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Hard-won tradition or not, Yuri is shocked when Otabek’s coach permits him to spend a month in St. Petersburg to work with Yakov and Lilia despite a recently broken ankle. He’s been cleared to skate for a few weeks now, but still; had it been Yuri himself in that situation, he knows that Lilia would never have let him out of her sight. Not that he minds getting to spend the extra time with Otabek, of course. But he can tell that his boyfriend is starting to get frustrated with the limits placed on him by his still healing body.
“I said a double axel,” Lilia barks, as Otabek picks himself up from his third failed triple axel in the last hour. “Do not waste my time by ignoring the things that I say.”
Yuri, who has been using his own break to loiter nearby and watch Otabek practice, winces. Otabek’s face is an inscrutable mask as he picks himself stiffly up off the ice . “I’m sorry,” he says. “May I try again?”
She nods once, and Yuri watches with his heart pounding as Otabek begins the buildup to his double axel again. This time, he gets the correct number of rotations and even manages to stick his landing, but he wobbles dangerously and has to throw his arms wide to steady himself.
“Try again,” says Lilia, frowning slightly. “Do you know what you need to fix?”
Otabek nods back and tries again, and though it’s a better landing this time, it’s still a much wobblier landing than it should be. “Take a break,” Lilia says, suddenly. “I will not have you re-injure yourself by pushing too hard too quickly.”
He nods again and skates slowly off the ice. Doesn’t even acknowledge Yuri’s presence, which stings a little even though Yuri knows that he’s probably too busy fretting about his poor skating to pay much attention to him. “I brought tea,” he says, offering Otabek a thermos.
Otabek jumps slightly, as though he genuinely hadn’t realized Yuri had been standing there. “Thanks,” he says dully, taking it from him and plunking down hard on the nearest bench. But then all he does is sit there, still wearing his skates and staring blankly into space with one hand curled around the thermos.
Yuri allows this for a minute, and then demands, “Are we gonna talk about this, or not?”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Well, I want to,” he says, petulant. “Beka, look--I know it sucks, okay? But if you don’t take it slow, you might end up getting hurt again. And anyway, all it’s doing is frustrating you.”
“Right, because you’re a paragon of patience,” Otabek snaps, and Yuri bites hard on his tongue to resist snapping back.
“I’m not,” he acknowledges instead. “But you’re better than me in that way. Always have been. Probably always will be.”
Otabek scoffs, kicking lightly at the ground with his good foot. “I don’t know if there’s even any point to this.”
Yuri’s heart drops. “To...what?”
“To me trying to pretend I can recover from this and qualify for another Olympics.” He shakes his head. “Maybe I should be satisfied with the bronze from Pyeongchang. Maybe I should just retire now, before I embarrass myself.”
“Do you want to stop skating?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Then don’t,” says Yuri fiercely, pulling the thermos out of his hand again and putting it on the ground so that he can seize both of Otabek’s hands in his own. “No matter what happens this season, I am going to be proud of you. And so is your family.” He leans forward, resting his forehead against Otabek’s own. “If you decide you want to retire because you don’t love skating anymore, I will be the first person to tell you you did the right thing. But if you are even considering what it might be like to stand on that Olympic podium again, then for fuck’s sake, do not give up.”
Otabek is silent for a moment, and then he groans quietly. “When did you become the reasonable one?”
Yuri laughs a little. “Not sure I’d call it that.”
Otabek shrugs and squeezes Yuri’s hands. “Whatever you want to call it, thank you. You’re right, I shouldn’t be making a decision like that based on a few frustrating practices.”
“So you’ll stay?”
Otabek kisses his forehead gently. “I’ll stay.”