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The time to say goodbye comes too fast, of course.
Even though the deadline was set from the very start, it still catches Yuri unprepared.
Too many things happened in the last three days and he never got a chance to ready himself, caught in the whirlwind of the last competition of the Grand Prix series, then the exhibition gala on the next day – he’s pretty sure even if he hadn’t won he would’ve been invited -, then barely the afternoon off before the closing party, which dragged on until late at night and left him pretty much for dead until the next day.
Yeah, everything happened too much and too fast and it’s ending too fucking fast too.
It’s Monday and he’s standing at Otabek in the hall of the Barcelona airport - speechless because if there’s one thing he’s bad at, it’s expressing himself in any way that isn’t an angry fit, and anger isn’t what he feels right now. Well, not completely true. He does feel angry, but it’s pretty much a low rumble at the back of his mind, and the other things he feels are unfamiliar, a slippery mix of emotions that don’t belong together and leave a queasy sensation in his stomach. Wrong is what it feels.
The airport is loud and busy but around them is the empty halo that forms itself around particularly tense moments, as if the mindless crowd knew it had better stay out of this.
Yuri stares at Otabek’s impassive-as-ever face and all he has to say is fucking goodbye, text you soon, see you whenever, probably at worlds and don’t think you stand a chance against me, and he can’t. It should be fucking simple, yet the words die in his throat every time he tries to spit them out. The seconds drag to infinity and shit, he just wants to punch himself for being such a fucking pussy.
But even like that, face to face at the airport, with nothing but silence and the expectative of farewells between the two of them, it’s not as awkward as it should be. Because there’s that other thing between them - Yuri would call it connexion but that would be grossly sappy - , there’s that thing and he knows that Otabek feels as agitated he does right now, in his own quiet way. And that’s the problem, maybe, the connexion (goddammit), the fact that they don’t need words to understand each other, the way they both feel comfortable in the other’s presence and shit, it’s only been three days they met, three fucking day and it feels like aeons and it’s not nearly enough.
Since the talk at the Park Güell, they’ve spent pretty much all of their free time together, which wasn’t much but Yuri can’t remember the last time he had that much fun off the ice. From the walk they took in the park and the coffee they went to have after that, Yuri frowning at Otabek’s taste in sugar, then excitedly chattering about the last competitions and dissing pretty much the entirety of the figure skating world until the interruption by The Grossest Couple Ever™ and almost kicking Otabek under the table when he clapped at their stupid, disgusting almost-wedding-announcement (don’t encourage them goddammit they already practically made out on the ice at the Cup of China), to the exhibition gala (of course Otabek came to watch him and of course Katsudon did cheesy as fuck ice dancing with Viktor) on Sunday, it had been just too much fun.
Even the closing party, which usually bores him to death – he’ll be damned if he admits that last year the dance off with Katsudon was kind of fun – seemed a blur, from when he came back with two glasses of liquor snatched away from a very drunk already Gross Couple (Otabek remarked he was old enough not to have to have to steal alcohol if he wanted some, and even his smug ass smirk couldn’t make Yuri want to punch him) to when they snuck out of the party for a stroll that ended in Otabek walking him back to his hotel room, then staying in for a bit at Yuri’s invitation, which turned into chatting until almost dawn, at which point the sudden brightness of the sky made Otabek realize he really had to get back to his own room because his plane was tomorrow, well, this afternoon – all of it had just been too fucking much fun to last.
Which led to now, to tensely standing in front of one another at the airport, to their last face-to-face minutes for probably the next six months, give or take. To the sudden stiffness of their expressions, twin frowns, when everything has been nothing but completely evident until now, none of them even needing to take a step back and question the nature of it all.
None of them knows how to deal with this now – it feels aborted, unfinished in a way Yuri knew was inevitable, but can’t bring himself to accept. The truth is, there was something in that time they spent together, not in the words but between them, in the silences and the immediate acceptation of each other, like the promise of something else, and that something is missing for real closure. The thought brushes Yuri’s mind, but the implications scare him shitless, so he shoves it all the way back into his subconscious before it even has a chance to take form, and clenches his fists.
But they’ve been staring at each other’s face for too long now, and it grows weirder by the second, and Yuri doesn’t want things between him and Otabek to be weird. He raises a hand and lets it fall on Otabek’s shoulder, where it lands with a pok on the leather jacket, and the gesture is stiff and awkward and wrong, but isn’t that what friends do? Then he speaks up, or tries to, but his voice catches in his throat so all that comes out is a rasp. Parts of Yuri is screaming to give up right there and run away, but Yuri is nothing if persistent, so he clears his throat and starts again.
“So… You have a safe trip, Altin. Get some rest, you look like shit. And you better kick ass in nationals or I’ll be bored to death at worlds.”
He tries really hard to talk the way he usually does, cocky and only half interested, but he knows he’s not fooling anyone.
He’s expecting Otabek will nod solemnly and wish him the same, and maybe he’ll pop that infuriating smirk that doesn’t make Yuri want to gut him, and then they’ll part with a stone in their bellies.
But Otabek doesn’t.
What he does instead is catch Yuri’s extended arm - the one that’s been resting on his shoulder at an awkward angle – from under, right above the armpit, and pull.
Yuri stumbles forward. He lands against Otabek. His cheek hits the leather somewhere near his shoulder, makes a little smack sound, but he doesn’t even hear it, everything sounds like he’s underwater, drowned into the sound of his heart pounding. Shit, Otabek is hugging him. His right arm is folded around Yuri’s shoulders, his left one still holding Yuri’s at a now unnatural angle. But this time, it doesn’t feel wrong.
“You take care, Plisetsky. I will see you at worlds. At the latest.”
Yuri doesn’t even try to disentangle himself. What he does instead is nod against Otabek’s shoulder, close his eyes and drink in his smell, his warmth, the sound of his voice and the pulse in his carotid artery, somewhere near his face. It’s as fast as Yuri’s own.
They part simultaneously and look at each other’s eyes for a few more seconds. Then Yuri nods slowly, and what he means to say is go now, but the words won’t make it past his lips. Otabek understands, though. He nods in turn, gives Yuri a last solemn glance and leaves.
Yuri doesn’t stay to watch him pass the gates. He’s not that cheesy. Instead he instantly turns on his heels, making it as fast as he can for the nearest exit.
He doesn’t feel as bad as he thought he would. It still feels unfinished, it still feels wrong to be parting so fast, but there’s a lightness in his stomach instead of the stone from earlier. This might be goodbye, but it’s just the first of many goodbyes to come.