsy, so it was easy to play off as nothing.” His eyes glistened with fresh tears. “But even after we said it was fine, things have felt weird between us, and all the jokes people always make about him and me being a couple hurt even more.” He furiously swiped at the tears and stared pleadingly at Nikolai. “Grandpa, I don’t know what to do.”

Nikolai was glad he had ducked into his bedroom while the tea had boiled. He passed over a handkerchief, one of a stack he had grabbed from his dresser, and gestured. “Wipe your eyes, then blow.” Yurochka silently obeyed. “Good. Now drink your tea and listen to an old man.

“I don’t know what happened that night, but occasionally there are truths in spirits. Could it be that things are uncomfortable because you both wanted the kiss to mean something, but each of you thinks that the other does not want that?”

Yurochka’s mouth dropped open, then quickly clacked shut, his mouth forming a tight line. “I would have known if that was the case. I know Otabek.”

“Just like you knew that you’ve been in love with him?”

Nikolai and Yurochka had experienced a few rows in their relationship. It was inevitable with two pigheaded people who loved each other; arguments about school, about money, about the future, about family. Now though, Yurochka looked ready to turn this into a fight for the history books.

“Don’t make fun of me,” he hissed. “Most of my life is figure skating, or squeezing in university courses to make you happy. When the fuck would I have had the time for dating? I don’t have that many friends, so what could I have compared it to? I’m 22 years old, but there are children with more life experience than me!”

“Don’t blame me for your choices,” Nikolai rumbled with warning, his spine stiffening. “I didn’t tell you to go to university, I only said that it was good to have something to fall back on for the future. You just decided that’s what I wanted, like you do for all those around you. You always assume people have the worst intentions, which may be why you don’t have many friends or many dates, or why you think that stupid Kazakhstani boy is anything other than as hopelessly in love with you as you are with him!”

“DON’T CALL HIM STUPID!” Yurochka roared, leaping up from the table.

“IT IS MY HOUSE, AND I’LL CALL HIM STUPID IF HE DESERVES IT!” Nikolai thundered, their teacups clattering as he slammed his fist on the table.

A sudden pounding on the wall cut off whatever Yurochka was about to sling back at him. “Do you know what fucking time it is?!” A voice called through the wall. “Eat shit and go to hell where you can scream all you want, you assholes!”

Yurochka and Nikolai stared at each other for a long moment. Then Yurochka barked out a short laugh and dropped back into his chair. “I like your neighbor more now.”

“You’d have liked her fine if you ever tasted her baking.”

“Well, if someone had ever saved me some, I’m sure I would have.” Yurochka inhaled deeply, his eyes clenched shut, then noisily exhaled, the tension draining out of his body. He looked across the table at Nikolai. “I’m sorry.”

Nikolai rubbed his face. “I’m sorry, too. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it's too early for screaming fights.”

Yurochka shrugged. “Yeah, but you weren’t wrong. Not about Beka, but about me.”

“I don’t think I’m wrong about Otabek either,” Nikolai said gently. “He’s a smart boy, but he’s 24 now, almost 25. He should know better than to let something like this fester between you.” He sighed. “I think the problem lies in the fact that you two are somehow used to always knowing what the other is thinking, so you aren’t communicating properly about your feelings right now.”

It was quiet for a few moments as Yurochka digested this. “...Maybe,” he eventually conceded. He ran twitching fingers through the roots of his hair, mussing it even further. “Maybe I shouldn’t say anything though. This could all go away, eventually. My feelings might change. And there’s no actual proof that he feels the same way.”

“I’d beg to differ on that last part, but instead I’ll say this: how long have you felt this way towards Otabek?”

“...I don’t know,” Yurochka whispered quietly. “He’s always been the best part of any day. I can’t point to a moment and say, oh, yes, that’s the day it went from ‘love’ to ‘in love,’ but I guess it’s been a while.” He swallowed, his voice dropping even further. “Years.”

“And you want to let that go? You think after all this time it will simply turn off like a faucet?”

“I can try,” Yurochka said with a thin veneer of bullishness, but Nikolai could hear the small waver. “It would be for the best for both of us. For our friendship.”

“Yurochka. You are one of the most stubborn people I know. And trust me, I should know — you got it from me, after all.” Yurochka let out a small, wet chuckle, and leaned into Nikolai’s hand as he reached across the table to gently stroke his grandson’s hair. “Once you decide you want something — or someone, in this case — you don’t back down. Why would you let Otabek be the first?”

“But the distance. It’ll be awful.”

“You’ve managed to be best friends despite the difference.”

“Yeah, but everyone says long distance romantic relationships are different!” Yurochka jabbed, his voice rising with panic.

He looked ready to start yelling again when Nikolai couldn’t stop an abrupt laugh from bursting out. “Yurochka, when have the two of you ever been anything other than different to other people’s expectations?”

His grandson rolled his eyes while Nikolai got his chuckles under control. It wasn’t long before he began to fidget again though, tugging at the cuff of his sweatshirt sleeve. “What if it doesn’t work out?” Yurochka whispered. “There are a million reasons it might not. I… I can’t… Losing him would—”

“It happens. I can’t pretend it doesn’t.” Nikolai distantly thought of people lost to time and circumstance, and felt his heart clench with remembered joy and present sadness. “But we live on regardless. And isn’t it better to live, to chase that chance at happiness, rather than live paralyzed by what might be or what could have been?”

“I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Grandpa,” Yurochka snorted with derision, but his red-rimmed eyes looked faintly hopeful.

Nikolai shrugged. “You learn a few things when you survive the collapse of a country.”

“God.” Yurochka scrubbed at his face, suddenly less sad and more embarrassed. “And to think I’m sitting here bitching about how I’m scared to ask my best friend out on a date.”

“Well, I’d rather you face that than the fall of the Soviet Union,” Nikolai said dryly. “Besides, I think you’re asking him more than just going out to dinner with you.”

“I mean, yeah, probably. Fuuuu—”

“Language, Yurochka.”

“—uuudge. Okay. Okay, you’re probably right. Oh, god.” He started tugging at his sleeve again, twisting the fabric back and forth. “I’m gonna ask Otabek out. Everyone thinks he likes me. You think he likes me. That’s some pretty good evidence.”

“I’m glad that university education is serving you so well,” Nikolai teased wryly. His grandson rolled his eyes so hard, Nikolai wondered if he was going to need glasses soon from all the strain he was putting on them.

“What do I even say though? I can’t ask Viktor and Yuuri, their whole thing is just a trainwreck that miraculously didn’t kill anyone, Leo and Guang-Hong essentially smiled at each other from across the rink and somehow that worked out for them, Mila hasn’t had a relationship longer than six months, which is admittedly better than me, but—” Suddenly, his wild gaze swung up towards Nikolai. “How did you ask out Grandma? I know how you met, but what did you say to—”

Nikolai had to divert the conversation away from that line of questioning. There are some things that he wanted to keep to himself, after all. “This isn’t the right train of thought. You’re looking at others for the words when we both know you already have them.”

Yurochka groaned. “But they’re not going to come out right! I’m just going to walk up to him and blurt out something like, ‘Hi Beka, I’ve been in love with you for a long time now, would you be mine forever?’ which is not going to cut it.”

“True. I don’t think you want to propose marriage right away. Give it a few months at least. Preferably a year.” While his grandson groaned, Nikolai pushed back from the table. His work here was more than done. It was up to the youngsters to do the rest of the work.

He stopped next to Yurochka’s seat and placed a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up with trusting eyes, the brightest shade of green Nikolai had seen outside of nature itself. The color of growth, of life.

“You know him. And you know yourself. You will find the right way to tell him.” He squeezed his shoulder. “I know, because I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you, and there is no wrong way. His heart is yours.”

Then, Nikolai released him, and walked towards his bedroom. He had forgotten how exhausting the problems of youth could be, and he was going back to sleep. Yurochka could fend for himself for a few hours.

The turmoil of that morning had been worth it though, when two weeks later, Yurochka called him and asked him to open an email from him. Nikolai didn’t check his mailbox often, but he knew how to navigate it for the most part, and was able to open the email and its attachment.

The video wasn’t long. Yurochka was bent in half in the middle of a rink, his braid falling apart as he sucked in deep breaths. A voice behind the camera that Nikolai vaguely recognized called out in English, and Yurochka straightened, wiping the sweat from his face. He nodded, then struck a pose, all traces of exhaustion sloughing off him with the single move.

Tinny music trickled through Nikolai’s speakers as his grandson skated his heart on the ice.

The performance was shorter than usual, barely a minute and a half long, but it left Nikolai feeling breathless. Yurochka glided to a stop, not at the center of the rink like usual, but at the rink exit, and the cameraman and Nikolai breathed out matching sighs.

Yurochka clambered to his feet and called out something to his friend, who responded with something that sounded like awe and approval. Then the video abruptly ended, and Nikolai was left with a dark screen.

He clicked back to the email and read the note that Yurochka made him promise he would not read until after the video.

Grandpa —

I fly to Almaty tomorrow, if Yakov and Lilia somehow don’t find out my plans and yank me off the plane. I haven’t bought my return ticket yet, but I’ll let you know when I do.

I found the words.

Thank you. I love you.

Yuri

Nikolai shook his head and smiled.

He thought about the jewelry box his late wife had left behind. Nothing particularly valuable, but resting in it was the simple silver band he had given her on their wedding day.

It could be fitted for either boy he was sure, if they took it to the right jeweler.

Nikolai thought maybe it was time to take it out of the box and give it a polish.

Two years later, as it sparkled on Yuri’s hand as it clutched the front of Otabek’s tuxedo to the thunderous cheers of their friends and family, Nikolai smiled to himself. At long last, they had figured out what he had known from the first moment he had seen them together, and all was right in their little world.