Chapter Text
The Grand Prix Final.
It was Yuri’s fourth season in a row qualifying for the prestigious competition as a senior, in addition to the two he had won while he was still competing as a junior. He was coming in as the reigning champion, having recaptured the title after losing to Yuuri Katsuki during the 2017-2018 Olympic season. So far, he had gone undefeated this season, winning gold at every competition he had contested, and Yuri had no intention of breaking the streak, determined to defend his title.
As usual for most competitions, he arrived in Turin, the host city, a couple of days before the men’s short program, accompanied by his long-time coach Yakov and rinkmate Mila, who had made the senior ladies’ final for an impressive sixth time in a row. Lilia, his main choreographer and ballet teacher, had initially planned to come with them, but an awful case of the flu had left her bedridden for the past week. Though she was mostly recovered, she had decided to stay back home in St. Petersburg to be on the safe side, not wanting to risk anybody else getting sick.
A taxi drove them from the airport to the official hotel, where all the competitors and their coaches would be staying.
“Oh, I’m so excited!” Mila squealed, looking out the window at the passing Turin scenery. “I can’t wait to see Sara again. It’s been forever since the last time we saw each other in person.”
“Didn’t you just see each other at Lombardia Trophy?” Yakov groused, grumpy as usual after the long three-and-a-half hour direct flight from St. Petersburg. He sat by the other backseat window, leaving Yuri squished in the middle between them.
“Come on, that was all the way back in September! Three whole months ago! A girl has needs, you know.”
Yuri, who had been scrolling through his Twitter feed on his phone, catching up with what he had missed while on the plane, rolled his eyes. “Oh, God, we don’t want to hear about your fucking ‘needs’,” he said under his breath – although not quietly enough not to be overheard.
Mila rolled her eyes. “You’re just jealous because I have a wonderful, beautiful girlfriend and you’re still eternally single.”
“I am not!”
“Are too!”
“Am not!”
“Are –”
“Will you two shut up?” Yakov interrupted, rubbing at his forehead. “You’re both adults now, so act like it!”
“Sorry!” Mila apologized, digging an elbow into Yuri’s side until he managed a “Yeah, sorry,” too. Not that he had done anything to be sorry about. She was the one who started it!
Yakov sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can already tell this is going to be a long weekend,” he said. “Look, Mila, I know it’s pointless to forbid you from indulging in a little romance, so I won’t even bother to try, but don’t let your hormones distract you from the main reason we’re here. Sara Crispino is your competition first, girlfriend second. Remember that.”
“I know, I know. It’s not like we haven’t competed against each other plenty of times before.”
“Good. Then I trust you will actually win the gold this time, unlike at Lombardia?”
Yuri snickered. Yakov had gotten her there.
A couple of minutes later, the taxi pulled up to the front entrance of the hotel. They climbed out of the car – Yuri grateful for the chance to stretch out his long legs – and retrieved their luggage from the trunk before heading inside.
The moment Mila stepped through the sliding glass doors, a woman with long dark hair sprinted toward her. Mila immediately dropped her suitcases on the tiled floor and caught her long-distance girlfriend in her arms, kissing her full on the mouth in greeting. Yakov and Yuri side-stepped the two lovebirds blocking the entrance and walked over to the front desk to check in.
“At least I don’t have to deal with you acting all foolish like that,” Yakov said. “I’m telling you, love is nothing more than a distraction, Yura. Keep your focus on your skating and your hormones in check – that is what is going to make you a great champion.”
“Yeah…”
Yuri glanced back over his shoulder. Mila and Sara had enough sense to finally move off to the side, but they were still wrapped up in each other’s arms, making out against the paneled wall and seemingly oblivious to the fact that they were in a public setting.
“Hey, get a room, you two!” he called out in Russian, only for Mila to flip him off behind Sara’s back.
Still…
Yuri frowned. Maybe he was a little jealous. Not that he was desperate for a partner or anything like that – he wasn’t Georgi! – but it might be nice to have a boyfriend for once in his life. Aside from the occasional casual hook-up when he went clubbing, however, he had never met anybody he really wanted to date on a long-term basis. Certainly nobody he could see himself ever falling in love with…
Well, whatever. Yakov was probably right. At this point in his career, skating needed to be his number one priority. The 2018 Olympics had not gone as he had hoped – even though Russia had won gold in the team event – so if he wanted to win that individual gold medal in Beijing, he couldn’t afford any so-called “distractions”.
Sighing, he accepted the keycard to his room from the peppy front desk clerk and started dragging his luggage toward the elevators near the back of the lobby.
At the same time, a familiar dark-haired man got off of one of the elevators, raising his hand in greeting when he spotted Yuri.
“Beka!”
Yuri’s frown brightened into a smile as he increased his pace, meeting his best friend halfway. The two of them greeted each other warmly, hugging in the middle of the lobby.
God, was it good to see Otabek in person again! They spoke all the time on Skype and by text, but the last time they were actually in the same city together was over the summer, when Yuri had spent a couple of weeks on vacation at Otabek’s family home in Almaty. Mila and Sara were lucky they got to spend some time together at Lombardia Trophy; he and Otabek hadn’t competed against each other all season.
“Uh, Yura?” Otabek said after a few moments. “Are you sniffing me?”
What?
Mortified when he realized he had indeed buried his nose in the crook of Otabek’s neck, Yuri quickly pulled back and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Oh, uh, sorry,” he mumbled, at a loss as to why he had done something like that. “You, um, just smell really good today.”
Which he did. Really good, to be honest, like a bakery filled with freshly-baked chocolate and fruity sweets.
Otabek rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, thanks.”
“New cologne?” Yuri didn’t recognize it.
“Yeah, it’s called ‘Heart of Alma-Ata’ from this great new Kazakh perfumer. My grandmother gave it to me for my birthday,” Otabek said, chuckling. “She says it’s to help me attract a wife.”
Yuri arched an eyebrow. “She does know you’re bi, doesn’t she?” He had been under the impression Otabek had come out to his family years ago – well, at least to his parents and younger sister. Maybe he hadn’t told his grandparents or more extended family yet.
“Sometimes.”
Yuri furrowed his brow, even more confused.
“Her memory’s not as good as it used to be,” Otabek explained, answering his unasked question. “I’ve given up coming out to her every time she forgets.”
“Oh, sorry.” Yuri couldn’t even imagine how terrible that would be. His own grandfather was the only person in his messed up family who gave a damn about him. If Grandpa ever started to forget him…
Otabek sighed. “It is what it is. Anyway, have you finished checking in?”
“Yep.” Yuri held up his keycard.
“In that case, I’ll walk you up to your room.”
He took the handle of Yuri’s large rolling suitcase and started heading back toward the row of elevators, Yuri following after him with his skate bag. “So, anybody else here yet?” Yuri asked while they waited for one of the elevators to open.
“A few people. I’ve seen a couple of the pairs teams around, along with the American girls, Avery and Sophie. Mickey and Sara are already here, too. Emil came to cheer them on, even though he didn’t make the final.”
“What about Vitya and Katsudon?” Since retiring from competitive skating after the 2018 Olympics and returning to Hasetsu to open their new skating school, Yuri hadn’t seen much of Viktor and Yuuri in person, although they were supposed to be in Turin coaching Kenjirou Minami, who had shocked everyone by qualifying for the sixth and final spot for the first time in his senior career, just barely overtaking first alternate Emil.
“Haven’t seen them, but I’ve only been here for a couple of hours myself.”
With a soft “ding”, one set of elevator doors slid open. They stepped inside the empty car, but just as the elevator was about to close, a familiar French-Canadian accent called out, “Hey, hold the door!”
Yuri groaned as Otabek stuck a hand in between the sliding doors and pushed them back. Couldn’t he have pretended not to hear? Only a few seconds later, and the doors would have been fully closed! Too late now. JJ Leroy was walking toward their elevator, hand-in-hand with his new wife, Isabella. They rolled matching Louis Vuitton luggage behind them.
“Be nice,” Otabek muttered under his breath to Yuri.
“Hey, I’m always nice!”
He gave Yuri a look, seeing straight through him.
“Thanks, buddy,” JJ said as he and Isabella joined them in the car. “Appreciate it.”
“No problem. What floor are you on?” Otabek asked, since he was the closest to the control panel.
JJ threw his arm over Isabella’s shoulder. “Babe, what’s our room number again? I forgot.”
“715,” she replied.
Otabek pressed the seven button, and the elevator began its ascent.
“Hey, that’s my birthday!” JJ exclaimed. “Might be a sign that this is my year to finally win the final.”
Yuri, who was standing behind JJ, rolled his eyes. “Or it might be a sign that you’re –”
“Yura, what about your floor?” Otabek interrupted. “Are you on seven, too?”
“Oh, uh…” He pulled his keycard out of his pocket to check. “I’m on eight. Above the idiot.” As if that really mattered, but he would take any perceived win over JJ he could.
“Enjoy it while you can,” JJ said, craning his neck to look back over his shoulder at Yuri and pointing his thumb toward his chest, “’cause you’re gonna be looking up at me on that podium in a couple of days.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to see that gold around your neck, JJ!” Isabella squealed, squeezing him around his midsection and kissing him on the cheek.
Yuri fought the urge to gag. Fortunately, it didn’t take too long for the car to reach the seventh floor, sparing him from the agony of having to spend too much time in an enclosed space with JJ and his massive ego.
“Can you fucking believe that guy?” Yuri said to Otabek in Russian as soon as JJ and Isabella got off on their floor, the doors sliding close behind them. “He’s croaked at almost every single final he’s made since turning senior, yet he seriously thinks he’s gonna beat me, the four-time and reigning gold medalist?”
“JJ did qualify in first place,” Otabek pointed out as the elevator continued its ascent.
“Only by a few measly points, and his score at Skate Canada was beyond over-inflated. Big fucking deal.” Technically, he, JJ, and Otabek had tied in qualifying for the final based on placements, with the three of them having each won gold at their two assignments, but the first tie-breaker was their total combined scores, where JJ had the small advantage. “That gold is as good as mine!”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that…”
“What? You seriously think JJ’s gonna win this time?”
“I’m just saying you’re not guaranteed the gold,” Otabek said, the elevator dinging as it reached the eighth floor. The doors once again slid open, and the two of them stepped off. “And JJ’s not your only competition, you know. After all, my practices have been going pretty great back home. I may just give you a run for your money.”
“Yeah? You wanna bet?”
Otabek hesitated for a short moment, considering the idea, before replying, “Sure. I’m game if you are.”
“What? You are?” Yuri had just blurted it out without thinking, not expecting Otabek to actually take him up on the idea.
“Yeah...unless you’re too chicken.”
“Hell no!” he exclaimed, drawing the attention of a couple of French ice dancers walking past them. “I’m not a chicken,” he said in a lower voice as he and Otabek turned a corner, following the sign showing the way to his room. “Besides, I know I’m gonna win that gold again. It’s in the bag.”
“Name the wager, then.”
“Uh… Loser has to give into one of the winner’s demands?” It was the best he could think of on such short notice.
“Anything’s fair game?”
“Yeah.”
Otabek arched an eyebrow. “Even if I want you to drop out of Worlds or give me all your prize money?”
Yuri’s eyes narrowed as he came to a stop in the center of the hallway. “You wouldn’t dare…”
“Are you sure about that?”
He wouldn’t. At least, Yuri was pretty sure he wouldn’t. Otabek wasn’t that type of guy. But he supposed he couldn’t be 100% absolutely certain… “Okay, fine, you have a point. Anything within reason – and nothing illegal.”
“Good, because I’m not going to help you pull a Tonya Harding on JJ,” Otabek said, referencing the infamous skating scandal from the ‘90s, before either of them had even been born.
“Come on, give me a little credit. I don’t need to whack him on the knee to beat JJ’s ass on the ice!”
“I don’t know… I heard he was thinking about adding a second quad lutz to his free skate.”
“Seriously?”
Otabek shrugged, the two of them continuing down the hall. “Just a rumor, but The Spinning Lesson is usually pretty reliable about these sorts of things.”
“Oh, God, don’t tell me you actually listen to that crap.”
“No, but other skaters at my rink do. Word gets around.”
“Well, whatever. I’m not too worried,” he said, lying through his teeth. Fuck, a second quad lutz? JJ tended to go for quality over quantity, so if he felt confident enough to add another high level quad to his layout, then he had to be having some really good practices. Then again, he did have a habit of choking when it came to major competitions...
“What if he does win gold, though? Is the bet off?”
“He’s not going to, but, yeah, I guess we’ll call it a draw in that case.” Yuri once again stopped and offered his hand. “So, deal?”
“Deal,” Otabek agreed, shaking on it.
Yuri inhaled a sharp breath. A small shockwave had traveled up his arm at Otabek’s touch, but if Otabek had noticed it, he didn’t show any sign of it, pulling his hand away and continuing on as if nothing had happened.
Must have been his imagination. That’s all.
“This is me,” Yuri said, coming to a stop when they reached Room 816.
“Oh, that means you’re directly above me.” Otabek pointed down at the floor. “I’m in 716, next to JJ’s room.”
“Ugh, better you than me.”
“He’s not that bad a guy, you know.” Due to having briefly trained with JJ’s parents in Canada back when he was competing as a junior, Otabek and JJ had something of a friendship, although how Otabek survived having to see that smug mug every day at practice was a mystery to Yuri. If he had been in the same position, Yuri was certain he would have been locked up for assault and battery – if not a worse charge.
“If you say so.” Yuri slipped his keycard into the slot, unlocking the door. “I just hope the newlyweds don’t keep you up too late. If you’re gonna win our bet, you’ll need all the rest you can get.”
Chuckling, Otabek handed Yuri back his suitcase. “I’ll be fine. Anyway, any big plans for tonight?”
“Not really,” Yuri said, fighting back a yawn. Though it was only a little before nine o’clock in Turin, his body was still on St. Petersburg time, two hours ahead. “It’s getting kinda late. Might just order some room service, then crash.”
“Not a bad idea. I’ll probably do the same. The morning practice session for senior men starts at seven, so it’ll be an early start to the day.”
“Great,” he said flatly, not enthused at all by the prospect. “So, guess I’ll see you in the morning?”
“Yeah, see you. Good night.”
“’Night, and thanks for the help.” He indicated his suitcase.
“No problem,” Otabek said with a brief wave before heading back toward the elevator.
The ringing of his cellphone woke Yuri up the next morning.
Groaning, he felt around the mattress for his phone and cracked open a heavy eyelid. His vision was blurry, but he could just make out the time on his home screen: 6:28 a.m. “Fuck!” he swore, abruptly sitting up when he realized he had overslept. He had been so exhausted the night before, he must have forgotten to set his alarm.
In his hand, the phone continued to ring, Yakov’s name showing on the screen. Yuri tapped on the screen to accept the call and reluctantly brought the phone up to his ear.
“Yura, it’s thirty minutes until the first practice session,” Yakov said, forgoing any kind of greeting. “I presume you’re up and ready to go?”
“Uh, yeah,” he lied as he scrambled out of bed and unzipped his nearby suitcase, looking for something – anything! – to wear. “I’ll be down in ten.”
“See that you are. I’ll be waiting in the lobby.”
“Got it.”
Yuri ended the call and tossed the phone on his bed so he could change into his leggings and a T-shirt. After getting dressed, he had just enough time left to pee, brush his teeth, and scarf down a couple of protein bars he had brought along as an easy snack in lieu of a proper breakfast. He grabbed his skate bag and Team Russia jacket, slipping his phone and keycard into one of the jacket’s pockets, then rushed out to the elevators, slowing down to a more normal pace when he saw Kenjirou Minami pressing the call button.
Crap, was it too late to take the stairs instead?
“Yurio, hi!” Kenjirou called out in English, bouncing on his heels and waving as Yuri dragged himself over to join him.
Yuri rolled his eyes. Great, Viktor and Katsudon had infected their student as well. “It’s Yura,” he said. “Yura or Yuri, not Yurio.”
Not that it mattered. Kenjirou didn’t seem to register the correction, as hyper as always even though it was so damn early in the morning. “Isn’t it exciting? Our first official practice at the Grand Prix Final!”
“Sure, thrilling.” Yuri hid a yawn behind his hand.
“Is it true that we’re skating at the same arena where Viktor won his first Olympic gold at the 2006 Torino Olympics?”
“Probably.”
It definitely was, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to let Kenjirou think he was as obsessed with Viktor as Kenjirou was with Yuuri – even if watching Viktor win that first Olympic gold at the Torino Palavela was the inspiration for Yuri to try figure skating in the first place.
“If so, that is so cool!” Kenjirou practically squealed just as the doors to the elevator in front of them slid open, revealing none other than Viktor Nikiforov himself, along with his husband Yuuri, who was leaning against Viktor’s shoulder with his eyes half-closed.
“What’s so cool?” Viktor asked, his eyes brightening when he noticed Yuri trying to sneak away undetected. “Yurio!”
Yuri held up a hand, shielding his face from view. It was far too early in the morning to deal with the sappy lovebirds in addition to their over-excited puppy dog of a protege. “And...I’m taking the stairs after all.”
“Don’t be silly, Yurio!” Viktor reached out, grabbing Yuri by the arm and pulling him inside the small elevator car. “There’s more than enough room for the four of us. Going down to the lobby?”
Yuri sighed, squishing himself into the corner as Kenjirou joined them. Sure, there was technically enough room for four grown men, but he wouldn’t say the elevator was spacious by any means. “Where else would I be going? And the name’s Yura, not Yurio.”
“Just checking. I thought you might be meeting up with Otabek.”
Only Yakov, unfortunately. Yuri hadn’t even bothered to message Otabek, knowing that his best friend was probably already down at the rink warming up.
“Hey, Yuuri – I mean, Coach Katsuki – did Vik—Coach Nikiforov win his first Olympic gold at the Palavela?” Kenjirou asked, shaking the arm of his other coach to rouse him from his half-asleep state.
Yuuri looked about as tired as Yuri felt, sporting a major case of bedhead and barely able to keep his eyes open behind his glasses. He lifted his head off Viktor’s shoulder, blinking at Kenjirou as if he had only just realized he was there.
“Why, yes, I did!” Viktor said with a bright heart-shaped smile, answering for Yuuri. He moved to stand beside Kenjirou, draping a friendly arm around his shoulder. “Ah, memories. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was…”
Yuri tuned out Viktor’s voice, pulling out his phone to check out what was new on Twitter and Instagram. He was greeted almost instantly by a photo of a sleeping, drooling Yuuri from earlier that morning, judging by the hotel’s familiar green harlequin patterned duvet cover. The picture was captioned, “My sleeping beauty.”
“Hey, did you know your idiot husband posted this on Instagram?” he asked Yuuri, shoving his phone right in front of Yuuri’s sleep-deprived face.
That finally woke him up.
“Vitya!”
Viktor paused in the middle of his reminiscing. “Yes, dear? Light of my life?”
“What is the meaning of this?” Yuuri grabbed Yuri’s wrist, yanking on his arm so Victor could see the photo on the screen. “I told you, no more posting pictures of me while I’m sleeping!”
“But you looked so gorgeous!” Viktor said, hand over his heart. “How could I possibly deny the world of witnessing such stunning beauty? It would be a crime against humanity!”
Yuri snickered as the elevator doors slid open.
The Palavela was only a block away from the hotel, so after meeting up with Yakov in the lobby, they all walked over to the arena together, the married couple continuing to bicker until Viktor finally agreed to take down the post. By the time they arrived, they had kissed and made up, returning to their usual sappy selves, which was no fun at all.
As Yuri expected, Otabek was already there and in the middle of doing some warm-up stretches in the dryland training room, his T-shirt riding up his stomach as he raised his arms high over his head. Yuri’s eyes were drawn to the sliver of bare skin on display, particularly the patch of dark hair that dipped underneath the waistband of his sweatpants and down to his –
“Yurio?” Kenjirou tapped a finger against his shoulder, pulling his attention away from Otabek’s abs. “Hey, are you feeling okay?”
“What?” Yuri pinched the bridge of his nose. “Um, yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “I just haven’t woken up all the way yet.”
“Well, you better wake up quick,” Yakov said in Russian, handing Yuri a jump rope before pushing him forward. “Go do your warm-up, then get your skates on. The on-ice session begins in –” he checked his watch “– thirteen minutes.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”
Ideally, Yuri would have liked a little longer to do his usual warm-up, but ten minutes would have to do. He and Kenjirou got straight to work with Yuri jumping rope for some cardio while Kenjirou chose to do jumping jacks.
It didn’t leave Yuri much time to talk to Otabek. He managed to catch Otabek’s eye and wave “hello”, but that was the extent of their communication until they were waiting at the gate to get on the ice.
“You got here late this morning,” Otabek said as Yuri pulled on a pair of black gloves to protect his fingers from nicks when he did his trademark Biellmann. “I was starting to worry.”
“Yeah. I forgot to set my alarm last night. Had to haul ass to get here on time.” Yuri hid another yawn behind his hand. Though his warm-up had helped to wake his body up a little more, he could still do with at least two cups of cappuccino and another hour of sleep. “Whose brilliant idea was it to schedule practice for seven fucking o’clock in the morning?”
Otabek shrugged. “I’m used to it. Ice time can be difficult to find in Almaty, so I’ll take any session I can get.”
A few seconds later, the gate was opened, allowing everybody (except JJ, who was noticeably absent) on the ice. Yuri and Otabek split up, focusing on their own respective practices.
Ugh, I so don’t want to do this right now, Yuri thought as he sluggishly stroked around the ice. He should have just skipped this practice and slept in like JJ, who was probably still jet lagged after flying all the way from Canada. There was another session later in the day, at a much more reasonable hour; it’s not like it would have mattered that much in the grand scheme of things if he missed one practice.
As for Otabek...
No fucking way.
Yuri came to a stop near the boards and blinked, wondering if his tired eyes were playing tricks on him. It had to have been a triple, right? Otabek had been practicing a quad lutz off and on for the past couple of seasons, but he hadn’t had much luck in landing it cleanly as far as Yuri was aware. Discreetly, he pulled up Twitter on his phone and searched for Charlie Tong’s account. If anybody else had noticed the quad, it would be skating Twitter’s most observant fan, who often posted live practice reports if he happened to be watching.
Sure enough…
@bracketskating: OMG, 4Lz from Otabek Altin! And it’s HUGE!
@bracketskating: The competition for gold just got a lot more interesting…
“Shouldn’t you be practicing, not playing around on your phone?”
Yuri startled at the very familiar voice coming up beside him, almost dropping his phone on the ice. “Beka! Don’t scare me like that.”
“Sorry,” Otabek said with a chuckle, reaching for his water bottle sitting on top of the boards and taking a large gulp. Some water escaped from the corner of his mouth, drawing Yuri’s eye as it slid down his chin and dripped down onto his very tight white T-shirt.
Yuri involuntarily swallowed before shaking his head, chasing away the inappropriate thought that had come to mind. Focus, Yuri!
“Anyway, what the hell was that?” he asked.
Otabek played dumb. “What?”
“This!” Yuri held up his phone so he could see Charlie’s Tweets. “That quad lutz! Since when do you have a quad lutz?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Since around my birthday, I guess? Something finally clicked.”
Something finally clicked… “And you didn’t fucking tell me?” Yuri playfully punched him on the arm. “If you’ve had it since late October, why didn’t you do it at your Grand Prix events?”
“Didn’t need it to win, and I thought it would make a good secret weapon for the final.”
“You evil, evil man.” No wonder he had seemed more confident than usual when they met up at the hotel.
Otabek laughed. “I had to do something to compete with your quad flips.”
“Are you using it in your short?”
He shrugged. “Depends on how I feel during the warm-up,” he said, setting his water bottle back down on the boards. “You’ll just have to wait and see…”
“Beka!”
But Otabek had already skated off, landing another beautiful quad lutz.
Yuri privately smiled as he took off his jacket and resumed his own practice, getting a new wind. Well, what do you know? It looks like we have a real competition now...
“The last time you attempted to defend your title as Grand Prix Final champion, you lost to Japanese skater Yuuri Katsuki, who went on to win Olympic gold and the World Championships later that season,” the reporter interviewing Yuri for Channel One Russia reminded him. “It’s often said that defending a title can be even more difficult than winning it in the first place, so are you feeling a lot of pressure coming into this year’s final, especially considering the fact that you, Otabek Altin, and Jean-Jacques Leroy all qualified with two golds each?”
“Not any more than usual.” Yuri shifted in his uncomfortable chair, attempting to look confident and unbothered. “If anything, I’m excited. It’s the first time I’ll be competing against those two head-to-head this season, so I’m looking forward to seeing how my programs stack up against theirs and what improvements I might need to make to prepare for the second half of the season.”
“We’ll be looking forward to it, too,” she said. “Thanks for taking the time to join us, and good luck during tomorrow’s short program. All of Russia will surely be rooting for you!”
“Thanks for having me.”
“And...cut! Okay, that’s a wrap,” the director in charge of filming the segment announced from his spot behind the camera. “Good job, everyone.”
Finally! Yuri thought, his stomach rumbling as soon as he dropped his practiced “media-friendly” persona, born from enduring far too many annoying lectures from Lilia over the years. Thanks to missing breakfast earlier, he was positively famished. Pulling out his cell phone, he called Otabek, who picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, wanna grab some lunch?” he asked, barely giving Otabek a chance to say “hello”. “I’m finally done with my media commitments, so I have the afternoon free.”
“Ah, sorry,” Otabek apologized. “I’ve already eaten. My mother, grandmother, and Inzhu arrived in Italy this morning, so we went out to eat, then did a little sight-seeing. I invited you to come with us, but I guess you didn’t see my text.”
Yuri frowned. “No, I put my phone on silent during the interview. I haven’t even checked my messages yet.” Not that he would have been able to go even if he had seen it in time, but still… There wouldn’t be much time for them to hang out together once the competition started in earnest. Since Nationals was only a couple of weeks away, he would be heading back to St. Petersburg with Mila and Yakov the morning after the banquet to get straight back to training.
“I can do dinner, though,” Otabek said, perking Yuri back up.
“Your family won’t mind?”
“No, not at all. Grandma’s pretty exhausted. To be honest, her doctors probably would have preferred that she stayed home, but she says she wants to see me skate live as much as she can while she still recognizes me, and she can be incredibly stubborn when she wants to be…” He chuckled. “Anyway, we’re on our way back to their hotel right now. Mom said they’ll probably just order room service for dinner and go to bed early to try to get over the jet lag. So, dinner?”
“Hell, yeah!” Yuri agreed a little too enthusiastically. “I mean, sure, sounds good. Meet up around seven-ish, after our second session?”
“Yeah, that works for me. Come by my room.”
“Okay. See you later then.”
“Later. Bye!”
Yuri smiled as he hung up his phone, only for another rumble in his stomach to remind him that he still needed to eat. He supposed room service would do, but it was such a nice day, it seemed a shame to waste the afternoon hanging around the hotel. He looked up online recommendations for local restaurants and decided on a nearby tavola calda located only a couple of blocks away that had received tons of rave reviews.
The moment he stepped inside the restaurant, he was hit with savory aromas coming from the display counter set up on the left side of the room. The display was filled with rows of round individual-sized pizzas and various choices of panini, calzone, pastas, salads, fish, meats, and fresh vegetables, all steaming hot and ready to be served.
It wasn’t Yuri’s first trip to Italy – he had gone to Lombardia Trophy the past couple of seasons – so he was already familiar with the concept of tavola caldas, which were cafeteria-style restaurants. One of the best things about a tavola calda – beyond the delicious food for a more-than-reasonable price – was that very little Italian was necessary beyond a few “grazie”s and “per favore”s. He grabbed a tray from the provided stack and got in line at the counter, pointing out what he wanted to the servers as he made his way down.
After paying for his food, Yuri looked around the eatery for an empty table, but there were none to be found. As to be expected with such great reviews, the place was packed with both locals and tourists. Frowning, he was about to go back to the counter and request a take-out bag instead when he spotted a familiar redhead sitting near the back of the room – and there were two empty chairs at her table.
Lucky! There was something he wanted to ask her about anyway.
Yuri made his way over, dumping his tray on Mila’s table and plopping down in the chair directly across from her. “Do you think I should do the quad lutz in the free?”
Looking up from her plate of acqua pazza, Mila arched an eyebrow. “Hello to you, too.”
Ugh, pleasantries. Who the fuck cared? “Yeah, yeah, hi, how’s it going… Now answer my question.”
“Does JJ’s rumored second lutz have you that worried?” she asked, again avoiding giving him an answer.
Yuri rolled his eyes. It was starting to feel like he was the only one in the skating world who hadn’t heard about JJ’s new layout plans. “Seriously, does everybody listen to that godforsaken podcast?”
She shrugged, taking another bite of her poached fish. “It’s a good way to keep up with all the gossip, although I personally prefer that new one, The Warm-up. Rosalie, Alan, and Not-Olympic-Champion Tara are freaking hilarious! Have you listened to their lore episodes yet? I swear –”
Yuri snapped his fingers. “Focus, Mila.”
“Oops, sorry!” she said, giggling. “Got a little off track there. Anyway, has JJ gotten under your skin?”
“Not JJ. He’s gonna crash and burn like always.” Hopefully. “It’s Beka.”
“Ah, right. I heard he did a couple of quad lutzes this morning at practice.”
Sighing, Yuri sat back in his chair and poked at his caprese salad with his fork. “Apparently, it’s his new secret weapon.”
“Is he landing them consistently?”
“Probably.” He knew Otabek. He wouldn’t dare risk putting a new jump in his program unless he knew he had a decent chance of landing it successfully. His relative consistency was his strength against JJ’s humongous jumps and Yuri’s backloaded combos. He rarely fell or under-rotated any of his jumps.
“And when’s the last time you practiced yours?”
“Maybe a couple of weeks ago?” Technically, he had the quad lutz. Idiot tech panels had a bad habit of giving him edge calls on it, though, so he preferred to rely on his much more dependable quad flips and backload all his combos in the second half to increase his base value.
“Mmm, seems risky.” She took a sip of her diet soda through a straw. “What does Yakov say?”
“Haven’t asked him yet, but you already know his answer…”
“Don’t be an idiot,” they both recited in unison, having heard it often enough over the years. “Stick to the layout you know you can do.”
“He does have a point, you know,” Mila said. “And even if Otabek does do the lutz, you know he tends to lose levels on his spins, so it probably won’t increase his tech score by that much.”
Yuri sighed. “Yeah, you’re right, but…”
“Ciao, my love! Sorry I’m late.”
Sara walked over to their table, bending down to give Mila a brief peck on the lips before taking a seat in the empty chair next to her. “Hello, Yuri,” she greeted him in English with a friendly smile. “I wasn’t expecting you to be joining us for lunch.”
“Oh, I, uh…crap.” Honestly, Yuri hadn’t even considered that he might be crashing a lunch date between the two of them, though in hindsight, he should have known since Mila wasn’t the type to eat alone in public. She and Sara rarely got to spend much time with each other in person as it was; the last thing they probably wanted was a third wheel hanging around. He may be a jerk at times, but he wasn’t a complete asshole. Pushing back his chair, he started to stand. “Sorry, I was just about to –”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Mila said, motioning for him to sit back down. “We don’t mind, right, Sara?”
“No, not at all. Sit!”
Well, if they insisted… Yuri did what he was told.
“So, what were you two discussing?” Sara asked, drizzling some olive oil over her salad.
“Yura’s wondering if he should do a quad lutz in his free,” Mila answered for him.
“Oh, because Otabek finally has one? I saw some videos from this morning’s practice session on Twitter. His quad lutz is looking really good!”
“It does,” Yuri admitted after taking a couple of bites of his panini. “He really might have a chance at winning the gold this time if he can land it when it counts.”
“I heard JJ might be adding a second one to his free skate, too.”
Of course she had. It was the worst kept secret in skating at this point!
Sara tilted her head to the side. “But don’t you usually get an edge call on your quad lutz?”
“Yeah, but… I gotta do something, right?”
“I say you should stick to your usual layout,” Mila said. “It’s too much of a risk when you haven’t even been practicing your lutz.”
“But the final is the perfect competition to take big risks!” Sara countered. “The first time I landed my triple lutz-triple loop combination in competition was at the final.”
“That is true. I forgot about that.” Mila reached over and stabbed a cherry tomato from Sara’s plate with her fork.
“See? You don’t have to worry about qualifying spots, and even if you fail, the worse you can place is sixth, so why not go for it?”
“Yeah, but are you just telling him that so Mickey has a better chance at finally making the podium this year?”
“No! I mean, it would be really nice if he won a medal, seeing as we’re here in Torino, but –”
“Yeah, you two are no help at all,” Yuri muttered in Russian to Mila, having heard enough. He once again pushed back his chair and gathered his tray as he stood up. “Thanks, but I think I’m going to go to the gym and get my off-ice workout in.”
“Oh, okay,” Mila said, waving her fingers. “Have fun!”
“Ciao!
Around dinner time, Yuri headed down to the seventh floor.
He came to a stop in front of the door to Room 716, but as he raised his fist to knock, he hesitated. Though they were just going to spend the evening hanging out, for some reason, it almost felt like he was picking Otabek up on a date.
He shook his head. Don’t be ridiculous, Yura, he thought, berating himself for such an idiotic thought as he rapped his knuckles against the wooden door. It’s not like he’s your boyfriend or anything…
Otabek opened the door a few seconds later, the sweet scent of his new cologne wafting through the air. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Yuri echoed. “Um, ready to go?”
“Yeah, let me just get my jacket.” He disappeared for a moment before returning, wearing his favorite leather jacket over a black turtleneck. “You’re not wearing one?” he asked. “That shirt doesn’t seem very warm.”
Yuri had kept his look casual, dressing in jeans and a long-sleeved band shirt, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail. “It wasn’t that cold earlier,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “I’ll be fine.” After all, he was used to being in a freezing cold ice rink all day. A little late autumn chill wasn’t going to kill him.
“If you say so. Come on.”
A light breeze was blowing as they exited the hotel, tousling Yuri’s ponytail. It was a little cooler than earlier, but nothing too bothersome.
“Any idea where you want to go?” Otabek asked as they made their way down the steps.
“Dunno. Let’s just walk around, see what looks good.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
As it was Christmas time, the streets of Turin were illuminated by the famous Luci d’Artista, an outdoor contemporary art exhibit of light installations. Yuri couldn’t help but stop every few minutes to take a selfie with some of the coolest pieces, managing to convince notoriously camera-shy Otabek to join him in at least a couple. He could already imagine the thousands of likes on Instagram he was going to get when he posted them.
As they turned down one street, they came across what appeared to be a bustling Christmas market consisting of various booths and games. An Italian version of “Silent Night” played over the loudspeaker, some of the crowd singing along to the traditional tune. It reminded Yuri of how Viktor and Katsudon had visited a Christmas market the night they had exchanged rings in Barcelona, the evening before the short program at the Grand Prix Final.
“Want to check it out?”
“What?” Yuri asked, breaking away from his thoughts. He shook his head. “Oh, no way. Christmas markets are so cringe. Only losers like Vitya and Katsudon go to them. Besides, you don’t even celebrate Christmas!” Otabek had been raised Muslim, although he wasn’t particularly observant.
“Point taken, but let’s at least grab some hot chocolate to warm up.” Otabek nodded in the direction of a booth selling refreshments near the entrance of the market.
It had progressively gotten colder since they first started their walk, Yuri had to admit, rubbing at his arms. Not cold enough to be unbearable, but in hindsight, it probably would have been smart to wear a jacket after all – not that he would ever say so after his earlier bravado.
“Yeah, okay, as long as you don’t tell Yakov.”
“It’ll be our secret,” Otabek agreed, bringing a finger to his chapped lips.
They got in line at the booth and ordered their hot chocolate. While waiting for their cups, Yuri looked around at some of the other attractions in the area and froze when he spotted a familiar pair browsing the inventory at another booth about fifteen feet away. He had been right – losers like them loved Christmas markets.
“Crap!” Yuri quickly hid behind Otabek’s back, though it was no use now that he was slightly taller than his best friend. At least the idiots were engrossed in their shopping, admiring a beautiful Murano glass ornament. Still, he shielded his face with his hand for good measure, hoping they wouldn’t look their way.
Otabek craned his neck over his shoulder. “Yura?”
“Vitya and Katsudon,” he said in a low voice. “3 o’clock.”
“Oh, they’re here?” He turned his head in the direction Yuri had indicated and started to raise his hand in greeting until Yuri yanked it back down. “You don’t want to say hello?”
“Not right now.” Knowing them, they’d probably tease them about being on a date – or worse, insist on making it a double date. The last thing he wanted to do when he was finally able to spend some quality time alone with Otabek was hang around with those two bozos. “We’ll see them tomorrow at the rink, anyway. Come on, let’s go before they notice us,” Yuri said, grabbing one of the festively decorated cups the young woman manning the booth had set down on the counter.
Otabek took the other one with a polite “Grazie,” and followed after him.
They managed to sneak past the sickening lovebirds without being detected and continued on their stroll, sipping their steaming cups of hot chocolate like a couple from one of those hokey rom-com holiday movies Mila inexplicably loved to watch every year – a thought Yuri brushed aside as soon as it came to mind.
Seriously, what the fuck? Was there something in his drink?
Along the way, they came across a small boutique with the coolest snow leopard print sweater on display in their Christmas-themed window. Though Yuri tried his best not to show too much interest in it, knowing he probably couldn’t afford it, Otabek caught him glancing at it as they passed by.
“That would look good on you,” he said.
“You think?”
“Yeah.”
“A Paolo Fabbri sweater is way out of my price range, though.” Yuri made some fairly decent money now thanks to all his winnings and sponsorships, but most of that was earmarked for living and training expenses – he had moved out of Lilia’s penthouse and found his own apartment over the summer, so he had a lot more financial responsibilities to deal with – along with helping his retired grandfather with his bills. He didn’t have the spare cash to be dropping hundreds of euros on a designer sweater, no matter how fucking cool it was.
“It doesn’t cost anything to try it on,” Otabek pointed out, tossing his empty cup into a nearby trashcan. “Let’s go in.”
“Beka!”
But Otabek was already at the front of the boutique, holding open the door like a fucking gentleman. With an exasperated shake of his head, Yuri quickly downed the rest of his own hot chocolate, scalding his tongue in the process, then threw away his cup and walked through the entrance to the sound of Andrea Bocelli’s familiar tenor voice singing “Nessun Dorma” faintly over the sound system.
The boutique practically smelled of money, decorated with rich mahogany wood and tasteful artwork. Yuri immediately regretted not wearing one of his nicer outfits. Otabek, on the other hand, looked right at home in the store, holding up a hand to capture the attention of the salesman on duty.
“Buona sera. Parla inglese?” he asked in decent Italian.
“Yes, I do,” the salesman answered in heavily accented English, joining them. “How may I help you today, sir?”
“My friend is interested in trying on the sweater in the window. The Fabbri snow leopard print?”
“Of course.” He turned his attention to Yuri. “Size?”
“Um, I think 38?” Yuri couldn’t remember the difference between Russian and European sizing off-hand, but that sounded about right.
“One moment. I will be right back.”
After finding the sweater in the correct size, the salesman showed Yuri to a dressing room in the back of the boutique. He changed into the sweater, pleased that it seemed to fit quite well on his lanky frame. It was even softer than he expected, the high-quality cashmere enveloping him in cozy warmth. Yuri ran his hands over the fabric, falling more in love with the sweater every second he had it on. Dammit, Beka, he thought, why did you talk me into this?
“Yura, you okay in there?” Otabek asked from outside his cubicle. “Do you need a different size? I can ask Mario to get you another one if you want.”
Mario? Oh, that must be the salesman’s name. Yuri hadn’t paid much attention to his nametag. “No, it fits. I’m coming out,” he called out, smoothing away some non-existent wrinkles before drawing back the red velvet curtain that served as the door to the cubicle. “So, what do you think?”
Otabek, who had been casually leaning back against the wall opposite of Yuri’s dressing room, stood at attention, his dark eyes widening as Yuri stepped out and struck a pose.
“Yeah...um...you look great,” Otabek said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fantastic.”
“Yeah?” Yuri strolled over to the full length mirror on the wall at the far end of the room. “Fuck, I really do,” he said, admiring his reflection. The sweater fit him perfectly, almost as if it was custom-made for him. “See, this is why it’s a bad idea to try on luxury brands you know you can’t afford. Now I want it even more! How much does it cost, anyway?” He located the attached tag on the sleeve and nearly fainted at the price. “Four hundred euros?” he whisper shouted before sighing. “Well, that’s that…”
He started to head back to the dressing room to change when Otabek called out to Mario, who was folding a stack of designer jeans just outside of the dressing room area. “Excuse me, can you ring up this sweater?”
Yuri pivoted around. “Beka, I told you. I can’t afford this,” he whispered in Russian so Mario wouldn’t understand.
“But I can,” Otabek said, uncharacteristically bragging. Though the Altin family was loaded – his father was some hotshot CEO or something – it wasn’t Otabek’s style to flash around his wealth. “You really like it, right? Consider it an early Christmas present.”
Yuri rolled his eyes. “Again, you don’t celebrate Christmas.”
“Is there a law against a Muslim buying his friend a Christmas present?”
“I mean, no, I guess not, but we’ve never exchanged Christmas presents before…”
“Very early birthday present then,” he amended.
“Beka…”
“I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”
Realizing it was no use continuing to protest, Yuri sighed. “Fine, but only if you let me buy you something as a late birthday present in exchange.” He passed by Mario and walked out of the dressing area, his eyes scanning the displays in the immediate vicinity until they landed on what he had been searching for: a matching snow leopard-print scarf he had noticed earlier. Discreetly, he checked the attached price tag and was relieved to see it was only 95 euros. Still somewhat of a stretch for his budget, especially with the holidays coming up, but with the prize money he was almost certain to win in a couple of days, he could afford a small indulgence – the keyword being “small”. “How about this?” he asked Otabek, who had followed after him. “Do you like it?”
He looped the scarf around Otabek’s neck without thinking, adjusting the ends until both sides were hanging evenly from his shoulders. It was only when Otabek sucked in a soft breath that Yuri realized how intimate a gesture it could be construed as. He quickly pulled his hands away, averting his eyes.
“You don’t have to buy me anything, Yura. You already gave me a great birthday present – those leather driving gloves, remember?”
“I-If you’re going to splurge on me, then I’m gonna splurge on you – and I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer, either.” After snatching the scarf away from Otabek’s neck, Yuri turned to the salesman who had joined them. “I’m buying this, okay?” he said, switching back to his stilted English.
“And I’ll be paying for this one,” Otabek added, gently tugging on the sleeve of Yuri’s sweater.
“Certainly, sirs,” Mario said, taking the scarf from Yuri. “Would you like the sweater in a bag, or would you prefer to wear it out of the store?”
“Oh...uh…” Shit, he really needed to work more on his English. Yuri had gotten pretty good at it when Katsudon was around, but after Yuuri and Viktor had left St. Petersburg to go back to Japan after their respective retirements from competitive skating, he had largely fallen out of practice, having little need to use it unless he was speaking to foreign fans or reporters at competitions abroad. The heavy Italian accent didn’t help matters. He had little trouble understanding Sara (and Michele) when she spoke English, but Mario’s accent was near incomprehensible.
Fortunately, Otabek answered for him, lowering his voice to translate afterwards as the salesman walked over to the register to ring up their purchases. “I said you’ll wear it out of the store.”
“What? No, I’ll go chan—”
“You’ve been freezing, right? That sweater has to be a lot warmer than that thin shirt you were wearing.”
Wait, was that why Otabek had been so insistent on buying the sweater for him? “I guess it has gotten a little chilly…” Yuri admitted, rubbing at his arms.
“Good, then it’s settled,” Otabek said with a small smile. “Go get your other shirt, and I’ll meet you at the register.”
Yuri quickly grabbed his original shirt from the dressing room, then joined Otabek at the counter near the back of the boutique, where they paid for their respective purchases.
“What do you want to do with your other shirt?” Otabek asked as Mario handed him a small black bag featuring the boutique’s logo embossed in shiny gold ink. “Are you just going to carry it around like that all night?”
Yuri looked down at his shirt, which he had casually thrown over his left arm. He didn’t necessarily mind lugging it around, but it wasn’t the most ideal situation.
“Here.” Otabek took out the scarf and offered the leftover bag to Yuri. “Use that. I’ll wear my gift, too,” he said, wrapping his new scarf around his neck in a look that was effortlessly cool
Damn, but did it look good on him… Yuri couldn’t help but stare. Of course, Otabek was a good-looking guy, so most things did, but had he always been so…well, fucking hot?
“Yura…?” Otabek waved a hand in front of Yuri’s face. “Yura? Earth to Yura?”
“Huh?” Yura blinked, finally snapping out of it. “Did you say something?”
“I was just thanking you for the scarf,” he said, frowning. “Are you feeling okay? You’re not coming down with something, are you?”
Otabek reached up to place a hand against his forehead, but Yuri quickly slapped it away, not wanting him to feel how burning hot his face was. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he insisted. “Just starving. Come on, let’s get some grub!”