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Yuri rushed through the hallway, deaf to the crowd in the Olympic arena, deaf to the calls of his coaching team he was swiftly leaving behind, blind to the gaggles of people standing around or moving through the hallways, numb to everything besides the ever growing pit that had opened in his stomach the moment he'd left the mixed zone and caught a glance of one of the screens showing the current standings, and hadn't seen Otabek's name in the top six. Nor in the top ten. He'd watched with halted breath and mounting dread when the screen changed to show the rest of the field and he'd finally spotted Otabek's name, way down.
The lack of a “Q” in front of his name had been as jarring as his score. The numbers just hadn't made sense. There had to have been some sort of mix-up.
By now, as he pushed past another group of people, snarling as he shouldered one of them out of the way, he knew the numbers were correct. The Hero of Kazakhstan had fallen. Figuratively but also literally, possibly several times, if that score was any indication. Despite his shell-shocked state Yuri had gathered enough bits of information from the people around him to know that Otabek's short program had been exactly as disastrous as the numbers suggested. And even if all of the few remaining skaters that had yet to skate collectively decided to suddenly withdraw it would not be enough to push Otabek up high enough in the standings to qualify for the free skate.
This was the end of his Olympic dream. Years and years of hard work and sacrifices gone, evaporated within moments. Shattered, dust in the wind, just like that.
Yuri's eyes were burning as he ran, the colorful circles plastered on every wall a mocking blur in his peripheral vision. The pit in his stomach was still growing. He felt like throwing up.
Rounding another corner he finally spotted Otabek's coach, talking with two vaguely familiar looking people wearing the Kazakh team jackets. Otabek was nowhere in sight.
“Where is he?” Yuri shouted before he had even reached them.
Otabek's coach looked up, the grim frown on this face deepening when he laid eyes on Yuri.
“Leave him be, Plisetsky.”
Yuri was up in his face in an instant, barely refraining from grabbing him by his jacket and shake him.
“Where. Is. He.”
Maybe the man realized that Yuri wouldn't hesitate to blow up and make a scene if he didn't get a response, because he let out a resigned grunt and nodded to a door a little further down the hallway.
Making a beeline for it, Yuri saw it was marked as a women's locker room, making it currently deserted since it was not needed during the men's event.
Inside it was dark, but even with just the light from the corridor he saw that he room was empty. He thought he'd heard a sound like someone moving, coming from an open door on the right that lead to the showers.
“Beka?” he called tentatively, “Beka, it's me.”
He got no response and just stood there for a second, unsure what to do, letting the door fall shut behind him, shrouding him in darkness.
“Beka?” he called again, switching on the flashlight on his phone and making his way towards the showers, the pit in his guts getting deeper when he once again didn't get an answer.
He found him slumped against the wall of the third shower stall, turning his face away when the beam of Yuri's phone hit him, either to shield himself from the glare, or to hide the streams of tears on his cheeks. The pit in Yuri's stomach swallowed him whole. His bad knee screamed in protest when it hit the hard tiles as Yuri dropped down in front of Otabek, but that was nothing compared to the agony that had stabbed through him at the sight of Otabek crying.
Yuri blindly put his phone down and wrapped his arms around his best friend, cradling him against his chest. Otabek was rigid in his arms and didn't return the embrace.
Shit. Maybe his coach had been right. Maybe he did want to be left alone. Yuri was about to ask if he should leave when a ripple went through Otabek as he drew a shuddering breath. Then he crumbled and fell apart in Yuri's arms.
Yuri's eyes filled with hot tears at the sound of Otabek's sobs, barely muffled by Yuri's team jacket he was burying his face in. Yuri wrapped him more tightly in his arms, as if he had to physically try to hold him together, afraid he might slip through his fingers if he didn't. But also because he didn't know what else to do.
Yuri had never been good with crying people. He would have liked to say he'd come a long way from kicking down bathroom doors and yelling at people, but the helplessness and rage were all still there and had nowhere to go. There was no channeling this into something constructive.
This couldn't be fixed.
How to console someone who was rightfully inconsolable?
He found himself opening and closing his mouth several times, but no words came out, because there was nothing he could say that wouldn't feel empty and shallow and useless. No words in the world would make a difference. There was no way to make this more bearable.
Despite what most people probably thought about him, Yuri wasn't entirely without sympathy when one of his fellow skaters had a bad performance. He knew how it felt to fuck up, it wasn't like he couldn't relate. But he had never been hit by a gut-wrenching wave of agony quite like this. He hadn't even known it was possible to hurt this much for someone else.
And how much worse must Otabek feel? Yuri could hardly imagine the crushing weight of a defeat like this. With no outside force to blame, no excuses to be made. Unless Otabek had kept some sort of injury secret from Yuri, he had been in top shape. There had been no doubt in Yuri's mind that they would share the podium. In no universe would he have expected Otabek to not even qualify for the free skate. Not that qualifying would have truly saved him – even a flawless performance and the most generous judging would not have been enough to push him anywhere near the podium. But at least he would have gotten the chance to go out fighting.
Now, there was nothing.
This was it.
And Yuri wanted so badly to deny it, to undo it, to turn back time and make this right. He wanted to scream and break something and fight someone.
Instead, all he could do was swallow down his own tears while he held a crying Otabek in his arms. Every sob that shook him pierced Yuri like a knife.
“Did- did you watch?” Otabek's voice was so choked the words came out ragged and torn.
Yuri shook his head. “No. Busy with press in the mixed zone.”
Otabek gave a nod, sniffling. “Don't. Ever.”
The raw pain in his voice made Yuri squeeze him harder while his mind was racing. An entire arena of thousands of people, not to mention the millions watching on tv, had seen what happened – and Otabek was worried that Yuri might see it?
“Beka,” Yuri stressed, trying so hard to keep his own voice from breaking, “”Beka, you know that no matter what happened there, it won't make me love you any less, right?”
This wasn't how he had expected to use that word for the first time, but fuck it, he needed Otabek to understand this.
But Otabek was shaking his head. “Please, Yura.”
The desperate plea in his voice broke Yuri.
“Okay,” he choked past the lump in his throat, “I won't, I promise.”
They could talk about Otabek's misplaced shame in this matter another time. If Yuri making this promise was what he needed right now, then that was what Yuri would give him. He'd break any screen that showed the footage and rather gauge his own eyes out than go back on his word.
Otabek let out a rattling breath and seemed to slowly get the violent sobs under control. Yuri gently rubbed his back, then loosened the embrace when Otabek started to draw back.
Even in what little light Yuri's phone provided, Yuri could see how wrecked he looked. Otabek blew his nose and wiped his face but new tears were already falling, glistening in the phone's cold light. Yuri's heart broke all over again. He would have really appreciated if someone had warned him just how often a single heart could break within the span of thirty minutes. To him, “broken” had somehow always implied that once it was done, it was done. But that wasn't how this worked, apparently.
Yuri wasn't sure what possessed him to make him do what he did next. One moment, he was agonizing over the shimmer of fresh tears trickling down Otabek's cheeks, the next moment he was cupping his face, wiping those tears away with shaking fingers, watching Otabek's lips part as if he was about to say something, but before he could, Yuri leaned in and pressed his own lips against them.
Otabek froze, and Yuri drew back with a start, the realization of what he had just done punching the air out of him.
“Fuck.” He drew a gasping breath, mind reeling. “Shit, I'm so sorry!”
Otabek just stared at him, wide-eyed and petrified, clearly trying to process what just happened. Yuri didn't blame him. He hadn't processed it himself. He had just acted on a stupid impulse.
Fuck.
“Why...?” Otabek's voice was brittle and gave out as if the rest of the question was too heavy to carry.
“I- I swear this wasn't- this wasn't a pity kiss or whatever,” Yuri stammered frantically, raking a hand through his hair and getting his fingers stuck in his half-braid, the sudden needling pain making this situation all the more real and all the more mortifying. “I- I meant to do it after the competition. When we'd celebrate our medals together-” He hastily bit his tongue when Otabek's eyes filled with new tears, and desperately wished he could take those clumsy words back. As well as that stupid, awfully-timed kiss.
Otabek wiped his cheeks and sniffled. “Sorry.”
“What the fuck are you sorry for?!”
“Screwing up your plan.”
His voice had regained some strength and his eyes looked less haunted, even as more tears gathered in them. Yuri softly wiped them away as soon as they spilled over.
“No, I did that. I should have waited regardless. This is the last thing you need right now.”
Otabek furrowed his brow slightly, leaning closer again.
“I'm not too sure about that, actually,” he said quietly, tilting his head a little, eyes darting to Yuri's lips, then back up to his eyes. “Do it again?”
Yuri's heart fluttered and leaped into his throat, not quite so broken anymore.
This time, he leaned in slowly, and when their lips finally touched, he was flooded by a rush of tingling sparks. And Otabek, instead of freezing, fully kissed him back, and Yuri wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer just like he had done before, but now instead of falling apart, Otabek all but melted into his arms. The kiss was soft, gentle, and tasted vaguely of tears. It was nothing like Yuri had imagined their first kiss would be like. It was perfect. When they parted to catch their breath, Yuri felt like he was floating.
That feeling was amplified when the weak light of the phone illuminated the soft smile on Otabek's face. It meant everything. More than the kiss. More than anything.
Otabek looked at him as if he, too, hadn't expected he'd be able to smile again so soon.
“And here I thought this was the worst day of my life. Guess I was wrong.”
Tears sprang to Yuri's eyes in an instant, and in a sloppy effort to hide them, he threw his arms around Otabek and pulled him into another tight embrace.
“No,” he sniffled, shaking his head, “I hope you were right. I hope this was the shittiest day you ever had to face and every single day after this is so much better.”
Otabek stilled for a second, then let out a quiet hum, audibly smiling. “One kiss and you start saying sappy shit? I'm shook.”
Yuri laughed through the tears. “Ugh, shuddup.”
The truth was, he'd say all the sappy shit in the world if it made Otabek smile like this.
They kissed until the taste of tears had vanished and the sound of Yuri's phone going off startled them enough to separate. Instead of picking up the phone, Yuri grumpily shoved it a bit further away and went right back to kissing Otabek. Unfortunately, that did nothing to stop it from buzzing again and again, crawling across the floor tiles with every new vibration.
“You should probably take that?” Otabek suggested carefully, once more breaking their kiss. He was as breathless as Yuri, his voice strained again, but this time it was – hopefully – for a different reason than before.
Yuri blew an annoyed huff and glared at his phone as he checked the messages.
“Fuck. I'm still in first.”
Otabek let out a wet sound that almost qualified as an amused snort.
“That's a good thing, Yura.”
“Yeah, but. Now I'll have to go to the press conference. As in, right now.”
Yuri grimaced. This was the fucking Olympics and he'd never been less thrilled about winning the short program.
Otabek gently nudged him with his elbow. “Go.”
With a sigh, Yuri wiped his face and nodded reluctantly. “Can I see you later?”
“If you want? Can't promise I'll be the best company.”
Yeah, he was going to mourn this for a very long time, Yuri knew that. But that didn't mean Yuri didn't want to be there for him as much as he could.
“I don't care. We can spend the whole night crying together, whatever you need.”
Otabek smiled a little at that, and gently rubbed a remnant tear-stain off Yuri's cheek. “And make out some more?”
“Yeah,” Yuri grinned, “That, too.”
“Maybe not all night, though. You still have to focus on the free skate.”
Yuri blinked. It was a little scary how that had completely slipped his mind for a moment.
“That's alright, it won't be a prob-”
“No, Yura,” Otabek shook his head, “I don't wanna distract you. If you lose focus because of me, I would never forgive myself, I-”
“I won't,” Yuri said, with feeling. “I won't screw up. And even if I did – which I won't – it wouldn't be your fault.”
Otabek gave him a pained look, then nodded hesitantly, and Yuri knew he would still blame himself if anything went wrong, so now Yuri had even more reason to give it his all in the free.
“I'm gonna take the gold,” Yuri vowed, “For you.”
It was all he could offer to avenge him, and his heart fluttered when Otabek accepted his promise with a nod and a small smile. Yuri would do anything – winning the Olympics, fighting gods, declaring war on the entire universe if he had to – anything it took to keep that smile alive.
“Can I tell them that?” he asked with a sudden burst of excitement.
“Tell who what?”
“At the press conference. Can I tell them that I intend to win gold... for my boyfriend?”
Otabek rocked back a little, his brows shooting all the way up. Yuri bit his lip, regretting having been so bold. He knew how much Otabek valued his privacy, so maybe he should have anticipated that he wouldn't be a fan of this idea.
“You gonna say my name?”
Yuri couldn't help but let out a slight snort at that. “Beka. It's you and me. They're gonna know even if I don't mention your name. We haven't been dealing with all the dating-rumors for no reason.”
“True,” Otabek said with a hum.
Somewhere in the hallway Yakov could be heard yelling Yuri's name, and Yuri cursed under his breath, starting to get to his feet.
“So... can I?” Yuri asked, fully prepared to be rejected.
Otabek stood as well, brows furrowed as he thought about it, then the corners of his mouth quirked into that faint little smile again, and he pulled Yuri into his arms.
“Yeah, tell them. I'd like that, actually.”
Yuri beamed and kissed him again, while Yakov's yelling outside got louder.
“You gonna stay in hiding for a little longer?” Yuri asked, reluctant to part from him.
“Mmh. Gonna try and sneak back to the hotel while most of the press people are busy.”
Yuri nodded with a heavy heart. At some point, Otabek would have to face the press, give a statement, offer an apology for letting everyone down and all that bullshit. And as much as Yuri wished he could simply eviscerate any journalist who even thought about daring to approach him, he knew that Otabek was strong enough to brave that battle on his own.
“YURACHKA!!!”
It sounded like Yakov was right in front of the locker room door, probably having gotten directed there by Otabek's coach. That man really wasn't good at standing his ground against angry Russians.
“Ugh,” Yuri huffed, loathing every single person responsible for him having to leave Otabek's embrace, then stomped towards the door, reaching it at the precise moment it was yanked open. He hissed at the sudden glare of the light from outside and shielded his eyes, getting a blurred glimpse of Yakov's broad silhouette in the doorway.
“Everyone is waiting, Yura!” Yakov bellowed, then reined in his temper when he spotted Otabek lurking in the twilight behind Yuri. Otabek shuffled back a little, looking at the floor, as if he was trying to sink into it. Yakov, to his credit, merely cleared his throat and pretended not to have seen him. It was so awkward it would have been hilarious under less heartbreaking circumstances.
“This was more important,” Yuri growled through his teeth, daring his coach to object. To his surprise, Yakov didn't. He just gave him a grim nod.
“I get it,” he said gruffly, though whether he truly understood or had just coached enough love-struck skaters to know a lost battle when he saw one was anyone's guess. “But we still need to go. Now.”
“I know,” Yuri nodded, but didn't immediately follow Yakov when he turned to leave, glancing back at Otabek instead.
He still looked kind of forlorn and lost as he stood there in the twilight of the empty locker room, eyes tired and puffy, but when their gazes met, his lips quirked into that tiny smile again. When he gave Yuri a thumbs up, something warm grew in Yuri's chest, and he knew that, eventually, everything would be okay. Yuri returned the gesture, then took a deep breath and followed Yakov into the hallway.
He had a boyfriend to announce, and Olympic gold to win.