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If someone had told me a few months ago that I'll be sitting at my desk and writing a poem I would've laughed at them.
Like, no. What the fuck. I don't write poems. I don't do poetry. That's ridiculous.
And yet, here I am. Sitting at my desk.
Writing a poem.
Doing fucking poetry.
Shit.
Damn Katsudon. That was his fault. But his arguments did make sense...
If I want Beka to fall in love with me I have to do something for it. And he's a sucker for all that sappy shit, I know he's reading poems all the time.
He's actually just a grandpa, despite his young appearance. No interest in Social Media, but deeply inflicted with classical music, art and that kind of stuff. Hell, he's even swirling his wine in his glass so it can 'breath' whatever that means.
It should irritate me. I always resented people like that. But it doesn't. And Beka is definetely not like other people.
And for some shitty reason I fell hard for this damn old man.
It's frustrating to say the least. I figure it's never easy to be in love with your best friend, especially if those feelings won't just go away after some time but are really fucking persistent. I mean, come on, two years of suffering already. But we're not even in the same country. We're reduced to skype calls and face time mostly. And it's better and simultaneously worse when he's right here with me. I can't really explain, but the pain subsides a little when we're together. I'm always calmer with him and I miss him when he's not physically present.
On the down side, however, it is significantly harder to control the impulses to kiss him or cling to him constantly or otherwise do something I would love to do. I long to do. Sometimes it feels a bit like dying not to be able to do these things, even though he seems to be so close.
It sucks. And it's not getting easier, not at all. It's not something I get used to and it's exhausting.
Some day Katsudon must have noticed there was something wrong with me.
It has been a particularly shitty day, I failed a lot of my jumps in practice and also Beka didn't text because he was out with some people.
I wouldn't admit it, but I'm jealous when it comes to him. I'm not generally possessive, but I don't really want to share him...
Anyway, the day was pretty shit and I was in a very bad mood and when Katsudon asked me after practice what was up with me I just, I just told him.
Because I was holding it in for two fucking years, I mean, give me a break.
It was as if something broke, some kind of wall or barrier and it all came out at once.
I told him how I was in love with Beka, but it was one-sided and how it fucking hurts being always apart, but that it also hurts to be with him only as friends and how fucking frustrating this whole situation was. How unreachable the other man seemed. How fucking stupid I felt.
It was nice having someone to listen. I normally would tell Beka when something's wrong with me, he's an exceptionally good listener, but well. He's kinda the problem here.
Yuuri waited until I finished rambling.
Than he looked at me and actually asked: „Have you tried to make advances on him? Flirt with him? Give him signs?“
I was shocked. „Of course not.“
He shook his head. „How do you know than that Otabek isn't in love with you, too?“
Honest to God, I never even considered it. It seemed too absurd. Otabek Altin, in love with me?
„Well, he certainly didn't give ME any signs.“
„Maybe he was. Maybe his signs were just really... subtle. I mean... it's Otabek we're talking about. He's not very... expressive or easy to read.“
'Not for you', I thought, images of Otabek in my mind in which he cries over Titanic. He wouldn't show this side of him publicly, I was one of the few people who knew of all the soft and emotional sides of him. I surely would've noticed if he gave me signs...
I huffed.
„What do you suggest then? Call him and say „Hey Beka, say, do you happen to be in love with me?“ No way that's gonna happen.“
Yuuri let out a sigh. „No. I guess you have to approach it differently. I don't know Otabek that well, but I have a feeling you could have a chance. I just... I think you have to confess to him. Tell him what you feel. Or otherwise you will forever regret that you didn't.“
„Or I'll forever regret destroying our friendship.“
Yuuri looked at me. „Yurio. Do you honestly think that Otabek would just end the friendship if you'd tell him you're in love with him?“
That got me thinking. Would he? I gnawed at my lip.
„I think... Probably not.“
He's far too nice for that to happen. It would make things awkward, though.
„But-“
„No, listen, okay? Show him you take interest in things he likes. That you're committed to him. You probably know him better than anyone else, take advantage of that knowledge. What does he like?“
I snorted. „He's a hopeless romantic. He's into art and poems and shit.“
Yuuri seemed momentarily surprised of that revelation. Than his eyes sparkled. He was way too excited about this.
„That's great! You could work with that! Draw something only for him or write a poem!“
„Yeah, right. I really don't get that shit. I'm not gonna be able to do that.“
He shook his head. „You pulled off Agape, you can pull off this. Just... Just think about it. Think of a way how you could show him what he means to you and to make Otabek fall in love with you. Express your feelings. Be romantic.“
„It sounds so easy...“ I said resignated.
I tried to brush it off the hours and days to follow. I tried not to think about it.
But I did.
And I really want Otabek to fall in love with me. I am so tired of always pining and longing and not acting on my desires, no matter how much they burn inside of me.
That's why I have to give it a shot. Katsudon somehow raised my hopes for the very first time that Beka could fall for me.
But no shit, I'm terrified.
God knows, I'm not easily frightened, but the thought alone of Beka never talking to me again because of my confession is scarier than Grave Encounters. And that shit is scary as hell.
Okay, whatever.
Focus.
The paper's still blank. What do I want to say to him?
I have to think. What is romantic?
...I don't fucking know, I never really thought about that stuff.
What pretty words can I use? And I probably have to rhyme, don't I.
Ugh.
I haven't even started and it's annoying.
No, stay focused.
Dear Beka,
you are my friend
i don't want the friendship to end
but I like you a lot
and I think you're hot
Okay, no that's really terrible. I cross it out.
Try again.
Dear Beka,
you are my friend
i don't want the friendship to end
but I like you a lot
and I think you're really hot
Dear Beka,
you're as cool and smooth as the ice
but also tasty like a steaming bowl of rice
Hell no. What the fuck. I'm terrible at this, God. Almost as terrible as with doing art, which I have tried before and failed miserably. So writing is kinda the only option I have.
Try again...
Dear Beka,
you are my friend
i don't want the friendship to end
but I like you a lot
and I think you're really hot
Dear Beka,
you're as cool and smooth as the ice
but also tasty like a steaming bowl of rice
Dear Beka,
There is something really fine
it's your face
Please put it on mine
…
I'm grossed out. Why am I like this.
Seriously.... It can't be this fucking hard to just write a damn poem.
Frustrated, I try again.
And this time... This time I don't try to rhyme or be poetic. Maybe it's better anyway to just let it... flow, kind of. Isn't expressing my honest thoughts and emotions as they occure to me more romantic, because they make me more... vulnerable?
I don't fucking know, I'll just give it a shot.
I rip out the paper I was writing on, hovering my pen over a new and blank page. And I begin to write. I try not to think about it too much. It's a bit rough at the beginning, but eventually it's getting easier. It's kind of... just coming out naturally. I have a good feeling about this.
This will be a good one, I'm sure.
The poem is shit.
I just finished it and read it over.. Even though it does portray my feelings somewhat accurate it's just... Not good.
It doesn't seem really romantic, it has a shit ton of swear words in it, I had to cross a lot of things out and it just doesn't have this deep kind of poetry flair or whatever.
I couldn't possibly give this to Beka. That would be a fucking dumb move. He deserved better than this.
… He probably deserved better than me, anyway.
I clench my fists tightly. Fuck. It's not like that's something new, but... Now that my hopes have been raised it hurts even more. To know I'll never be able to make Otabek happy. And I might be selfish, but it's true that I want him to be happy more than anything.
And I can't even write a damn poem. My best effort is still not good enough.
I'm frustrated. And I'm sad.
… Maybe I'm crying. Just a little bit.
Even though I swore I'd never cry over it again. Dammit...
But I'll be fine, I will just practice a little bit harder, push my limits a little more and soon I'll be able to forget the hope the damn Katsudon gave me and I'll be satisfied with just being friends with Beka once again.
I know that's not true, but I just repeat it all over again until at least it sounds a bit convincing. Good enough.
I crumble up the paper and throw it on top of the overspilling bin.
I wipe away the tears and act like they were never there in the first place.
Yakov notices that I'm working furiously today and I can almost sense his little smile during my spin combination. A little feeling of pride flickers in my chest. I'm on fire today and everyone watches.
I'm really good at turning my sadness into anger and use this anger as fuel for my training. Otherwise I wouldn't have made it this far. Of course I overdo it sometimes and than it is more of a hindrance for my performances, but right now I can't allow myself to be sad, I just gotta turn everything into boiling energy. As long as I'm angry I will keep pushing forward.
After I get out of my seemingly endless spin combination I flawlessly continue with the rest of my new routine. I always struggled to keep the flow after my spin and that's why I had problems to keep up with the music or get enough momentum for my planned quad salchow and triple toe combination.
Not today though.
My jumps have the perfect height and speed, I land perfectly in time with the rhythm of he song. It's really fucking satisfying.
„Awesome!“, I hear Viktor shout, holding up a phone and filming me.
I smirk, victorious and probably arrogant. But hell, I fucking nailed it and I'm allowed to feel proud.
I skate over to Viktor. „Show me.“
So he does, pointing out all the little things while watching, the perfect position of the spins, the posture of my free leg and all that stuff. I don't really care though, I am more interested in the way I look dancing over the ice.
I look fierce and strong, though elegant and in full control of my every movement and my chest swells a little. I glance at the older man . „Send it to me.“
Viktor rambles about me not saying „please“ and „thank you“ enough, but who cares. As soon as I get the video I send it to Otabek.
I am not exactly sure why, but I want him to see it. He doesn't know about my feelings, my poem or how it hurts so fucking much and still, I want to prove him something. I want to show him that Yuri Plisetsky can't be broken down, not by lost hope or a unrequited love. That even if I give up on one battle that I'll still fight for myself.
I want to prove it to him and I want it to prove it to myself.
After I hit send I put my phone back into my sports bag and continue training, hoping that I'll be too drained at the end of the day to even think about my emotional mess.
When I check my phone again after practice I have to smile. Otabek fucking Altin. Even if he doesn't know any context he sure as hell knows the right thing to say anyway.
'A true soldier.'
I live alone in a small apartment near the rink. I'm 18 now, but since I always lived with at least my grandfather it was quite unnerving to suddenly be on my own when I moved in with 17. My grandfather couldn't really help me with everything because it was too stressful for him and not good for his health.
As some kind of compromise I gave Katsudon and Viktor a key to my apartment. They always came here if I needed any kind of support and I was truly thankful because honestly, the whole thing could be a bit overwhelming even though I was the one to propose it. This way I'm closer to the rink. And I knew that the Katsuki-Nikiforovs wouldn't abuse my trust. Well, the Katsuki part of the couple at least wouldn't and I was sure that Katsudon wouldn't let Viktor mess with it either.
I'm used to living alone by now and I barely need any help, but when I come home and I see that there are piroshkis on the kitchen table with a little note ('Good work today!!' with a scribble of a cat) I have to smile.
They started to sometimes make food for me, especially piroshki, after I moved in to give me a sense of familiarity and ease any homesickness. Even now they spoiled me from time to time when they had a day off or just left earlier than me and decided I deserved it. I would never admit it to the two but it makes me happy.
After I get rid of my bag, take a long and relaxing shower and put on a XXL shirt I immediatly treat myself with some of the piroshki and a Studio Ghibli movie. Meanwhile Otabek and I send a few texts back and forth.
I am not exactly happy, the weight on my chest hasn't magically disappeared but I am content and comfortable for the moment. I can think I can handle this.
It's not too much of a problem to drift to sleep tonight.
Like always I check my phone after I waking up. There are some notifications from Instagram and Twitter and a few messages, one from Beka and a few from Katsudon. I smile a little at Otabeks 'good morning' message and curse a bit at myself that such a little thing can make me so happy.
That smiles fades quickly, though after opening Yuuris messages.
'yurio, oh my god I'm so sorry'
'I swear I didn't know about it'
'please don't kill me'
'you can kill him though, he kind of deserved it.'
I frown. I have a very bad feeling about it and I call instead of texting back. Damn pig and his inability of just tell me his fucking problem.
„Y-Yurio?“ He sounds nervous. Not that that's anything new... Maybe whatever it is it's not too bad.
„Just spit it out already. What is your problem?“
There is a long moment of silence, Katsudon obviously struggling to find the right words.
„Viktor... Viktor found your poem.“
Oh.
Shit.
Shitshitshit. Was the damn old man fucking snooping around in my apartment when he was bringing the piroshki? What the fuck? But I know this isn't all. Katsudon's not finished talking yet, but he waits for me to react.
I swallow, now being the one who's nervous.
„And?“
„... He sent it to Otabek.“
I ignore all of Viktors advances of talking to me, apologising or explaining himself, nevermind. I don't care.
I didn't go into a rampage after hearing the news three days ago. I didn't throw things or started yelling. Rather I was feeling myself just growing cold, kind of unattached.
It's not Katsudons fault so I'm not any more mean to him than usual, but as soon as Viktor comes near I just go away or don't ackknowledge his presence whatsoever. I know he genuinely feels bad after what he has done, I can tell from the looks he gives me, but I want to make him feel that I'm angry with every inch of my body. Not the passionate kind of anger that I usually show, but one that could freeze a desert.
I don't talk to Otabek anymore either which pains me. A lot.
But I know in a few days he will get the letter with the poem and the friendship will probably be over.
I can't bring myself to act as if everything was normal so I ignore all of his texts that are frequently getting more and more worried. He even called which is a rare occurance. But it's really unusual for me to not answer. I haven't even been active in any of my Social Media.
Also, it's Otabek. He probably smells my unhappiness from Kazakhstan. And I can feel his concern for me from over there.
I want to answer him. I want to see him. I miss him so badly and honestly I just feel lost and lonely right now.
But I can't text him.
Everything's gonna be changed in a few days worth and I don't really want to know what Otabek has to say about the poem. I hope he'll get the clue to just not comment on the letter and to just stay away if he didn't want to be friends anymore after that.
Beka doesn't text anymore. Seems like he got the letter.
Training has been exhausting. Draining. The days are kind of dragging but I try to fight it as good as I possibly can. As a result I snap at the people around me more easily. I'm sorry but I can't think of another way to keep myself from drowning. I still can't allow myself to be swallowed by my sadness, but now it's a different kind of sadness and therefore a different kind of anger.
I still ignore Viktor.
Beka hasn't texted since 5 days now.
When I get home I just want to fall into bad and sleep forever.
But I know I got to eat and do some chores. With a heavy sigh I sit down on my kitchen chair, going through my mail.
A bill, an advertisment and... A letter.
A letter from Kazakhstan.
From Otabek Altin to Yuri Plisetsky.
Inside is a poem.