Work Text:
The bed is cold when Yuri wakes up.
The blankets have been pulled up to his shoulders, and a glass of water, along with a bottle of painkillers, sits on the nightstand for him.
Otabek is being thoughtful, really, taking care of him like this, letting him sleep in.
But despite the covers around him, the bed is cold without Otabek beside him.
His ankle hurts, too.
It's been a few days, but he's still adjusting to the fact that he can't skate on it, can't even walk without crutches.
It was his own stupid fault, trying that quad axel when he was already exhausted. He really thought he could get it, just this one jump, and then he'd call it a day.
But he'd landed wrong, and torn the ligament of his right ankle.
It hurt like hell.
But not as much as the realization that it was entirely possible he would never skate again.
He’d sworn he wouldn't cry, but it was a close thing. Otabek had held him on the hospital bed, and kissed his forehead, and tried to make it better.
Yuri appreciates the effort Otabek is putting in, he really does.
But he wonders how long it will last.
Surely Otabek will get frustrated, or tired of being with someone who can't even fucking walk, much less skate. At this point, Yuri is merely counting the days until Otabek realizes, hey, I could do so much better than this, and leaves.
So what if Otabek has been nothing but patient so far? Everyone leaves him, in the end. It's just a matter of time.
Yuri sighs and picks up his phone to check the time, bypassing the pills altogether.
What the fuck?
How had he slept until two in the fucking afternoon? Otabek will be back from training soon, and he isn't even out of bed yet.
Shoving down the covers, Yuri sits up and grabs his stupid crutches from where they lean against the wall. He hobbles his way to the kitchen for some breakfast, or lunch, or whatever the fuck it is.
He's surprised to see a little yellow post-it on the table, and rips it off to read it.
Yuri,
Made breakfast for you, it's in the fridge.
Love you.
-Beka
Yuri blinks.
That was nice of him, he supposes. He opens the door to the fridge, to be met with a plate of pancakes, eggs, and sausage, covered in plastic wrap.
Otabek made all this, on a weekday?
He didn't have to go through all the trouble, just for him. He could’ve just left out a couple packets of oatmeal, or something.
Well, Otabek put in the work, so he might as well eat it.
Yuri removes the plastic wrap and throws it away before hobbling over to the table. He sets down the plate and turns to get a fork from the drawer, pivoting on his good foot.
Just as he takes his seat, he hears the door rattle open, and a few footsteps later, Otabek stands in the kitchen entrance.
He blinks.
“You're just now eating that?” he says.
“I just now got up,” Yuri grumbles, picking up his fork.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
There's a bit of silence as Yuri pushes the bits of sausage around on his plate.
“Why did you make all this shit, anyway?” he asks. “I could've done with something simpler.”
Otabek sets his bag down on the floor.
“I thought you'd appreciate it,” he answers carefully. “I'm sorry.”
Yuri drops his fork and lets his head fall into his hands.
“I do,” he sighs. “I do appreciate it. That's not what I meant.”
Otabek crosses the room, stopping at the table and dropping into the chair across from Yuri. He sits, and waits for Yuri to clarify.
But how can he? It's not like he can talk about not being worthy of Otabek, and being afraid that Otabek will leave him, to Otabek.
“I just,” he starts. “It's not like I've been doing anything, other than laying around. I don't need some - some ‘breakfast of champions,’ or some shit.”
He hears Otabek sigh in front of him.
“I just made it, because I wanted to,” he says gently. “Because I want you to enjoy nice things. That's all.”
Yuri looks up at him accusingly.
“And how much earlier did you have to get up, to make everything? How much… how much trouble did you go through, for some lousy breakfast?”
Otabek stares at him.
“… Yuri, is this really about the breakfast?”
Yuri falters.
“What the fuck else would I be talking about?”
Otabek shrugs.
“You tell me.”
Yuri's eyes are beginning to burn, and, oh, fuck no, he is not going to cry, not here, not now. He swallows the tears and decides, well, if Otabek wants him to be honest, he'll fucking be honest.
“I'm - I'm not worth it, any of it,” he grits out. “I'm not worth your fucking breakfast, and I'm not worth you, and I'm - ”
He closes his eyes and lowers his voice to a whisper.
“I'm scared.”
A finger runs lightly across the back of his hand.
“Scared of what?” Otabek asks calmly.
Yuri lets a frantic laugh escape to cover up how much he wants to cry.
“Fucking everything,” he says. “I'm scared of - of never skating again, I'm scared of you… leaving, fuck, I'm scared I'll lose two of the most important things in my life.”
Otabek doesn't say anything for a moment.
Then, “Yura, look at me.”
Slowly, Yuri lets his eyes flutter open.
Otabek reaches across the table to grab his hands, forcing him to look him in the eye.
He looks worried.
“Why on earth would I leave you?” he says. “Because you - you might not skate again? Is that really what you think of me?”
Yuri smiles bitterly as a tear escapes down his cheek.
“It's what I think of me,” he corrects quietly.
The grip on his hand tightens.
“Yuri… ”
Otabek clears his throat and tries again.
“Yura, you are so, so much more than just… your skating.”
Yuri shakes his head, unable to hold back a sniffle.
Otabek leans forward, eyes frantically roaming Yuri's face.
“No, no, you are,” he says. “You're - you're strong, and smart, and - and really fucking ambitious - ”
“Yeah, that's what got me into this mess,” Yuri snorts.
“Yuri, none of this is your fault,” Otabek says. “It was nobody's fault. These things happen to skaters all the time.”
Yuri exhales as Otabek's hands come up to wipe away the tears on his face.
“I know,” he whispers. “I know, I guess I just… it feels like everything is my fault, sometimes. A lot of the time.”
Otabek smiles sadly.
“I know,” he says.
He moves a hand down to hold one of Yuri's, and stands, pulling Yuri up with him. He presses a kiss to his wrist, and says, “Let's go back to bed.”
Yuri sniffles.
“But - your breakfast…”
“We can bring the breakfast,” Otabek laughs.
“This doesn't… fix everything,” Yuri says. He swallows. “I'm not - magically better, just because you made me food, and told me I'm amazing, and shit.”
Otabek walks around the table to stand beside him, still holding Yuri's hand.
“I'm not sure anything I could do can ‘fix’ it,” he says slowly. “Only you can be in charge of that. But am I… helping, at least a little?”
Yuri thinks back to when he first woke up, and his first thoughts were that any day now, Otabek was going to leave him.
“You are,” he admits.
“Good,” Otabek smiles. “Then come back to bed with me, and eat the breakfast I gladly made you, and let me try to help you as much as I can.”
“I don't think I can stop you,” Yuri scowls teasingly.
Otabek leads them to the bedroom, looking at him the entire time.
Yuri is trying to let Otabek help him. It's not easy, for him, but he's trying.
Otabek's trying, too.
And eventually, someday, they'll meet somewhere in the middle.