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“I want you to choreograph my exhibition skate,” says Yuri, seemingly apropos of nothing.
Otabek stares at him. “What?”
“I want you to choreograph my exhibition skate,” Yuri repeats, with a hint of uncertainty now. “Please.”
“Yura, that's...I mean, I've never choreographed anything for someone else before.”
“I know.” He smiles a little. “But do I really count as someone else by now?”
Otabek grins back, but there's a serious look in his eyes. “I just don't want it to be a disappointment.”
Yuri’s own eyes go wide for a moment. “Beka...no matter what, it won't be.”
Otabek ignores this in favor of asking, “Did you pick a song already?”
“No, not yet. I was torn between a few. I’ll send you the playlist.”
“My headphones went through the wash,” Otabek says, as a tinny version of the first song starts playing in the background.
“It’s not like I mind listening to them,” Yuri replies, shrugging.
“That’s what I figured,” says Otabek, and then leans back against his pillows and closes his eyes. When he’s listened to all three, he opens his eyes again, looking thoughtful. “I like them all.”
“So helpful,” Yuri says, deadpan, and Otabek arches an eyebrow at him.
“What I was going to say,” and here he gives Yuri a playfully annoyed look, “is that I like all of them, but I think the second one suits you and your theme best.”
“That was the one I was starting to lean towards.” Yuri grins, pleased. “So that’s a sign, right? That you’ll at least consider it?”
“Yes, I’ll consider it.”
“Good. Because I was thinking,” and he only ever uses that overly casual tone when he’s about to say something he’s kind of nervous about; Otabek braces himself, heart rate kicking up a bit, “that if you did choreograph something for me, it would be almost like you were still here. Or whatever.”
“Old age is making a sap of you,” says Otabek automatically; nearly seven years of experience means that he knows Yuri’s reactions almost as well as he knows his own. Neither one of them acknowledges the choked way he says it, but Yuri does snort and flip him off.
“Hate you.”
“Love you,” Otabek says, and clears his throat. “Anyway, botam, I think that I’m mad at you.”
“Madder than I am at you for calling me that?”
“Absolutely, yes. Because you’re being very unfair, pulling that card.”
Yuri preens. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”
***
Yuri turns out to be exactly right, which Otabek will not admit to him, ever. It’s the principle of the thing. Having a program to choreograph--knowing that Yuri will be spending time working on it and thinking of him--makes the distance easier to bear. Distracts him from the overwhelmingness that is having no practice to get to and no competitions to prepare for. Even with a full-time job, Otabek is left with too much extra time. So really, thinking about Yuri’s exhibition skate is a relief. He’s surprised how easily ideas come to him, too.
“You shouldn’t be,” Aliya says, shrugging, when he mentions this to her. “I mean, think about it. You spent so much time watching him skate that you know exactly what he’s good at, and exactly what his favorite things to do are.”
“...good point.”
He starts sending Yuri ideas. At first, he tries typing it all out; after all, Yuri’s strengths and his own are very different when it comes to the ice. But it becomes clear very quickly that it’s still easier to show than tell. When his ankle acts up and he knows he won’t be able to land a jump, he skates the rest of it, and tells his camera (and, by extension, Yuri), what it should be.
You can tell me if you want me to change anything, he adds as a caption under the video, when he’s finally managed to string all of the components together into a cohesive routine that he actually likes. He keeps it in his drafts until he knows Yuri is probably at lunch, and then sends it.
it’s perfect, Yuri replies, so quickly that he had to have opened it within a minute or two of receiving it, and Otabek beams.
It’s not going to hurt my feelings if you want to tweak something, though, he texts anyway, just in case.
Yuri sends him back a snap of himself looking completely unimpressed, captioned dont be a fucking idiot, so he sends one back of his own expression as it processes that Yuri really, genuinely likes the program he’d created for him. (Yuri screenshots it and sends him a row of multicolored hearts.)
***
Yuri loves and hates skating Otabek’s program in pretty much equal measure. Loves it because he can tell exactly how much effort went into every moment of it. How much care, how much thought about Yuri, and what his strengths and weaknesses are. Loves it because it feels absolutely incredible to skate it; despite his lack of choreography experience, Otabek has managed to put together an absolutely stunning program. Loves it because of how much it connects him to Otabek, even though Otabek is more than 2,000 miles away.
Hates it because Otabek is more than 2,000 miles away, and every time he skates it, he misses him so much it’s like a physical pain.
And then he has to get annoyed with himself for being so fucking cheesy. youre turning me into nikiforov, he texts Otabek after one such practice.
He gets back a row of question marks, and grins despite himself. He can’t help but love it every time he notices a habit of his own that’s crept into notoriously proper texter Otabek’s life.
im practicing your program and thinking annoying flowery thoughts about how i miss you and wish you were on a fucking plane coming to see me right now
So I’ll get on a plane.
dont fuck with me
I’m not. A screenshot comes through next--flight times. Otabek has circled one for three days later in red, with a question mark scrawled next to it.
HOLY SHIT
I WILL PICK YOU UP AT THE AIRPORT
You won’t be at practice?
FUCK PRACTICE ILL PICK YOU UP AT THE AIRPORT
Lilia is going to kill me. I accept my impending death.
!!!!!!!!!!!
***
“Your boyfriend should know better than to distract you during competition season,” says Lilia three days later. “You have been useless all day. Get off my rink and go pick him up, and then come back try again.”
Yuri goes.
***
“Wait, stop, your hair,” says Otabek, a little breathless, laughing. “You can’t go in like that, c’mere.” He tugs Yuri’s scarf, gently pulling him closer, and runs his fingers slowly through Yuri’s tangled locks.
Yuri’s eyes flutter shut briefly, and he says, “Y’know, maybe we shouldn’t go in at all.” He twines his arms around Otabek’s waist to make his point, and though Otabek’s eyes darken slightly, he shakes his head.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they came looking for you.”
Yuri sighs, but unwinds himself and starts to head toward the rink again. “Hey, you know what? You should skate with me.”
“I haven’t been on the ice in days,” Otabek says, but he already knows it’s a useless protest. Yuri’s eyes are shining with excitement already, and Otabek suspects that he’s got at least three dirty tricks up his sleeve should Otabek continue to say no.
...well, he does miss it.
“I want to show him my gala skate,” Yuri announces the moment he has towed Otabek into the rink, without even giving him a chance to greet Yakov or Lilia. “He’s been watching shitty videos of his own choreo forever, I want him to see what it actually looks like.”
“Clearly,” says Yakov, “there is no point in arguing with you.”
“Fifteen minutes,” Lilia adds, which is more than Yuri had been expecting and makes him shoot Otabek an excited grin as soon as their backs are turned.
“I’ve already got the music cued,” he says, and skates out to the center of the rink. Otabek waits until he’s settled, and presses play.
It’s beautiful. He’d loved watching Yuri skate it on the shaky cell phone videos Mila has been sending him, but seeing it live...it’s stunning. Not because the program itself is so flawless--or, at least, it hadn’t been until Yuri had lived in it for a while, altering minor things here and there to make it work even better for him--but because of the way he skates it. It’s barely over before Otabek is skating out to greet him, sweeping Yuri into such a passionate embrace that he actually lifts him briefly off the ice.
They haven’t gotten all that much skating done by the time Lilia and Yakov return, but neither one of them minds.