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Chapter Text

Yuri Plisetsky was currently sure of three things. One, he was hungover as fuck; two, he was overdue for an existential crisis; and three, he had sex with his best friend last night.

He blinked up at the ceiling of Otabek's bedroom, as he swallowed against wave after wave of nausea. Spots of colours were dancing furiously in the darkened room, and his head was spinning even as he lay still, while remnants of stale vodka and beer layered his impossibly dry tongue. He had hoped that he was still dreaming, because here he was, butt-naked, in Otabek's bed with a warm presence at his back and a lingering soreness at the base of his spine. It wasn't a dream; he didn't think that he was so messed up that he would dream of being hungover. So that meant two things; he was currently naked in Otabek's bed, and they had had sex last night.

He held his breath, trying to ignore the pounding in his head and his distressed stomach. Oh, God, what had even happened? Okay, he breathed in deeply through his nose; he remembered getting really drunk last night; Otabek had been too. And they had made out. He screwed his eyes shut at the memory. They had made out, a lot, in the club bathroom and, again, in Otabek's room. Yuri felt his face literally start to smoke.

Biting his bottom lip, he peeked over his shoulder, forgetting how to breathe for a second. Okay, Otabek was there, his back facing Yuri as his ribs rose and fell with each gentle breath. Of course he was there – this was his fucking bedroom. Yuri covered his face with his palms as he scooted up to the edge of the bed and brought his knees up to his chest, blushing anew when his lower back twinged. Okay, this wasn't terrible; lots of people had sex. No big deal. Awesome. He grabbed a pillow and buried his face into it. Okay, he had actually had sex, maybe he wasn't as messed up as he had thought after all. Well, to be honest, he had been elated when he had first felt a tiny something for Otabek. If anything he had been relieved that part of him wasn't completely broken. But, God, he hadn't expected that he would ever do this. He had only just recently started to feel hot and wobbly when they held hands for fuck's sake. But this, well sex was something that had seemed so far away. They were friends, and definitely not the type of friends who just did things like that. Or well, they used to be. What the fuck was going on?

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fucking-fuck. Oh God, this was way too much. His stomach was brewing something terrible, and he took a big gulp of air in an effort not to vomit all over the bed that he and Otabek had fucking sex in. Okay, it wasn't a big deal, it wasn't. Everyone had sex; it was normal. He shouldn't be freaking out like this; it was natural and human. He took a calming breath, releasing his death grip on the pillow.

The sheets rustled behind him, and Yuri's heart was suddenly on the tip of his tongue. He jolted forward, off the side of the bed, and crashed against the floor with a yelp and a thud. He pressed his forehead against the rough mat and curled up into a ball. Maybe if he didn't move it would all just go away.

"Yura?" Otabek's voice was rough with sleep. "Are you okay?"

Yuri swore aloud. No. No, he fucking wasn't.

Yuri had told Yakov, or rather he had demanded that he compete in the Almaty Open that year. The only problem was that it was a day after the European Championship and the flight from Helsinki to Almaty was eight hours. But there was no way in either heaven or hell that he was going to pass over a competition at Otabek's home rink. He watched, bouncing on the balls of his feet, as Otabek pulled into the loading lane in front of the Arrivals' area. As soon as he walked around the front of the white Range Rover, Yuri launched himself at him. Otabek had known him long enough that he expected his arms to be suddenly full of sixty-one kilograms of Russian figure skater, and caught him around the waist without so much as a grunt.

"Beka!" His voice echoed up and down the long stretch of pavement, making a clump of snow fall from the crossbeam overhead and hit a woman's shoulder.

"Hi," Otabek answered softly. A corner of his mouth twitched upwards and Yuri considered that to be a success. He tightened his arms around Otabek's neck until he grunted in protest. So, instead, he wrapped his legs around his waist to make a point; he hadn't seen him in months and he had missed him.

"Yurochka, people are staring." Yakov sighed deeply as he wheeled his hand-luggage over to them.

Yuri blew a raspberry, but Otabek tapped the small of his back for him to get down, and turned to Yakov to shake his hand once Yuri was flat on the pavement.

"Sir," he said. "How was your flight?"

"Long." Yakov folded his arms across his chest. "I would have liked to have gone home."

Yuri rolled his eyes, as he shoved his hand into his pockets. "I didn't force you to come. I'm eighteen; I don't need a chaperone-"

Yakov silenced him with a glare. "Anyway, thanks for letting us stay with you. Sorry for the trouble."

Otabek bowed his head as he reached for Yakov's suitcase. "It's no trouble; my mother insisted when she heard you were coming. She made dinner tonight. If you want." He tugged Yuri's duffel from his shoulder as he guided them to the SUV.

Yakov chuckled. "I'll never be insulted by a home-cooked meal."

Yuri rolled his eyes.

The Altins lived in a neighbourhood to the south-west of the city, right before the mountains. Yuri had figured that it was a well-to-do part of town from all the big houses and forested gaps between long driveways and ornate, metal gates. Yakov gave a soft grunt from the back seat as they drove up the Altins' stone driveway. It was lined with evergreen shrubs and light-posts with snow-covered, hanging flower baskets.

"What does your father do, boy?" he grumbled as they drove around a fountain and around the side of the house. The house itself was pretty modern, with grey stonework and large, and glass windows with white frames. Yuri still couldn't get over the underground garage, of all things. Viktor would probably cry if he ever visited.

A soft blush gathered on Otabek's cheeks as he glanced at Yakov through the rear-view mirror. "He owns an oil company."

Yakov shook his head. "Of course."

 Otabek grabbed their luggage from the trunk, shaking his head when Yakov reached for his suitcase, and lead them up the narrow stairway to the rest of the house.

"Is that them?" A childish voice echoed down the stairwell.

"My sister and her wife are having dinner with us," he explained, shouldering open the door that lead to the foyer. "They have a five-year-old."

A small girl with huge dark eyes and black-brown hair pulled up into pigtails was waiting on the other side of the door. She gave a small squeak of excitement then dashed back into the other room screaming.

"They're here!"

Otabek shook his head as he toed off his shoes then waited for Yuri and Yakov to follow suit.

"I guess she was waiting," he mumbled, leading them across the foyer to a sitting room with a grand piano in one corner, abstract art all over the walls, and delicate vases and floral arrangements on tiny end tables. Voices echoed from the kitchen to their left and Yuri spied Otabek's mother waiting in the doorway with his father hovering behind her shoulder. Yuri grinned at their warm smiles. The only resemblance Otabek bore to his mother was in his eyes, but he was a carbon copy of his father in all but height and the square wire-framed glasses he wore. Hi mother was slender, even after five children, with long, wavy black hair, dressed in a white sweater and beige slacks. The little girl – Yuri should have known her name – was hiding behind her leg, looking up at them with wide eyes, suddenly taken over by a fit of shyness.

"My parents," Otabek introduced them to Yakov, ducking to the side.

"Alma Altin, and my husband, Kemhebek," his mother said smiling and extending her hand.

"Yakov Feltsman, thank you for having us." He shook both their hands.

"Any friend of Beka's is more than welcome here. When he said that you two would be staying at a hotel, I had to put my foot down. This is the best hotel in all of Almaty." She smiled even wider.

Otabek's father nodded in agreement. "Forgive our rudeness; we would have come out to meet you-"

"But it's just so cold and it didn't make much sense to crowd around in the foyer." Otabek's mother rubbed her hands up and down her arms to exaggerate. Yakov waved them off and then she turned to Yuri, holding out her arms as he went to her. "Yuri!" She hugged him tightly, running her palms up and down his back, "Look at my boy, look at how tall you've gotten! Are you taller than Beka now?"

Yuri grinned. "A bit."

Otabek rolled his eyes. "I'm going to put their bags away."

She let go of Yuri, whipping her head to Otabek's retreating back. "You know which rooms? The one –"

"Yes, Ma."

Alma sighed, shaking her head slowly. "Come, come meet the others."

"And me!" The little girl puffed up her chest, walking up to Yuri and Yakov. Yakov stooped down to her level, smiling gently.

"And what's your name?"

"Maeena," she said softly, clasping her hands behind her back and looking up at Yakov from under her eyelashes.

"Such a pretty name."

She giggled as her eyes lit up and she covered her mouth with her hands.

"What do you say?" Alma asked, petting her head.

"Thank you."

Yuri snorted softly; she was cute. Otabek had like a thousand nieces, nephews, and little cousins, but he could handle them in small doses. He crossed over into the kitchen, leaving Yakov to fend for himself as the five-year-old began to tell him about her day at kindergarten.

Yuri lay sprawled like a starfish across Otabek's bed after dinner. He was stuffed to full-capacity; it had been nothing short of a miracle that he'd gotten up all those stairs.

"Is that how you plan to win?" he groaned. "By feeding me so much that I can't skate tomorrow?"

Otabek raised an eyebrow as he pulled on a tank-top and ran a hand through his hair. "Oh damn," he deadpanned. "You've figured it out."

Yuri gasped loudly. "Sabotage!"

He scoffed, nudging Yuri's ankle with his knee. "Get off my bed, with your nasty airport germs."

 Yuri stuck out his tongue in response. "Excuse you, this sweater is amazing." It was angora with silver studs on the shoulders, and a lace cat face on the front.

"And didn't Yakov tell you to go to bed?"

"I'm not going to bed the same time as the two-year-olds. It's like eight." He slid down the edge of the bed, settling on the mat. "Who's kids were those anyway? I thought your sister only had the one girl?"

"My brother's. They're with us for the week; he's at a car show in Astana."

"Ugh, I need flash cards or something."

Otabek chuckled softly as he went over to his book shelf, picked up a small photo album, and tossed it to Yuri before disappearing into his bathroom. Yuri flipped it open glancing at family portraits and pictures of babies that all looked the same. He found a picture in which he recognised Otabek's sister from that night. He had two though, and he knew they were identical twins. Okay, so that was either Hadiya or the other one, what was her name, again? Adil. Oh, wait here was one of them together. The twins and their respective partners and Otabek's eldest brother – he remembered because both he and Otabek were the only ones who had to wear glasses.

"Kerim is the one with glasses right?" he called.

Otabek answered a foamy 'uh huh'.

"The two-year-olds are his?"

"Uh uh."

Yuri sighed, turning the page. He was never going to get this. "Maalik has the two-year-olds?"

"Uh huh." The faucet began to run.

"So who's the one that looks exactly like you?"

"What?" Otabek emerged from the bathroom in black, thick-framed glasses, and sat down next to Yuri on the mat. Their shoulders brushed, Yuri intensely aware of his body heat. 

He pointed to the picture, forcing his attention elsewhere. "Here."

Otabek stared at the photo then looked up at Yuri squinting. "Yura, that is me."

"Oh." Yuri closed the album; that did not just happen.

Otabek began to laugh, at first a rumbling chuckle and then he was covering his mouth, his shoulders shaking, as he laughed louder. "Who's that that looks exactly like me?" He mimicked. "Me."

"Shut up!" Yuri punched his bicep. "It's not my fault you have like ten million family members. At least I'm trying-"

He was cut off by a sharp rap on the door.

"Yes?" Otabek called, still chuckling.

Yakov poked his head in. "Yurochka, bed. Now."

Yuri grumbled, but got up. "Yes, Deduyla."

Yakov hit him upside the head as he passed.

"Night, Yura," Otabek called.

Otabek drove the three of them to the rink at six am the next morning. Yuri wanted to sleep in the trunk, but Yakov shoved him into the front seat. The Almaty Open wasn't a very big competition, especially not after The European Championship, and was mainly made up of competitors from Kazakhstan, Eastern Europe, and Asia. There was another male Russian skater, but Yuri hadn't met him before, so he probably wasn't that important.

Katusdon had texted him 'good morning' before the sun had even risen back in Saint Petersburg, so it probably meant that Viktor had stolen his phone. He tapped out a reply through his yawns, as he watched the first group of skaters warm up. He was in the third group, and had no idea why he still had to be there this early.

Me:
Use your own phone, old man

Katsudon:
How are you sure this isn't Yuuri?

Me:
I can feel the annoying through the screen

Katsudon:
:(

Viktor sent a picture of Katsudon and Makkachin, both nearly lost under all the covers and pillows on the bed. He made out the top of Katsudon's head, his arm, a foot, and bits of Makkachin's floof; and he saved it for blackmail for a later date. Then he elbowed Otabek and tilted his phone towards him. He gave a short laugh through his nose before Viktor sent a new text.

Katsudon:
Good luck!
Although you might not need it, Mr. European champion :)

Me:
Shut up

He tucked his phone back into his pocket and slumped low in his seat, pulling his tiger-print hood over his head. Viktor was still writing, though, and the vibrations were starting to get annoying. He growled pulling it back out and unlocking the screen. Otabek nudged him with his shoulder, a silent bid to keep him calm.

Katsudon:
How was Otabek?
You stayed with him, right?
Hope you slept well
Or actually had any rest ;)
;) ;) ;)
;)

Me:
Shut the fuck up Viktor
Go annoy your husband

He locked his phone with more force than necessary and shoved it deep into his jacket pocket. There was a familiar cold pang in his gut that came about whenever someone insinuated that something was going on between him and Otabek. There wasn't, not now, but maybe, he nipped that particular thought in the bud. Fuck, he was starting to cold sweat. He shook his head, nope. It was certainly not the time to be filling his head with all this confusion.

"Stupid Viktor," he mumbled, hunching over his knees.

Otabek hummed questioningly, but then they were joined by a few of his rink-mates, who immediately started joking around. Yuri straightened, trying to get his mind to pick out the Russian words from the jumbled mix of Russian and Kazakh that Kazakhstanis insisted on using. Otabek eyed him out of the corner of his eyes as a girl with a high ponytail was giving an animated story about something that had happened with their coaches that morning. He must have looked lost because he made a point to speak only in Russian afterwards and the others caught on pretty quickly. And at least it was amusing to hear them speculate on how they thought that their coaches were secret lovers.

Yuri wasn't mad that he came in second after Otabek. In hindsight competing in competitions that were less than a day apart hadn't been a good idea. Yakov usually planned trips with a day or two for rest and to help get over jetlag; Yuri knew why, but now he knew why. His movements had been sluggish, limbs clumsy. And while this might have been detrimental in a bigger competition, he could deal with second place for this one. Besides, this was Otabek's home rink; it would have been super embarrassing for him if he had lost.

But, they would have still celebrated regardless of who won.

"Are you going out with your hair like that?"

Yuri glanced at himself in the mirror. He had thought that there was nothing wrong with a top-knot. Roza, the unofficial leader of Otabek's group of friends, stood staring down at Yuri with perfectly contoured makeup, shiny, blown-out hair, and a rose-coloured leather jacket. Yuri honestly wanted to be her some day.

"Uh,"

She grabbed him by the shoulder, dragging him from Otabek's room. "Where's your makeup?"

They returned twenty minutes later, Yuri's hair hanging down his back in perfect waves thanks to Otabek's mom's curling iron. Yuri didn't have much makeup other than eyeliner, concealer, and lip-balm, but Roza had somehow made it work, but she had used her own lipstick and blush on him. Yuri tugged at the hem of his t-shirt; Roza had tied a knot at the side and it was bunching up weirdly, under his leather bomber. He hadn't brought any heels, but she had deemed his Steve Madden, leopard, platform espadrilles passable, and then complained that his jeans weren't tight enough.

Otabek and Bal, the designated driver of the night – because their goal was to get the gold medallist drunk as fuck – were waiting in the sitting room.

"Finally," Bal muttered. "How long does it take to draw lines on your eyes?"

Roza flipped him off, striding over to the front door and expecting them to follow.

"How's the knee?" Yuri asked as Otabek attempted to hide a wince when he got up from the chair.

"Fine," he mumbled. "I have my brace; I'll be fine."

Yuri shrugged, but hooked an arm around his waist as they followed the other two outside.

Iska and Camran were waiting outside the club when they got there. Camran was standing, untroubled, in leather shorts and black nylons despite the winter air, while Iska wore the trademarked disgruntled-Altin-face, looking like he was ready to murder them for being so late. His nostrils flared like a bull when Yuri said he wanted to take a group picture before they went inside.

The bouncer had recognised Otabek from the competition broadcast earlier and then had read both his and Iska's surname; they were ushered up to VIP and given two free drinks each. Roza had leaned over to him and said that was the main reason why she had made friends with the Altins. Yuri should have known how the night was going to go when they ordered a round of vodka shots to start.

Yuri liked clubbing in Almaty more than he did in Saint Petersburg. No offence to Mila, but Otabek's friends were way more fun. Camran made a disgusted face as he down his shot then immediately chased it with a bright yellow cocktail, while Bal recorded him and updated his story on Snapchat. Camran screeched when he found out and punched his shoulder until he deleted it.

"I can handle my liquor, thank you," he snapped, still scowling at Bal. "Stop spreading fucking rumours."

Roza stroked his hair, laughing, while Iska ordered a bottle of champagne for the table. Kazakhstanis toasted to everything, Otabek's friends were no different; they finished the bottle in like ten minutes then forced Yuri and Otabek to go get the next round of drinks.

"How badly would Camran hate it if we got more shots?" Yuri contemplated as they waited for the bartender to get around to them. He looked over at the dance-floor; already pretty full despite that it was still relatively early. He had to shout over the music even though Otabek was right next to him.

"He'd get over it pretty quick." Otabek had an arm around Yuri's shoulder, and drummed his fingers against his bicep in time with the base. Yuri pouted. "Do you want more shots?"

"Fuck it, yeah."

Otabek chuckled, but ordered a bottle of Stoli Elite and various pitchers of mixers instead. Yuri hummed; he didn't know that they could have even done that.

Yuri's head was buzzing when Bal offered to dance with him. It had been a good thing he wasn't wearing heels, because they had also finished the Stoli and Camran had gotten everyone screwdrivers. He had asked the bartender to put a pink umbrella and curly straw in Iska's. Iska's glare could rival Otabek's even when he was drunk, but Camran just grinned and took a picture of the two of them and the drink. Then Bal yanked both him and Yuri off to the dance-floor.

Bal held his waist as he danced behind him; Yuri was embarrassed at how hard he had to try not to step on his feet. He was trained in ballet for fuck's sake, but currently he could barely control his body. Bal didn't seem to mind, laughing as he gently nudged his feet away if they got too close and helped him keep his balance if he swayed too far too one side.

"Me next!" Camran tugged Yuri towards him holding his arm high and spinning him. Yuri giggled shooting Bal an apologetic look. He just winked at him before turning to a random girl next to him and asking her to dance with a mock bow.

"It's only because of that stupid man-bun girls like him," Camran yelled, combing his hair from his face even though he had a pixie cut that wasn't long enough to get in his face.

Yuri snorted; the pulsing lights were already bright blurs, and his mouth felt fuzzy and dry.

"Nothing on Beka, though!"

"What?" Yuri spun to face him; he hit his own ankle with the toe of his shoe. Camran grinned, spinning Yuri back around and bumping their hips together. His heart began to thud at Camran's words, but blood was already furiously pounding in his ears and at the back of his skull. The whole group was attractive; especially Bal with his broad shoulders, long silky hair, and always present stubble, but Beka was special. Yuri's insides squirmed, in a good way, and he had to wrestle down a smile.

They danced for a while longer until Yuri decided that he needed water or he was actually going to die. They met Otabek and Iska at the bar; Otabek stared at him as they made their way over, raising an eyebrow. Yuri butted his head against his shoulder, wiggling between the two of them. Otabek smiled with his eyes, little wrinkles forming at the corners, and tucked a lock of Yuri's hair behind his ear; his hand accidentally bumping into Yuri's cheek.

"Tired?"

"Thirsty. Get me a water."

Otabek took a sip from his beer, a Linebrew – the patriotic nerd, before waving the bartender over. Yuri grabbed the beer from him and took a gulp, grinning as Otabek pinched the bit of bare skin between his shirt and jeans.

"That's not yours."

"Get me one then."

Iska rolled his eyes at them then said he was going back up to the table where Roza and her girlfriend were. Camran was talking to a girl next to him and showing her pictures of Naz, his Pomeranian, while she held up pictures of some rat-looking dog. Otabek drank from the new beer and handed Yuri his water, which he drank like a camel before finishing his stolen beer.

"Let's dance!"

Otabek went without any protest, chuckling deep in his throat. They faced each other, at first just bouncing and swaying to the music. One corner of Otabek's mouth was turned upwards as he settled his palms on Yuri's hips, threading his little-fingers through his belt-loops. Something was fluttering in Yuri's chest, like a hummingbird trying to find its way out his mouth. He was used to feeling that, though. For the past few months, whenever Otabek looked straight at him, whenever he smiled, or his dark eyes narrowed when he laughed, Yuri had to take a moment to collect himself. He swallowed and rested his arms against Otabek's shoulders, leaving less than a foot gap between their faces. The rush of heat he felt move from his chest downwards to his stomach and lower was a very recent thing, however. If he ignored it long enough, focused on other things, it would eventually go away. He had an idea of where it came from, and why he suddenly felt breathless every time Otabek looked at him for too long. But tonight he could clearly identify it as pure, red-hot want. He licked his lips, his mouth still felt dry even after a bottle of water, and shaking his head made him feel like he was going to fall over. Was the floor starting to move as well, or had that last beer been a mistake?

"You okay?" Otabek asked, the hold on his hips tightened, grounding him even as he swayed along with him.

Yuri nodded.

"Need to sit down for a bit?"

He nodded again.

They both stumbled back to their table, falling against the booth next to Iska and across from Roza and another girl. Otabek grabbed an unopened bottle of water from the table and drank it without asking.

Roza cackled. "Is the hero drunk already?"

Otabek flipped her off, and pulled Yuri close to him to rest the side of his head against his shoulder. Yuri took a deep breath; his entire shoulder started to tingle with small, electric jolts. He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and reached for a mostly full Linebrew.

"Hey, Yuri," Roza said, waving to get his attention. "This is Saida." She nodded to the girl to her right dressed in a simple, long-sleeved dress with her hair tied up in head scarf that was bunched in a knot by her right ear. "Saida, this is Yuri, Beka's biggest competition."

Iska scoffed. "Doesn't look like his competition now, though,” he slurred, planting an elbow on the table to prop up his head.

Saida turned to them and wished them both congratulations on their medals today. They both thanked her, but Yuri was glad that she turned back to Roza to talk. He wasn't in the right state for conversation; he wasn't even sure if what he had just said had been Russian.

"Where are the bathrooms?" he asked suddenly, squirming to look around.

"Around the corner by the bar," Roza offered. He wiggled past Otabek and the table, clutching the edge to keep his balance as he stood up. "Beka, go with him. I don't trust the men at this place, and he's clearly a foreigner."

The bathroom was mercifully empty, a guy having left as soon as they entered. And Yuri had no idea what happened; maybe it was because they were suddenly alone, maybe it was because they were both drunk, or maybe this was what he had secretly wanted for a while now. He and Otabek's gazes locked and there was like a magnetic pull. Otabek's palms dwarfed Yuri's waist as he held him, and Yuri's heart was beating like it did right before a competition. They stared at each other for a beat longer; Yuri drank in dark eyes, full lips, and a blush high on the apples of his cheeks.

He dove in.

Otabek's lips were dry, slightly chapped, but Yuri didn't mind. He was probably doing this whole thing completely wrong, anyway. He had no clue, except that he wanted this. He wound his arms around Otabek's neck, leaning into him and pushing him against the edge of the sink counter. Otabek's hands were like molten iron against his hips and his mouth was just as hot. A soft moan slipped past Yuri's lips as Otabek nipped his bottom lip and caused him to shiver. Okay, that felt good. All of this felt good, actually. He copied him, gently biting until one of Otabek's hands came up to the back of his head. The waves in his hair had probably disappeared by now, Yuri thought distantly as Otabek pressed his fingertips to his scalp, gently holding him in place. He tilted his head to the side and Yuri felt his tongue push into his mouth. Oh, was that what he was supposed to do with it? He copied him again, feeling Otabek breathe harshly through his nose, warm air brushing against his cheeks. Their tongues pressed together and Yuri frowned slightly when he felt a smooth, metal ball before he remembered that Otabek had a tongue piercing. Right, his head was still spinning; he was fucking feeling Otabek's tongue piercing with his own fucking tongue. He shivered, cupping his palm against back of Otabek's head.

The door banged open and they heard the uneven footsteps of a drunken person needing to pee. They broke apart reluctantly and slowly, and Yuri took a step back, biting his lip, as Otabek stared at him with half-lidded eyes. His head was spinning more than before and he cursed the man for disrupting them, but at the same time was a bit thankful, because he was actually freaking out. He yanked at a lock of hair, looking away and trying to convince himself to calm down, to get his stomach to stop fluttering and his chest to stop feeling so hot and tight.

"Yura," Otabek said softly, hooking a finger under his jaw making him look directly at him again. He swallowed thickly, his skin starting to prickle. Otabek leaned forward, giving him a clumsy peck on the lips. "We should go back to the others." He made no movement to leave until the man who had interrupted them, came up to use the sink.

"We were just about to come get you," Bal said as Yuri and Otabek sat down at the table. "We're all ready to leave. Roza, I've got these two; you okay with Camran and Iska?"

Yuri didn't remember much of the drive home; just that he was holding Otabek's hand and laughing at how much bigger they were than his. He remembered Otabek hushing him as they stumbled up the stairs to his room, and then falling face first onto his bed when his toe caught the edge of the mat.

He right-ended himself, sitting on the edge of the bed as the room spun around him. Otabek was leaning against his book shelf and covered his mouth as he chuckled.

"Yura, my prima ballerina," he snickered, flopping down next to him.

"Fuck off."

Otabek gave his cheek a wet kiss in response and something hot clattered inside his chest. He swallowed, almost trembling, as he crawled onto Otabek's lap and that weird, hot feeling budded in his stomach. Otabek swallowed audibly, resting his palms on Yuri's hips and slowly leaned forward, nosing his cheek before picking up where they had left off in the club bathroom.

"You're shaking, Yura," Otabek whispered as he leaned over him, rubbing his hands against his bare sides.

He was shaking, he realised after lifting a hand from Otabek's bicep to bring closer to his face and almost hit himself in the nose. He almost felt like he couldn't breathe either and his stomach was churning something fierce. "I'm..." he swallowed past his paper-dry throat and heavy tongue. "I'm excited." Or incredibly nervous. Mostly excited. A part of him still couldn't believe that this was even happening. Never in a million years would he have thought that this would ever happen. He fell back onto the mattress, brining Otabek with him with a long, deep kiss. 

Otabek grinned, latching back onto the spot on his neck and raking his fingernails down his ribs to his hips. He smoothed his palms down his thighs then back up to rub his thumbs against his hipbones. They had both shed their clothes what felt like ages ago, but somehow Yuri was hot to the point of sweating. He was kneading Otabek's biceps and had run his fingers through the short bristles of his undercut, too nervous to do anything else. He wasn't even sure if what he was doing now was okay, his hands didn't even feel like they belonged to him as clumsy and heavy as they were, but from the way Otabek was sucking and kissing his neck, it might have been good.

He tightened his legs around Otabek's hips, gasping as he moved down to his collarbone and nipped the skin. He felt his dick twitch; the heat in his stomach swelling south. He'd also never been so wet before in his life; slick leaked down to his thighs. He found Otabek's face with his hands, and guided him up back to his mouth. Their teeth bumped clumsily and it was a lot slipperier than their previous ones.

"Yura," Otabek breathed, drumming his fingers against Yuri's hipbones. "Are we-"

Yuri swallowed again, still tasting alcohol. "Yes." Yes. He breathed in deeply. Yes.

Otabek kissed him again, slowly, as his hands travelled downwards. Yuri screwed his eyes shut, heart pounding and stomach rolling. Otabek's fingers tickled, but his entire body was already tingling. He pulled away from the kiss, eyes widening when a calloused hand closed around his dick. A sharp hiss cut through the fog in his mind, and he pressed his mouth to Otabek's shoulder mostly in disbelief, but also in pleasure. Maybe he should return – but what if he did it wrong or he didn't like it? He swallowed again, instead, wrapping his arms around Otabek's chest and grazing his nails against hard back muscles.

When he entered him, Yuri bit his lip, squeezing Otabek's biceps as hard as he could. All the slick definitely helped him slide in smoothly, but fuck if he was big. He whimpered, screwing his eyes shut as Otabek whispered slurred, soothing nonsense into his ear, and stroked his cheeks. He was positive that he was going to rip in half and he concentrated on breathing out through his nose, until Otabek stopped moving and began to pepper his face with soft kisses. That's when his heart began to hammer again; this was actually happening. He felt his muscles pulse around Otabek's cock, a hot solid presence inside of him. God, he felt all tingly again and something caught in his chest.

"C-can I move?" Otabek asked. "Are you okay?"

Yuri nodded, pressing his forehead to his neck and breathing in deeply. He smelt of alcohol and sweat, but something made his chest expand in excitement. Otabek pulled out slowly then thrust back in and a soft moan fell from Yuri's lips almost immediately.

The spinning of the bed, combined with Otabek thrusting into him, had him more or less floating. Neither of them lasted long. The only sign Otabek was close was that his breathing deepened as his hips jumped almost frantically. Yuri wasn't sure when he fell asleep, actually, only remembering the dark room darken even more as Otabek's breathing evened out beside him, and the buzzing at the back of his head dulled into white noise.

"Yura?"

What better way was there to wake up than having an internal crisis and falling out of bed while he was hungover as fuck? Add a concussion to the list, maybe.

He groaned covering his face as he slowly sat up, swallowing against the bile that rose to his throat and wincing as his lower back twinged. Otabek was peeking over the edge of the mattress, squinting. Yuri took the littlest pleasure in the fact that he looked like shit. Dark circles under his eyes, chapped lips, and messy hair.

"I'm fine," he coughed. "What time is it?" He was already glancing to the clock on Otabek's bookshelf. Three minutes past six. Great. He rubbed his temples, taking deep calming breaths, unsure if he was going to be violently sick, or if what had happened last night was coming back to hit him with full force.

"Yura," Otabek started again, sitting up and using the edge of the comforter to cover himself. Which also made Yuri realise that he was butt naked. He brought his knees to his chest, gritting his teeth at the sting between his legs as he sat on his ass. "Last night," he paused to clear his throat. "Are you sure you're... I know how you feel about... that stuff. I-"

Yuri shook his head; heart pounding so loudly it was almost all he could hear. "I... I said yes, didn't I?"

Otabek swallowed, rubbing at an eye with his knuckle. "Yes, but..." he sighed. "I... I don't want to ever do anything that makes you uncomfortable, and well... I... we, we were both drunk. Are you sure you're fine?"

Yuri bit his lip. "I... I think so. I..." he felt his cheeks heat and he stared at his knees. "I... yeah." His voice cracked, and his cheeks caught aflame. And he was, right? He felt comfortable with Otabek. They were drunk, he reminded himself, and drunken people did stupid things. Alcohol magnified every tiny want he had, and, well, the tingling and tightening he had felt for all these months meant that he wanted this. Maybe? God, he was never drinking again. Maybe if he was normal this wouldn't be such a big deal. Casual sex with a friend was no big deal, right? He cursed his chest for closing up on him. Oxygen would have been a blessing right about now.

Otabek was silent for a few moments before he cleared his throat. "I... Yura. Okay, let's... let's..." He slid from the bed, bringing a pillow to cover himself and rested a comforting hand on Yuri's shoulder, rubbing circles. "Let's clean up first? We can talk later – after showers, and breakfast, and more sleep?"

Yuri nodded. God, his stomach was actually hurting. What was breathing again?

"Can you stand?"

He bit his lip getting to his knees and Otabek scrambled to hand him a shirt, uncaring of whose it was.

"And, Yura?" Otabek pressed his lips to the edge of his hairline. "Breathe."

Showering did help him feel less like shit, even though he had vomited twice. Why the hell had he drank so much last night? Otabek's friends were the worst; why didn't they stop him? He drank four glasses of water, knowing that it would help in the long run, but made him feel worse at the moment. He pulled on a turtle-neck sweater after he realised that Otabek had sucked a bruise into his neck, and for once was thankful that it was winter. He collapsed onto his bed, holding a pillow to his stomach and praying that he wouldn't vomit again.

A knock on the door woke him up minutes, hours, later and he figured that it was a more reasonable time because sunlight was streaming through the blinds that he had forgotten to close. His head was still pounding, but he did feel slightly less nauseated.

"Had fun last night?" Yakov asked, waltzing in.

Yuri grumbled burying his face in his pillow.

"Get up; Mrs. Altin made a nice breakfast for us."

He grunted but didn't move. Eventually, Yakov sighed and patted his shoulder.

"Here." Yuri cracked open an eye to see him holding out a white pill. "Seeing you like this is making me feel sick. Did you drink water?"

Otabek's parents and grandmother were sitting at the dining table, along with Yakov and the two two-year-olds in their booster seats. Yuri quietly slipped into an open chair, offering a quiet good morning.

"Did you boys have fun last night?" Otabek's father asked.

Yuri nodded, already feeling his cheeks heat. Logically, he knew that there was no way anyone at the table would know what had happened last night, and it wasn't like he was going to blurt out, 'I had sex with your son'. But, he felt like it was written across his forehead somehow, or that Yakov would perceive his shuffling steps to be something other than being hungover. It fucking hurt to sit down too, he covered his grimace with his palm pretending to yawn. Thankfully, Otabek entered the dining room a minute later, rubbing at his already-red eyes.

"Otabek, what happened to your face?" his mother asked in alarm.

Otabek, still half-asleep, grumbled something in mixed Kazakh and Russian. Yuri could only make out the words 'contacts' and 'sleep', as he sat down next to him.

His mother shook her head. "This boy. Kemhebek, talk to your son, please."

Otabek's father chuckled softly, and poured them both a cup of tea.

Yuri's bag was packed for the flight later that day, but there was one thing he still had to do. Otabek's mother would not let him drive while he was hungover, so she and her husband were taking them to the airport. Otabek would still come for the drive, however. Yuri would force him.

He sat on Otabek's bed with his legs tucked underneath him, playing with the elastic band on his sock. Otabek was sprawled on his back, eyes closed, but awake.

"B-beka," Yuri began softly. "I'm sorry."

Otabek sighed softly and licked his lips. "Why are you sorry?"

"I... I don't know."

Otabek was silent for almost a minute then rolled onto his side and opened his still-red eyes. "Do... do you regret last night?"

Yuri pulled his hair down from its bun and twisted a lock between his fingers. He shook his head. "Uh uh. But I... Beka, I didn't think that we would ever do that. And then we.... last night. I don't know... It's confusing."

The muscles in Otabek's jaw tensed as he swallowed. "We were both drunk."

Yuri felt his eyes widened. Oh shit, he was putting on his mask, the mask where he made it seem that everything was okay, that he was disinterested or bored. Did he regret having sex with someone who was broken? A freak, who didn't even like sex, but was stupid enough to have gotten drunk and did it anyway? God, what did that even say about him? Otabek knew about how he felt, or rather didn't feel about sex, and then he'd just turned around and was like just kidding about everything that I told you before. Yuri clenched his jaw. Otabek had always been understanding and helpful. He always listened when Yuri had complained about how people didn't get him. He always got him. But now, maybe he didn't. Yuri himself was confused; how the hell was Otabek supposed to understand? 

"This doesn't change anything, right Beka? We're still, like, best friends?"

Otabek cocked his head. "Of course. I said I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable; I'm good with whatever you are."

Yuri breathed a sigh of relief, and sapped the elastic of his sock against his heel one last time. Okay, it was going to be okay. People had sex, it was what they did. It was just casual sex. They didn't have to talk about it again, and it would probably never happen again. Otabek reached out to grab his knee and shake it gently.

Yuri looked up, a small grin ready to play on his lips, but he froze, eyes lingering on the way Otabek's t-shirt sleeve pulled against his biceps and deltoids. The weird, hot, tingling feeling was back in his stomach, and his chest felt much too tight to be doing any breathing. He hadn't expected it to go away completely, but maybe – he didn't know – he had hoped it would, like, take a fucking break after last night. Otabek grinned as he withdrew his hand and stretched his arms over his head, arching his back against the mattress and groaning. Yuri almost choked at how fast his mouth dried out.

A sudden thought hit him. Oh fuck.  What if he actually wanted it to happen again?

Chapter Text

"I think I'm going to try the coconut milk macchiato this time," Katsudon hummed, looking at the grey chalkboard menu behind the display counter of the coffee house. 

Yuri wrinkled his nose, hoisting his yoga mat sling higher up on his shoulder. He and Katsudon always went for coffee after their Saturday yoga class, and every Saturday Katsudon insisted on trying a new drink. The cafe had gotten new ones for winter; and he'd been delighted, since he was coming dangerously close to having tried them all.

"Don't like coconut?" he asked.

Yuri shrugged. "It's okay."

"What are you getting then?"

"A cappuccino with cream, not milk, and cinnamon. No sugar."

Katsudon raised an eyebrow and gave a small shake of the head before stepping up to the counter. "Okay, go get us a table."

Yuri picked a table at the back of the coffee house, knowing that Katsudon would complain about the cold if they sat too close to the windows. It was pretty warm inside and Yuri shrugged off his jacket before leaning over the small, wooden table – chin to the surface, pulling out his phone, and yawning widely. He and Yakov had arrived back in Saint Petersburg last night; he hadn't really slept on the plane, and then had stayed up a bit later with Katsudon and Viktor to watch a movie. But he hadn't been able to make it all the way through and had woken up to Katsudon gently tapping on his shoulder and a line of 'h's as the caption for a draft post on Instagram. He'd actually surprised himself at being able to wake up in time for yoga this morning.

Speaking of which, he tapped open Instagram. He had finished the post before they left for yoga; it was one of the pictures he'd taken of him and Otabek's friends before they went into the club. He grinned into his forearm; they were all crowded close together to get into the shot, smiling with the exception of Otabek and Iska, but they were genetically unable to do more than a smirk or small grin, so they were excused. He had captioned it, 'Hasn't even been two days and I already want to go back'. Iska had been the first to comment and everyone from the group had liked it, though there was a hot blip in his chest when he read Otabek's username, nestled right next to Roza, Bal, and Nazgul_the_pom. He swallowed, shaking his head to disperse any unwanted hot-stomach-and-chest feelings, and tapped the screen to look through all the comments.

Iskander-Altin: Stay longer next time
_CamranAyatev: Just move to Almaty actually :)

He liked both of them then scrolled through the rest, mostly ignoring the fan accounts, deleting the occasional inappropriate comment, and blocking the person who'd left it. Katsudon sat down a few minutes later with a tray that held their drinks in white and grey, hand-painted mugs, and a to-go holder with tea for Viktor and a pupuccino for Makkachin – also a Saturday tradition. Yuri pulled his cappuccino towards him, and took a selfie pretending to take a sip. He thumbed through the filters trying to find something that would hide how tired he still looked. But then he noticed that there was something written on the napkin between his mug and saucer. He deleted the picture and put down his phone.

"Oh gross," he mumbled, peeling the napkin away from his plate.

Katsudon raised an eyebrow as he blew the steam away from his drink. "You don't like it?"

"No. The barista wrote his number on my napkin."

Katsudon grimaced. "He probably does that for everyone. I mean, there was a girl from yoga who ordered after me and he was flirting with her."

Yuri rolled his eyes, crumpling up the napkin and flicking it across the table.

"You didn't get a number." He examined Katsudon's napkin.

"I'm also married." He held up his hand and wiggled his ring finger.

Yuri rolled his eyes and took a cautious sip from his drink. He still managed to burn his tongue.

"How was Almaty?" Katsudon asked

Yuri blinked and touched his neck where the bruise that Otabek had sucked into his skin was hidden under the high collar of his shirt. His stomach fluttered as he remembered Otabek's hot mouth on his skin, the way his teeth gilded against his neck before he bit softly. He held back a shiver, thinking of how his tongue had felt against his skin, his piercing a hard bump when he had pressed it flat against Yuri's neck. And shit, Katsudon was staring. He hid his face by taking a much too large and scorching hot gulp of coffee. He nearly spat coffee everywhere, managing to burn every millimetre of the inside of his mouth and throat. At least now he would have an excuse for a red face.

"Yuri," Katsudon exclaimed, "That's really hot-"

He coughed, and stuck out his tongue to fan air inside his mouth with his hands. Bet the barista regretted giving him his number now.

"Why did you do that?" Katsudon squinted at him, shaking his head before taking a much smaller and safer sip of his own drink.

"I... forgot."

He raised an eyebrow. "Did something happen in Almaty?"

Fuck, was he psychic? Yuri frowned, tilting his head to the side. "Um... not really. I think."

"You think?"

He sighed, looking down into his mug and feeling very much like the foam. "It might not be a big deal."

"It sounds like it is." He took another sip from his mug.

"Shut up, it's not," Yuri snapped, banging the side of his fist against the table. The to-go carrier jumped and their saucers clattered.

Katsudon clicked his tongue, straightening his plate. "Okay. Well, you know you can talk to me when you want to."

Yuri grumbled, dipping his finger into the milk foam then liking it off. "Yeah, whatever." Maybe later when he knew what the fuck was going on himself.

"Oh, we found a house by the way." Katsudon's eyes lit up, as he fished his phone out from his jacket. 

"Oh cool, where?"

He pulled up an album up on his phone. "It's actually a bit further away from the rink than we had hoped, but there's a train station only two streets away, and I like the neighbourhood."

Yuri flipped through pictures of a skinny, modern townhouse with a slanted roof on one side. It was two stories, had a skylight –which was kind of cool, and a balcony. There were floor-to-ceiling windows in some areas, there were shiny, dark wooden floors and light coloured walls, and despite how narrow the outside had looked, it was pretty roomy inside. There was no pool, tanning bed, or home cinema in sight, so maybe Katsudon had talked some sense into Viktor. It actually looked pretty normal for what he had expected the Katsuki-Nikiforov household to look like. Still, Yuri knew that part of town to be home to a bunch of doctors, CEOs, Lawyers, and maybe even a movie star or two. Viktor would fit right in.

"Cool." Yuri said, handing Katsudon back his phone.

"Four bedrooms and three hand a half bathrooms-"

"Why the fuck do you need four bedrooms?"

Katsudon sighed heavily. "Just in case. One will be yours anyway."

Yuri cocked his head, frowning.

"I mean, you're always at our place anyway. Think it's time you upgrade from the couch?"

Yuri scoffed.

Katsudon understood that he meant thank you. "We're thinking of moving after Worlds."

"Cool. I'm not helping."

Katsudon chuckled. "I don't even want to help; Viktor has so much stuff."

Yuri groaned when his alarm went off on Monday morning at five am. It was still fucking dark out; the human body wasn't meant to be awake this early. He rolled over, digging the heel of his palms into his eyes. It wasn't like he was going to get fat if, God forbid, he had more than two days rest. There was a sharp rap on his door and Lilia's voice sounded from the other side.

"Would you like me to make you some tea, Yurochka?" That was code for, 'get your ass moving and get the hell out of bed'.

"Yeah, thanks," he yelled back, forcing himself to sit up despite his fuzzy, tiger comforter trying it's hardest to keep him down. His next competition wasn't until February twenty-third, but his training schedule was packed as always. Growling, he flipped on his bedside lamp and literally slid out of bed then pulled out a pair of dance tights from a pile of mostly clean clothes. He had a ballet session with Lilia that morning and then he was supposed to meet Yakov at the rink. He yawned as he pulled on the tights, grabbed a long-sleeved leotard and a pair of joggers from his closet, and then sat on the edge of his bed for a full three minutes just trying to get his brain to start. Six am practices were pure torture; he didn't care how long he had been skating or would continue to skate, he would never get used to them or like them in any way, shape, or form.

After brushing his teeth and washing his face, packing his gym bag, and pulling his hair up into a bun tight enough for Lilia's standards he wandered out into the kitchen. Lila was seated at the island holding a cup of tea under her chin, while she read something off her iPad.

"Did you feed her?" he asked her as Potya wound herself around his ankles, purring softly. He bent down to pick her up and cradle her against his chest.

Lilia nodded and pointed to a cup of steaming tea on the marble countertop next to a small bowl of oatmeal and an apple. He set Potya down, to her dismay, and leaned over to eat his own breakfast. She gave a sad 'mew' before Yuri bit off a small chunk of his apple and dropped it down for her.

"Sit down while you eat." Lila snipped. Yuri rolled his eyes, hooking the leg of a stool with his ankle and pulling it towards him. "I wanted to ask you," she continued, setting the iPad down and turning to face him. "If you would like to take part in my annual charity performance."

Yuri cocked his head, licking the back of his spoon. "Sure, do you need my help backstage or something?"

"No. I want you to perform."

He blinked. What? Lilia Baranovskaya, world famous ballerina and former prima of the Bolshoi Ballet, wanted him to perform in one of her productions. Was he still sleeping? Had he actually forgotten to wake up? "Isn't that like only for professional dancers?"

"We both know that your skill level is on par with some professionals. You will still have to audition, however."

He huffed around a mouthful of oatmeal, stirring the rest around in the bowl. God, wait until his grandpa heard this. Or Beka.

"It would be good for your career, for the both the publicity and experience." Lilia went on. "And it would further differentiate you from Viktor – he did not concentrate as much on ballet as you do, I believe."

Yuri cocked his head, picking up another spoonful of oatmeal. She had a valid point; of course she did, she was Lilia. Viktor hadn't liked ballet very much actually, and that was one thing Yuri had going for him that Viktor didn't. There were still news articles that called him the next Viktor Nikiforov, no matter how much he tried to do things differently.

"Okay, do I have time to learn the audition piece?"

Lilia raised an eyebrow, a small smirk beginning at the corner of her mouth. "We can start right away; it's only a two minute piece. And auditions run from the twenty-sixth to the twenty-eighth, so that should be enough time if you're serious. I also have a list of performances I want you to watch and take note of." He groaned loudly, throwing himself against the countertop. "We're doing A Midsummer Night's Dream; all Proceeds will go to the Children's City Hospital of St. Olga."

He frowned. "Ugh, with the fairies?"

"You would be a good fit for the role of Puck. I suggest you do some research."

Yuri called his grandpa when he got back to Lilia's that night. Lilia wasn't even home; she had texted him earlier saying that she was going to be late, and then gave him instructions for dinner. He rushed into his room, turning on every light in his path before he flopped onto his bed, dropping his gym bag on the floor. Yakov had made him run through his free skate five times at practice. Five. Because his stupid shotgun to flying sit spin combination was sloppy. Ugh, when was he ever sloppy – ignoring the fact that the first thing he should have done after getting home was go straight to the shower. He could imagine Otabek cringing at him as he lay on his bed with his workout clothes. He snorted; it wasn't like he slept on top of the covers, Beka. Plus they were his germs anyway. His stomach fluttered slightly. It'd been doing that lately, but he was determined to ignore it. For now at least.

Scoffing, Yuri rolled onto his back, fishing his phone out of the front pocket of his hoodie. It was around seven; his grandpa should be settling down for dinner now. He felt his mouth stretch into a small smile as he imagined his grandpa settling down at the small kitchen table, scarred with water rings, maker stains, and scuff marks, with a bowl of borscht from the neighbour, Nelya, because she always happened to 'make too much' and it would spoil before she could eat it all. Yuri may or may not have asked her to check up on him every now and then. His grandpa didn't need to know that, though.

"Hi, Deduyla," he said after his grandpa picked up.

"Yurochka, how was practice?"

"Long. I just got back."

"Did you eat?"

"Not yet." He sighed rolling back over onto his stomach. The door creaked as Potya nosed her way into his room, at least she hadn't abandoned him that night. She jumped onto his bed and curled up on his back.  "Do you have plans for this summer?"

He hummed. "No. Not yet, that's still far away. Why?"

"Well, Lilia wants me to audition for her charity performance. And if I get it, I want you to come see me."

"Of course I will." He could hear the smile in his voice. "I haven't been to Saint Petersburg in years. That's very good, Yurochka."

Yuri grinned, folding his free arm under his chin. "Viktor and Katsudon found a new house; you can probably stay with them."

"Oh, did they now?"

"Yup. Katsudon showed me pictures; it looked really expensive, but Viktor wouldn't go for anything less I bet. There wasn't a home cinema or pool, though, so thank god for Katsudon sometimes. I'm actually surprised that Viktor hasn't managed to kill himself yet. It's a miracle he survived long enough to meet Katsudon."

He laughed gruffly and Yuri heard a chair scrape in the background before the laugh suddenly turned into a stifled, pained grunt. He frowned, darting up onto his elbows.

"Deduyla, are you okay?"

He sighed long and heavy. "I'm alright, don't worry."

"Deda-"

"Just a little back pain."

Yuri's heart thumped cold throughout his chest. "But your new medicine is supposed to help with that."

There was a pause. "I stopped taking that. The doctor said it wasn't good."

Yuri bit his bottom lip. "Are you taking anything else?"

"A few things. It's nothing you need to worry about."

Except for that he was paying for it. "But-"

"Concentrate on your skating. Anyway, tell me more about this ballet."

Yuri sighed, rolling onto his back and pulling Potya onto his chest to run his fingers through her fur. She glared at him for disturbing her nap, before allowing him to pet her. He knew he wasn't getting anything else out of his grandpa that night. It was strange that he had even offered up that much. His actual motto was 'suffer in silence', and the reason why he had asked Nelya to keep tabs on him. "She's doing 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. It's about a bunch of fairies, I guess. It should be well known."

"Ah, by Shakespeare."

"I guess."

"You should know this, boy. Why did you have all those fancy tutors in the first place?"

He grumbled, rolling his eyes. Honestly, he was just happy that he was finally done with school and tutors. If he forgot a few things, who cared. Shakespeare wasn't going to help him land a quadruple Axel. They talked until his grandpa said he was going to get ready for bed, and the sudden silence of the apartment made Yuri's skin crawl. He should have gone over to Viktor and Katsudon's for dinner. But it was far too late to take the train all the way over there; they were probably already done eating anyway. He sat up, relocating Potya to his lap and bounced the balls of his feet against the floor.

"Alright, Potya," he grumbled, standing up and bringing her to his shoulder. "It's time for dinner."

Yuri ended up having lunch with Viktor and Katsudon the next day. Katsudon had literally caught him in the locker room and both he and Viktor dragged him to a bistro a few blocks away from the rink. Yuri would have ordered the most expensive thing on the menu out of spite, but it didn't fit into his meal plan and he had ballet after the lunch break. Just the thought of all that food jiggling around in his stomach while he danced was enough to make him queasy. So, he ordered the grilled chicken breast and substituted the side of pasta for wild rice with a drizzle of olive oil. And a glass of grapefruit juice. God, Lilia was rubbing off on him in the worst ways; grapefruit juice was disgusting. He took a snap of his lunch and sent it to Otabek. Seconds later he got a zoomed in picture of a shaker bottle at the base of a weight-lifting rack. He switched to the chat.

Me:
Gross

Beka:
It's not that bad
Chocolate flavoured

Me:
FLAVOURED IS NOT THE SAME

Beka:
When did you become so picky?
I'm never taking you out again

Me:
To the places that have protein shakes on the menu????

Beka:
I'll start up a place that does then never take you to it

Me:
Ass

Beka:
;)

"Lilia wants you in her ballet?" Viktor asked, causing Yuri to look up from his phone.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbled and stabbed a piece of his chicken. "She wants me to audition for Puck."

Katsudon gasped softly and Yuri rolled his eyes at him.

"I skated to A Midsummer Night's dream once, you know." Viktor grinned smugly.

"Uh huh." Yuri picked up his phone again. "Don't care."

Viktor huffed as he grabbed the phone right out of Yuri's grip and tucked it into his pocket in one smooth motion. "No phones at the dinner table, young man."

Yuri glared. "Okay, one, fuck you. Two, this isn't even dinner. Three, you're not my dad. And four, fuck you; give me back my phone."

Viktor just gave that annoying heart-shaped smile of his and tilted his head to the side. Yuri kicked him under the table.

"That's big, though," Katsudon said. "Lilia only deals with professionals."

Yuri shrugged. "I'm just as good as any professional."

"Do you think you can handle it plus competing?"

He scoffed. "I think I can manage learning a two minute piece. The season is almost over anyway; I have like two more competitions."

"Okay." Katsudon shrugged poking a cherry tomato with his fork. "If you're sure."

Yuri turned to Viktor. "Give me my phone."

He pretended like he didn't hear him and gently nudged the side of Katsudon's arm with his elbow. "Did I tell you that Mizuno called back, love?"

Katsudon shook his head. "They set a release date?"

Viktor nodded, bouncing in his chair like a toddler. God, Yuri was embarrassed to be around him sometimes. "Yup! Next spring! I'm getting new clothes for everyone!"

Katsudon's smile took up the entire lower half of his face and he leaned over to peck Viktor's cheek.

"What's this now?" Yuri asked, rolling his eyes.

"Remember when Mizuno contacted us in November?" Viktor asked. 'Us' meaning him and Katsudon of course.

"No." It did sound vaguely familiar. Viktor might have been screaming about something that sounded like a brand deal. But he screamed about a lot of things, so Yuri didn't dedicate much memory space towards it. 

"Well, Mizuno contacted us in November, asking if we wanted to do a collaboration for a new athletic wear line. We just finalised all the details!"

"Oh." He cocked his head; that was kind of cool. "Why the fuck did they pick you of all people." Though, most likely 'collaboration' meant that Viktor was only going to slap his name on at the end of the process and then go to a million and one photo-shoots, possibly dragging Katsudon into a couple with him. But, who wouldn't want to collaborate with Viktor; six-time World Champion and five time Grand Prix gold medallist. Even Katsudon was doing much better; getting first place at Worlds last year and winning gold twice consecutively at Four Continents. Of fucking course Mizuno had come crawling to them. Ugh, when was he going to start getting brand deals like that?

Viktor pouted. Katsudon chuckled softly. "I think I mentioned that Mizuno was my favourite brand in an interview. It might have spiralled from there."

And of course, Viktor and Katsudon were one entity. He knew the rest of the story. "So what? Now we can expect Viktor Nikiforov shirts and pants? I can't wait to sweat all over your name."

"We're doing basic shirts, a jacket, a few pants, annnnnd a skate care kit!"

"I bet it's going to suck."

Viktor gasped. "It isn't! I met the lead designer and she has a strong portfolio; she worked for Reebok and Nike before moving over to Mizuno. Here, I'll send you her portfolio – oh wait, you don't have your phone."

Yuri snarled and kicked him again, causing the table to shake.

"Stop it, you two," Katsudon sighed, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was looking at them.

"Why couldn't you retire like a normal person and fade away into non-existence?" Yuri groaned, before scooping a forkful of rice into his mouth.

Viktor had officially retired – again – from figure skating two years ago to put all his attention and energy into coaching Katsudon. A fractured wrist towards the end of his last season had been a wake-up call; he'd obviously been pulling himself thin trying to both coach and compete. Of course Katsudon had thought that it was his fault and had told Viktor that he didn't want him to coach him anymore, causing Viktor to finally pull on his big-boy pants, make a tough decision, and to announce his retirement for real this time. He did seem somewhat happier as just a coach, or maybe it was mostly because his retirement had coincided with his and Katsudon's wedding.

"I would never!" Viktor sounded as if Yuri had just insulted him and his entire family.

"Give me back my phone."

"Yuuri, speak to your son please."

Katsudon raised an eyebrow in amusement. "My son?"

"He's your son when he's rude to me."

"So, I guess I'm a single parent then."

“Oh my god, would the two of you shut the fuck up?" Yuri hit the flat of his palm against the tabletop and pushed his chair back with a screech. Of course a waiter would have been walking behind him just then, because why not. "Oh shit, sorry!" he squeaked, blushing instantly.

The waiter brushed off his apron and raised an eyebrow at Yuri. "It's okay, Miss. I wasn't carrying anything." He waved his empty tray.

"I'm sorry," Yuri repeated, wishing that he was wearing a hoodie so he could pull the hood over his head and die of embarrassment in silence.

The waiter insisted it was not a problem and continued on to do whatever waiter stuff he had been doing before.

"Hmm, guess he wasn't listening to our conversation." Viktor hummed, twirling his straw around in his drink. "He called you miss."

Yuri shrugged. It wasn't like it was the first time that had happened, and he knew that he didn't make it easy for people to tell. He'd let his hair down from his practice bun, so it was kind of wavy and could have been mistaken for an actual style. Not to mention he was wearing a purple, fleece jacket, and dance tights under knee-length sweats. "Who cares? Give me back my phone."

Viktor raised an eyebrow, pulling his lips into a thin smile. "Are we all done?" He pulled out his wallet from his coat, waving their waiter over, and making a point of ignoring Yuri.

"Viktor!"

"Hey," Yuri breathed as the Skype video came into focus. Otabek was lying on his stomach on his bed, propping his chin up on his forearms with his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. Yuri felt all hot in his stomach and chest immediately. God, why did he have so many sleeveless shirts?  Yuri had left Almaty only four days ago, but Otabek's arm muscles looked bigger than what he remembered. He glanced down at his oversized sweater; probably a hand-me-down from Viktor or one he had stolen. He clutched the collar, balling it into his fist. "Put some clothes on. God, Beka, Almaty isn't that much warmer than Russia"

Otabek raised an eyebrow. "There's such a thing called an indoor heating system. Don't you have them where you are?"

"Oh shut up." Yuri rolled his eyes.

Otabek chuckled softly. "So, what's up?"

Yuri's stomach was bubbling softly from Otabek's laugh, and he picked out a lock of hair from his ponytail and twisted it around his index finger. He shrugged. "Got off practice early today, Yakov was feeling generous, I guess."

"Did you shower?" He saw Otabek eyeing the pillows he was leaning against.

"Oh my god, who cares? You're such a germaphobe," he huffed, grabbing one of his stuffed-cat pillows to hug to his chest. "Yes, I did."

They were both silent for a bit as Otabek checked something on his phone. Yuri felt suddenly short of breath; they had been texting, and Snapchatting as normal, but they hadn't had a face-to-face conversation since he left Almaty. Yuri bit his bottom lip; had he ruined things between them? It was just casual sex right? It shouldn't have been a big deal, right? Fuck, he knew he shouldn't have eaten before calling Otabek; he wanted to vomit.

"Hey, do you want to come to Almaty for summer?" Otabek asked suddenly.

"Why don't you come to Saint Petersburg?" Yuri swallowed.

Otabek raised an eyebrow. "Because I like Almaty better."

Yuri rolled his eyes. Okay, he could do this type of conversation. Almaty was more fun. "Yeah. It would have to be after July third, though."

"Why? I'll be training then."

"Well, that's assuming if I get into Lilia's ballet." He squeezed his cat-pillow.

Otabek pressed his lips together. "You'll get the part, Yura. Anyone who has seen you dance knows you deserve to star in a show."

Yuri's face went from normal body-temperature to the Australian outback during summer in a split second. "Do you even hear yourself when you speak sometimes?"

Otabek shrugged. "It's true."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "Auditions are like in two weeks, and I just started the piece yesterday."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Are you nervous?"

Yuri scoffed, rolling his eyes again, but he hunched over his pillow as a small knot formed in his gut. "Kinda. Lilia thinks I have a shot, but I'm going up against people who have been professional dancers for years. I've never even done a performance before."

"Lilia wouldn't have suggested you audition if she thought you couldn't do it."

"Yeah, but-"

Otabek tilted his head to the side, pulling one corner of his mouth into a grin. "Just try your hardest, and if you don't get it, that just means you can come to Almaty earlier."

Yuri scowled at him. "I'm never coming to Almaty again."

"Such a shame. We were going to on a camping trip, and I have a DJ gig that you could have come to for free. We were going to have a barbeque at the pool, and-"

"Oh my God, shut up!"

"You're going to miss out on a lot." His eyes sparkled mischievously. "When is the show?"

"It runs from June twenty-sixth to July third."

"Yeah, we usually have a huge barbeque in early July with all the family, and tonnes of food, and my mom makes like ten desserts-"

"Okay fine, I'll come," Yuri grumbled.

Otabek hid his smile behind a folded forearm and ruffled his hair, looking like he had come straight out of a magazine or a fucking sexy calendar; he just needed to lose the pants, and the shirt. Yuri took in a deep breath through his nose as he was hit in the chest by what felt like an over-weight Makkachin. God, where was this all even coming from? He hid his face behind his pillow. Yes, Otabek was attractive, possibly the most attractive person in the world, but it had never had this sort of effect on him before. What the hell had changed? When had it changed?

"Yura, you okay?"

"Yeah," he squeaked from behind his pillow.

"You sure?"

Yuri hesitated, squeezing the pillow tightly. Should he bring it up? Tell Otabek that he had no idea what was going on inside of him, that he had gone from being asexual to feeling all hot and bothered whenever he fucking smiled at him? Things like that didn't just happen, right? And would it ruin their friendship? All those late night Facetime calls when Yuri complained about Mila's friends hitting on him, or venting about the latest dick-pic some creep on Snapchat, or Twitter, or even Instagram sent him, did it mean that they all had been fake?

"Yura-" he cut himself off, looking over the top of his computer screen, "Ma," He switched to Kazakh, but Yuri could pick out the word 'talking' and his name.

"Hi Yuri," Otabek's mother called from off screen. "How are you? How's Saint Petersburg?"

"Maaa," Otabek grumbled, as his eyebrows dipped below the frames of his glasses.

Yuri hid a smile against his pillow. Otabek whined at his parents a lot; it was both adorable and hilarious. A possible side effect of being the baby of the family; he was definitely a bit spoilt.

"Hi Mrs. Altin," he answered. "It's fine; had to start training as soon as the plane landed, though."

She huffed. "Always training, you two. I hope you're eating well."

"Mmm hmm."

"Otabek, you left your brace downstairs."

Otabek stared directly into the camera before he pushed himself into a sitting position, giving Yuri a spectacular view of his chest and stomach. "Thanks."

"Did you rub your knee?"

"Not yet-"

"Your coach said it was giving you trouble; Otabek, you need to take care of-"

He let out a harsh breath. "I know-"

"Let me do it for you."

"Ma-"

"You have to do it-"

Otabek rattled off in rapid Kazakh that Yuri had no hope understanding a single word of. He did hear his name a few times from both Otabek and his mother. After hearing and a couple of 'Allah's, he could assume that his mother was both berating him and asking for help. He looked away from his screen, and awkwardly examined his nails wondering if he should call back later or –

"Fine, here," Otabek's mom gave in. "I don't know how you deal with this boy, Yuri. Anyway good night and tell your coach I said hello."

"Good night," he called back as her footsteps echoed away from the computer. He assumed that she was leaving the room.

Otabek called out something else in Kazakh, and Yuri heard a door shut loudly. He sighed heavily as he lay back down. "Sorry about that-"

"Your knee's been giving you trouble?" Yuri pushed his laptop to the foot of his bed and lay down on his stomach, using his pillow to prop his chin up, and somewhat copying Otabek's position.

"A bit, no more than usual. My physiotherapist says I just need to do a few exercises and stretches, and ice it."

Yuri bit his lip. "Four Continents is coming up soon-"

"I'll be fine, Yura. Don't worry."

Yuri stared at him for a few seconds before giving in. "Okay."

He brushed his hair away from his forehead with his fingers. "So, um, I was going to ask you before my mom..." He adjusted his glasses and scratched the back of his neck. "I know you said that you were fine with what we um, did uh, that night, but..." Yuri swallowed; it hurt with his neck bent the way it was. "But I want to know if you're still okay."

Yuri's dinner still sat undigested in his stomach. "I... I think so. I mean, you said it; we were both really drunk."

"Yeah, but-"

"It was just the alcohol, Beka. I don't even like sex, well, not like.... I just – don't... ugh." God, what was he even saying? Otabek nodded slowly and Yuri's heart stuttered. "Friends with benefits are a thing right? I mean," he scrambled to his knees, waving his arms in panic. "I mean, I'm not asking you to – I don't want that-"

"It's okay, Yura," Otabek was the epitome of calm. How did he do that? "I understand. I just wanted to make sure that you weren't having some internal crisis or something. I know you're asexual; this doesn't change that, right?"

His cheeks got hot again. "Don't say it like that."

"Why? Are you ashamed?"

"No! Fuck off."

"Good."

Otabek gave him an assuring grin and he smiled back. Okay, it really wasn't a big deal. And even if his chest got all tight, and he couldn't breathe whenever Otabek smiled, like what he was doing right fucking now, it didn't mean things had to change between them. He'd learn how to deal with the asphyxiation eventually. Right? This way was easier.

"We're still friends, right?" he asked softly.

Otabek raised an eyebrow. "Best friends, Yura, you know that."

Yuri's stomach continued to bubble softly and his room felt at least five times hotter than it did before they had started the call. When they hung up, Yuri had to go check to see if Lilia had turned up the heat. She hadn't; she was in her room sleeping, and the thermostat read twenty-three degrees Celsius. He ended up taking another shower and left his hair damp as he crawled under the sheets. He clicked his tongue for Potya, but she didn't come, even when he shook the bag of treats that he kept in the drawer of his nightstand. So, she was probably trapped in Lilia's room, or was feeling especially  lazy-ass-like that night. He sighed heavily, fishing his phone out from under his pillow and opening up the messaging app. It wasn't late enough that Viktor would have already wrangled Katsudon to bed.

Me:
You remember when you asked me if something happened in Almaty? Well, it's all good now

Katsudon answered a few minutes later. Yuri stared at his home screen – he had recently changed it to a cool picture of a snow leopard jumping off a boulder – as he kicked his legs against his mattress, waiting for Katsudon to reply.

Katsudon:
Great!
So something did happen?

Me:
Kinda. Forget about it

Katsudon:
Viktor's not reading over my shoulder

Yuri sighed. Katsudon wouldn't needle, but he would be 'concerned', which sometimes was just as annoying.

Me:
It's nothing. Just got drunk and did something dumb. Anyway it's fixed now

Katsudon typed for a while. The dots appearing then disappearing as he seemed to have trouble figuring out what to say.

Katsudon:
Do you still want to talk about it? It doesn't have to be now if you don't want to
Just it seems like it was bothering you

Yuri tapped his thumbnail against the screen. Should he?

Me:
Beka helped already. Really, don't worry about it

He took longer to reply this time.

Katsudon:
Okay :) 
but my offer's still on the table
Anyway, Viktor's going to come ask me go to bed. I can hear him getting ready
Sleep well

Me:
Yeah
You too, Piggy

Katsudon:
You know what...
I'll take it
Night, Yurio

Me:
Actually, I hope you have nightmares

Katsudon:
:)

Yuri yawned unexpectedly, tossing his phone to the side. Maybe he would talk to Katsudon about what had happened later. But for now, he felt like he could deal with it. Otabek wasn't mad at him, if anything he actually understood what was going on more than Yuri did. He scoffed, of course he did. Otabek Altin wasn't even human sometimes with how perfect he seemed. Yuri pulled his cat pillow to his chest. Yeah, later would be fine.

Chapter Text

"What was that?" Lilia snapped, folding her arms across her chest as she glared at Yuri.

"Uh, an Assemblé?" Yuri halted all movement when the music suddenly stopped, and slowly turned his head in her direction.

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that fifth position?" Yuri ground his teeth, immediately turning out his forward leg so his feet were parallel to each other. "You can do better, Yurochka. Again, Assemblé."

Yuri was on his third session of learning the choreography for his audition piece. He'd done pieces like this in the past, but just to help with the fluidity of his competition choreography, or to take a break from practicing the same three routines for months on end. Lilia was a known perfectionist, but she had never been this picky with him before. He was only going to hold fifth position for like a split second before moving off into the next step. If his feet weren't perfectly parallel who cared? Actually, he did care. That was like the absolute basics of ballet, he shouldn't be messing up like this.

"Again."

The Assemblé wasn't the only issue that day, however.

"Why are you so stiff today?" Lilia asked, as he took a short break for a drink of water. "Didn't you warm up properly?"

"Yeah," he mumbled while stretching out his ankle, sliding the sole of his shoe along the polished, wooden floor. At least he wasn't doing pointe work today; that would come after he'd worked the routine to perfection.

"Dancers from the Mariinsky and a few from the Bolshoi will be auditioning; the judges will not give you a second thought if you perform like this."

Yuri ground his teeth together. There were sixteen more days until the first day of auditions, and he was going to lose three of them because of a competition. And even though he was quick to pick up the choreography he was nowhere near Lilia's standard yet. God, and she really expected him to compete against ballet dancers who had been performing their entire lives? Lilia usually worked with the Mariinsky Ballet for large productions like these, but rather than this show being exclusive to the single company, auditions were open. That meant competition was much stiffer. It would have been much easier on her part to stick to her own troupe; they were already familiar with each other and rehearsals would go much smoother, but she had given some long-winded spiel about how charity is supposed to bring people together. She'd done it this way for the past four years, and had made it work spectacularly. Of course. She was Lilia; she didn't know anything else but perfection. Yuri took a small sip from his water bottle; was he even cut out for this? He was a figure skater, who did ballet on his off days. Sure some dancers would kill to have Lilia as a private instructor, but that didn't mean he was an actual dancer. He swished the water around in his mouth before swallowing. He had to get the part, though; he'd already told his Grandpa.

"Let's try again, from the top." Lila clapped her hands once nodding at Yuri to get back to work.

She started the music once he got back into position. At least this time he was able to make it through the entire piece without her stopping him. But it still wasn't perfect.

"Did you watch the videos I sent you?" Lilia asked over dinner later that night. They had lemon glazed chicken, whole wheat pasta, and a colourful salad of Yuri's doing. She expected him to eat heavily after a full day of dance – Yakov had been generous enough to give him to her that entire day, but he found that his stomach was tight, and the food sat uncomfortably heavy after he managed to swallow. "Yurochka, did you hear me?"

Yuri looked up from his plate. "Uh."

She shook her head slowly. "You are worried that you are not good enough?"

Yuri blinked as he pushed a broccoli floret around his plate. "Kinda," he admitted; it didn't make any sense lying when she already knew. "I mean, I know it's a lot of work, but we have like less than sixteen days until auditions and, well, today sucked."

Lilia hummed. "You know I wouldn't have suggested this if you were unfit. Yes, we don't have much time, but I know you are determined and a hard worker. Besides, this piece isn't particularly challenging."

"What if I don't get the part?"

"Then you don't get it. It won't shake your career, Yurochka. Though, if you were a professional danceur I would be telling you a much different story." She gave a short chuckle through her nose. "We will pick up again the day after tomorrow. You will be well rested and ready to try again."

Yuri let out a loud breath through his teeth and tore apart a strip of chicken with his fork. Well, if Lilia had faith in him, then maybe he was stewing over nothing. It felt like his senior debut all over again, going up against people who had years of experience on him. He stabbed the broccoli; his fork clinked loudly against the porcelain plate. Tiny pinpricks against his calf made him look down to see Potya kneading his leg, tired of begging quietly. He discreetly grabbed a piece of chicken for her.

"Do not feed the cat at the dinner table," Lilia snapped.

Yuri looked up, attempting to pull on an innocent face. Lilia narrowed her eyes then bent to the side to see Potya trying to stretch up to get her front paws onto the tabletop.

"Potya, cats eat in the kitchen," she said sternly. The cat actually listened, meowing softly as she retreated to her half-full bowl next to the stove, looking at them over her shoulder just to let them know that she was going because she wanted to and not because she was told to. God, Lilia even had his cat trained. "And stop slouching, Yurochka."

He straightened his back instantly.

Otabek settled down at his desk this time with a towel around his neck to catch any stray drops from his wet hair. His hair had a slight wave to it when he let it air-dry without any of that ridiculous pomade which cost like a kidney for a jar the size of his palm. He pushed it back from his forehead, making it stick up in funny-looking spikes. Yuri tilted his head, trying to ignore the not-so-subtle, hot, and uneasy churning his stomach was beginning to do.

"Oh my god, did you just get back from the gym? It's like ten, Beka."

Otabek shrugged. "Less people go late at night." Yuri sometimes wondered why Otabek spent so much time in the gym in addition to training. It wasn't like figure skating required much upper-body strength, but he wasn't complaining one bit about his biceps and shoulders. He swallowed and looked away. "And you're not one to talk, Mr. I was at the ballet studio until nine thirty last night."

Yuri shrugged. Lilia had left him practicing and he’d lost track of time. "That's different. I'm not leaving for a competition tomorrow. What time is your flight?"

"Six am."

"Go to bed, you idiot!"

Otabek chuckled softly. "Yuuri and Viktor left for Japan already, right?"

"Yeah, three days ago; they wanted to stop in Hasetsu for a few days before going to Osaka. And guess what; Katsudon is going to kick your ass because he took the time to rest before competing."

Otabek rolled his eyes. "If he kicks my ass it's not going to be because I stayed up late. He's been doing well this season; he'll be hard to beat regardless."

Yuri grumbled. Of course Katsudon was doing well; he was one of the top figure skaters in the world, plus he had Viktor as his coach and choreographer. "Or because he's getting old."

"He's not that old." Otabek cocked his head. "He's still in his twenties."

"Twenty is old."

"I'm in my twenties."

"Yeah, barely."

Otabek shook his head, causing a few damp locks to fall against his forehead. He pushed them back hastily and ruffled his towel through his hair again. Yuri's gaze locked on the way his arm muscles tensed as he dragged a corner of the towel back and forth through his hair. His throat felt dry suddenly, and he looked to his nightstand for one of the many mugs of stale tea that he really should have brought out to the kitchen. He picked up the one that he'd been drinking before he left for practice that morning and took a sip.

After tousling his hair a bit more, Otabek hung the towel back around his neck and wrinkled his nose before sighing. "I have to finish packing, Yura."

Yuri felt his stomach drop. "Oh. Yeah, you should. Well, night Beka."

"Night. I'll message you when I get up tomorrow."

"Ew no. Why?"

"If I have to suffer then so do you."

Yuri scowled, but there was no real heat behind it. "You're an ass. You know that, right?"

Otabek scoffed. "So are you."

"Fuck off. Friendship ended."

Otabek chuckled softly then sighed. "Good night, Yura."

"Don't message me! I swear to God Beka, if you wake me up-"

"I won't message."

"Good-"

"I'll call."

Somewhere during the almost four years in which Katsudon had known Yakov, he'd made a place for himself in the coach's heart. So, Yakov had started a sort of impromptu tradition where he'd gather his students to watch part of the Four Continents Championship at his apartment. Yuri didn't mind, it meant that he could also watch Otabek skate on Yakov's massive television this year, but it was also nice to actually sit down with everyone outside of the rink.

Currently, he was squished between Georgi and the armrest of the couch as he clutched a bottle of sports drink in his hands, crumpling the plastic slightly. The apartment was deathly silent as Katsudon stepped onto the ice and lazily skated to the centre of the rink. He was in second after his short program the other day but was only a fraction of a point away from JJ who currently was in first. Otabek was following closely in third place. Yuri had held his breath during his free skate, and had nearly tumbled from the couch when Otabek had nearly missed his triple loop landing. He knew it was his knee; the camera hadn't shown his face clearly, but Yuri knew that he'd strained it from the way he'd shifted his weight to his other leg as soon as he could. The commentator had picked up on it, though, and remarked that he would lose points – it was a definite dip in his normal crisp and clean style. Yuri's heart had been in his throat as Otabek waited in the Kiss-and-Cry for his results. He'd actually screamed, jumping from the couch, when he'd gotten third place. Mila, the bitch, had recorded him and posted it to her Snapchat story.

"Is Otabek okay?" Georgi had asked.

Yuri had sent Otabek a congratulatory snap of himself grinning from ear to ear, and then looked over at Georgi. "Uh, jumper's knee, but he says it's not that bad."

Yakov overheard them and grumbled. "He'll need to rest before Worlds."

Yuri pursed his lips; getting Otabek to rest was nearly impossible. He knew that he was going to start training as soon as he set foot back in Almaty and he wouldn't stop until the season ended. At least Worlds was his only other competition.

His phone vibrated as Otabek sent him a message in response.

Beka:
Thanks
But messed up my final jump

Me:
Yeah, the commentator called you out on it
Still, you actually made the podium!!

Beka:
Actually?
Wow. I thought we were friends

Me:
I didn't mean it like that!
you were fucking amazing
You know that
God
If it wasn't for that asshole JJ you would be first

Beka:
Yuuri is still ahead of me

Me:
Katsudon is a freak of nature. He doesn't count
He and Viktor are like the same person now
So it's like you're skating against Viktor fucking Nikiforov
I think they shared DNA after they got married

Beka:
Shared DNA?
So they had sex?
They were doing that long before they got married

Me:
Shut up!
Don't ever say that again

Beka:
Sorry, need to go Yura
I'll talk to you this evening

Me:
Skype?

Beka:
Yup

Yuri settled back against the couch, swinging his phone between his thumb and index finger. Katsudon skated right after Otabek, thankfully, because Yakov wouldn't have allowed them to waste a whole day sitting around watching television; he was making them go to back to the rink after lunch. They were all silent as Katsudon took up his starting pose and the music started. Yuri has seen his routine hundreds of times already; he might have even been there when Viktor was dancing around their apartment when he was coming up with the choreography. He still couldn't get over how Viktor managed to pull programs like that out of his ass. So far Katsudon hadn't scored lower than 198 with his free skate this season. It made Yuri's skin itch, but he was happy for him regardless. He was still going to beat his ass at Worlds.

Yakov let out a harsh breath of relief as Katsudon landed his triple Axel, triple loop combination, and mumbled something about how Viktor wasn't paying close enough attention to how he landed in practice. Georgi, Mila, and Yuri shared an amused look that had Yakov hitting Georgi upside the head as Georgi was sitting next to him.

"Pay attention you three," he grumbled. "What I wouldn't do for a student who listened that well."

Georgi opened his mouth to argue, but decided that it wasn't worth the trouble. Yuri smirked turning back to the screen, just in time to see Katsudon do one of his quads. Even after all this time Yuri still felt his chest tighten when he landed the Salchow perfectly. He would also deny that he might have bitten off a few nails while Katsudon and Viktor waited in the kiss-and-cry for his score. He really shouldn't have been surprised that he was in first place after a performance like that. If JJ didn't pull anything, he would be going home with his third consecutive gold.

They would check on line at the end of the day for the results, but Yuri was positive that Katsudon would still be in first, JJ might get  second, while Otabek was sure for third. 

"Do you guys want to go out with me and a few friends tonight?" Mila asked, looking up from her phone as they waited for the elevator.

“Sorry, I'm busy later," Georgi said, shaking his head.

Mila gave an exaggerated scowl. "Why? Do you have a hot date with the wife?"

 Georgi grinned. "I always have a hot date with the wife."

Yuri gagged while Mila snickered. Georgi had gotten married last summer, thank God; all he had done for the entire year before was talk about his fiancée and bore them with details on wedding planning stuff. Yuri had already gone through all of that with Viktor and Katsudon, and it was way too much way too soon. The only saving grace was that Georgi's wife had wanted a small wedding, so it turned out to be the polar opposite from the Katsuki-Nikiforov's and thankfully had gone much smoother.

Mila turned to Yuri. "What about you?"

Yuri shrugged. "Where are you going?"

"Probably just for a few drinks at a bar. We haven't been out together in a while."

Yuri paused; he might be Skyping Beka later that evening. "I don't know. Otabek-"

Mila rolled her eyes, as Georgi gave him a tender smile. "Otabek won't mind, Yuri. Come on, he won't get mad at you if you don't Skype him every single night. Besides he's in Japan, what's the time difference anyway?"

Yuri shrugged again pulling out his phone to send a quick message to Otabek.

Me:
Mila wants me to go out with her and some friends tonight.
Did you still want to Skype?

He tucked his phone back into his pocket as the elevator dinged open. Mila eyed him suspiciously.

"Are you two like dating?"

Georgi's head swivelled towards him, blue eyes wide, and ears perked up in interest.

Yuri choked on his breath, nearly tripping over his feet as he stepped into the elevator. "What? No! Why would you... We're  not!"

Mila raised an eyebrow. "Because you just had to ask him if you could go out with me."

Yuri scowled. "I didn't! We had plans. I was just making sure that he wouldn't be upset if I changed them. God, it's called being polite, Baba."

"I'm surprised you even know the word," Georgi quipped, pressing the button for the ground floor.

Yuri ignored him. "We're not dating. Ugh. It's not like that. I don't even... well."

"Oh right, sorry." Her eyes widened. "Your ace thing. Well, let me know if you decide to come. We can get ready at my place after practice."

The rest of the ride was mostly silent, with all three of them on their phones. Lilia's apartment was in the opposite direction of Mila and Georgi's places, so he waved them goodbye, but as he turned down the sidewalk he heard Georgi whisper to Mila.

"He's still on about that asexual thing?"

He didn't wait to hear Mila's response, and pretended like he didn't hear Georgi. Even after trying to explain it to everyone, the only ones who really got it were Katsudon, Otabek, and Viktor – thanks to Katsudon. Lilia and Yakov were pretty impartial – as long as his skating and dancing were unaffected. But it was whatever; it wasn't like he talked to either Mila or Georgi about that kind of stuff anyway; they were good for other things.

"Are you wearing makeup tonight?" Mila asked after Yuri wiggled into a pair of high-waisted, baggy jeans.

They were just supposed to be going for a few drinks at a bar, but she had started a group chat, so now Yuri wasn't too sure that was how the night was going to play out. He buckled a chunky, leather belt at his waist and then straightened his simple, black, crop top, before considering her question. He wasn't in a particularly makeup-y mood that night, but he didn't want to look too plain in front of Mila's friends. He'd brought his makeup just in case, though, since he knew that they loved to dress up for these kinds of things. Mila was curling her hair and pinning up a few sections to show off her undercut. Maybe makeup would be a good idea that night.

"Yeah, I guess." He shrugged, running his fingers through his hair. It would probably stay down tonight as well.

Mila's eyes lit up. "Come here!" She patted her bed, scooting over to make room for him. He sighed and shuffled over, his socks catching against the carpet.

Mila loved doing his makeup and he didn't mind letting her. He used to wear a lot more makeup than he did now, but he would still do the occasional eyeliner when he felt like dressing up, and maybe a bit of mascara, and a cool coloured lipstick; also, concealer had saved his life more than once. But Mila went all out with contouring, baking, and whatever makeup terms he had heard thrown around YouTube. She sat, folding her legs, knees poking through the holes in her black, destroyed jeans, as she tugged him closer and pulled out a bottle of foundation from his makeup bag.

"This is almost expired," she wrinkled her nose.

Yuri shrugged. "I don't use it that much anyway."

Mila rolled her eyes, digging out a brush. "This shit's expensive, though. And please, clean your brushes once in a while."

He stuck out his tongue at her and she tugged his ear lobe. It didn't take her as long to finish as she had the last time he had let her do this, but she spent a bit more time than necessary deciding between two lipsticks, a deep mauve and a brownish red. Yuri chose the mauve after he'd gotten annoyed with her flipping back and forth. Then while she finished up her own makeup, he pulled his hair into a half up half down style, put on a couple thin, gold necklaces, and took a pouty snap to send to Otabek. He tilted his head to the side and smirked at the camera; Mila had used glittery eye-shadow that made his eyes look really green, but he thought that the dark lipstick made him look paler than necessary. He shrugged and updated his story anyway, then sent it directly to Otabek.

It was fuck-ass late in Japan, or really early, so he wasn't expecting a response right away. He sat down on the corner of Mila's bed, holding his stomach with one hand while he stared at Snapchat. When Otabek opened the snap just then, he raised an eyebrow.

Beka:
You look amazing Yura
You should hire Mila as your makeup artist :)

Yuri rolled his eyes, feeling his stomach flop and tumble over itself.

Me:
;)

Beka:
You're going to wear a jacket right?

Me:
Obviously
It's still winter

Beka:
No I mean
Nevermind

Yuri cocked his head and got up to retrieve his blue, Addidas track jacket from Mila's chair. He shrugged it on and adjusted the loose fit on his shoulders before taking a full-body picture in the mirror.

Me:
??
Problem?

Beka:
Oh
No
You were just showing a lot of skin

Yuri rolled his eyes as he felt one corner of his mouth stretch up into a smirk.

Me:
Okay, dad

Beka:
Behave

Yuri snorted softly before tossing his phone onto Mila's bed and bending over to pull on his black sneakers. His phone vibrated again as he sat down.

Beka:
Was just a bit worried. You look pretty. People might do more than stare.

Me:
I can handle myself

Beka:
I know you can
But still, be safe

Yuri's entire colon fluttered as he sent back a smiley face. Mila gave her hair one last fluff before turning to him with a grin.

"Is that Otabek?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Did he like your outfit?"

Yuri sighed, tucking his phone into his pocket, and grabbing the tube of lipstick Mila was holding out to him. "He called me pretty."

Mila cackled, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "Well, my work here is done."

They took an Uber to the bar, which turned out to be club with a bar. Yuri sighed internally as he followed Mila inside, being instantly deafened by the music, and stumbling as his eyes adjusted to the dim, neon lights. He grimaced as he spotted one of Mila's friends leaning against the bar. It wasn't as though he didn't like Mila's friends but –

"Mila!" she shouted as they made their way over, waving her hand high as if they hadn't already seen her.

"Hey," Mila called, grabbing Yuri's wrist and shoving through the crowd.

"Aww you brought Yuri." She smiled at him as they came up to her.

Yuri rolled his eyes and Mila pushed him onto a bar stool and stood up next to him after hugging her friend. Yuri believed her name was Anna.

"What are you drinking?" Mila asked, leaning against the bar.

"I think it's called Kreml Me Up; it's really good; I'll get you one. Oh, and a soft drink for Yuri?"

"I'm eighteen," he snapped. Fuck, he was almost nineteen.

"Really?" She tilted her head to the side and then looked to Mila for confirmation. Yuri ground his teeth together and glared at her.

Yeah, there was nothing wrong with Mila's friends, except that they treated him like he was a little child. He ordered his own drink, something strong and dark to prove his point, even though he didn't like dark alcohol.

Only three of Mila's friends were there that night. There was Anna, Elena, and Lydia. Anna was tall and blonde, Elena was the loud one and had dimples when she smiled wide enough, and Lydia got drunk easily. Yuri had decided that they were okay years ago when he had first met them, and they were pretty nice. But, every group of friends had inside jokes, and that was the main difference between Otabek's and Mila's friends. Mila's friends didn't seem to care that he was a bit lost; they would laugh loudly at something, and Mila would pause  for a while but then wave her hand and say something along the lines of 'you needed to be there to understand'. Even Iska, despite his grumpiness, had explained in detail why Camran got all flustered at the sight of neon tank tops, or why Bal never wore socks if he could help it. Tonight, like most of the times he had been around Mila's friends, he was mostly quiet, listening as they talked about people he didn't know and things he didn't understand. They did dance a bit; Mila planted herself behind him, making sure there were no unwanted advances even though he knew she knew he could handle himself.

"That guy's been staring at you all night," Elena told Yuri, nodding towards the bar. They had taken a break from the dance-floor and were standing around a tiny, tall table with a few drinks.

Yuri sighed, glancing over his shoulder. Sure enough, there was a guy looking his way – tall, kind of pasty, with blond hair. The complete opposite of Otabek – he paused at the fact that he'd just used Otabek as a standard to judge another guy's attractiveness. He took a quick, small sip of his drink feeling the slightest bit guilty. The alcohol did nothing to make him feel better, only adding burning to the tightening his chest and gut.

Mila nudged him with her hip. "He's kinda cute."

Yuri shrugged, pushing the toe of his shoe against the table leg. The girls smiled at him.

Elena reached over to grasp his forearm. "We're here to have fun; go dance with him. Maybe he'll get you a drink."

Yuri twirled the thin, red straw around in his cup. "I already have a drink."

Lydia found that hilarious for some reason. "You're adorable, Yuri," she giggled.

Yuri frowned, running his fingertips up and down the side of his cup. They were tingling slightly while his skin felt too big for his body and a bit fuzzy. Mila wrapped her arm around his waist, pulling him into her side.

"Isn't he?" she agreed.

Yuri rolled his eyes and shoved her away before looking over his shoulder to the guy at the bar. Their eyes met briefly and Yuri spun back around, as his stomach lurched. The girls started giggling, and Anna's eyes were fixed on something over his shoulder. The back of Yuri's neck was tingling, and his cheeks heated. He stared at the table-top, a part of him wishing that he had just stayed home and Skyped Otabek.

Mila poked his shoulder. "You don't have to do anything, but he's coming this way."

He coughed. "What-"

"Um, hi." Someone tapped Yuri's shoulder.

He closed his eyes briefly, maybe if he pretended that he didn't feel or hear anything the guy would go away. Mila, however, stepped to the side and pulled Yuri's shoulder to get him to turn around. Fuck. He stared at the guy, his stomach was actually quaking. Milla elbowed him in the back.

"Hi."

The guy smiled. "Not to sound creepy, but I've been watching you for a while now; can I get you a drink?"

Yuri raised an eyebrow. "I already-"

Mila elbowed him again and Elena reached across the table to grab his glass.

"He'd love that!" Elena shouted.

The guy's eyebrows jumped up slightly and he stared at Yuri with new scrutiny, sizing him up and down. "Omega?" he asked.

Yuri let out a short puff of air, folding his arms across his chest. "Yeah."

The guy shrugged, and grinned. "So, um, a drink?"

Yuri bit his bottom lip as the girls all prodded him to go. Mila squeezed his shoulder and leaned in close to his ear. "It's up to you."

"Uh,"

"I'll come with you; I need another drink anyway."

He glanced up at the guy. "Okay."

Mila followed them to the bar, standing a few feet away and pulling out her phone as the guy waved the bartender over.

"I'm Sergey,"

Yuri swallowed, "Yuri."

He grinned. "It's nice to meet you, Yuri. What are you drinking?"

Yuri tilted his head, eyeing the specials menu that was taped to the bar top. He already had two, well one and a half, cocktails, and Anna had gotten them all a round of shots. "Uh, whatever is fine."

The guy – Sergey – chuckled, though Yuri couldn't hear over the music. Yuri tugged at a lock of his hair and glanced over to Mila. She winked at him, still pretending to be busy with her phone. Yuri tossed his hair back over his shoulder and sent a quick glance at Sergey. He was quiet, probably trying to think of something to say, forearms braced against the bar-top. God this was awkward. Why had everyone wanted him to do this?

Sergey looked like he was about to say something, but the bartender finally came over to them. Yuri turned around, resting his back against the edge of the bar and glaring in the direction of Mila's friends at their table. God, Otabek's friends would have never done this to him. They went as a group; they always had fun as a group, unless someone wanted to meet other people. He looked up to the ceiling, his head felt heavy when he moved it. Sergey gently nudged him, handing him a cup.

"What's this?" Yuri asked, taking it and examining what was inside.

"It's called a Fizzy Apple."

"Oh. Thanks." He took a sip. "It's good."

Sergey grinned, but then they fell into silence again. Yuri took another sip, swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing.

"So, Yuri, uh, what do you do?"

"I'm a figure skater."

He obviously hadn't been expected that. "What? Really?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, wow. Do you compete?"

Yuri sighed, taking another gulp of his drink. "Yeah. How else would I make money? I've been competing since I was like ten."

Sergey blinked. "You must be really good then."

Yuri snorted softly. "Yeah. I went to the Olympics actually."

"Really?"

He nodded.

"Did you get any medals?"

That was always the first question. "Yeah." He wasn't going to elaborate, and busied himself with his drink, biting the straw. Sergey seemed to understand, thankfully.

"That's really cool. Makes my job seem so boring."

Yuri groaned internally. Fine, he'd bite. "What do you do?"

"I work at a bank."

"God, I'd shoot myself."

Sergey starting laughing and Yuri surprised himself when he felt his lips stretch upwards. "Sometimes I feel like that too."

They talked a bit easier after that, but it was still awkward small talk, and Yuri couldn't help but glance towards Mila and her friends every so often. Mila had left when they started talking, giving him a quick squeeze on the shoulder and waving her phone at him – 'text if something goes wrong'. He eyed her laughing along with Anna, as he sucked on an ice cube from his drink. His head had started to buzz a while ago and he was suddenly aware of how awkward his tongue felt sitting in his mouth. He set his empty glass down on the bar and leaned against it, wishing that he'd worn a cooler outfit; it was sweltering in here. He pushed the sleeves of his jacket up to his elbows and shook out the hair that clung to his neck with sweat.

"Do you want to dance?" Sergey asked, setting down his own drink and nodded to the dance-floor.

Yuri paused giving Mila's group once last glance before shrugging. "Okay."

He could take care of himself, and Sergey didn't seem like he was all that bad. Besides, dancing was much easier than talking, and ten times more fun.

They found a spot on the packed dance-floor and Yuri quickly picked up on the beat as Sergey stood behind him, swaying. It was always weird at first, dancing with a stranger or doing anything with a stranger for that matter. Yuri tried to ignore him for the most part as he danced, but as they got more into it, Sergey pressed his hands to Yuri's hips then after a moment started running his palms along his bare stomach. Okay, so they were doing that now. Yuri shrugged and placed his hands over Sergey's, holding them steady against his stomach as he swayed his hips. Sergey pressed his chest firmly against Yuri's back, slowly grinding against his ass. Scoffing, Yuri bit the inside of his cheek and made the mistake of shaking his head too quickly; the room spun for a few seconds and he felt like he was going to fall over. Sergey's hold on him tightened and Yuri laughed in embarrassment. God, he had only like three drinks; keep it together Plisetsky. He pushed back against Sergey, bouncing and swaying. The music pounded throughout his entire body and amplified the buzzing at the back of his head. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, just focusing on his dancing and trying not to lose his balance again, when he felt Sergey brush his hair from his neck to lean down close to his ear.

"You're really pretty," he said, drawing out his words.

Yuri's eyes flew open as he swallowed, feeling his cheeks heat even though he was already sweating and burning up. "Uh, thanks."

"Really pretty." He stroked the side of his neck, his other hand flat against his stomach. His fingers felt like spiders against his skin and Yuri shivered, but forced himself not to squirm away. It was just dancing, he reminded himself.

He laughed, unsure what else to do and leaned heavily against Sergey's chest then boldly ground his ass against him. He hissed right into Yuri's ear and squeezed his hip tightly before spreading his legs and thrusting against him. Yuri pressed back, smirking to himself when Sergey grabbed the tops of his thighs holding him hard; it was kind of funny how easy this guy was, how most guys were actually. He closed his eyes, but still saw the bright strobe lights flashing from the ceiling through his eyelids. He'd have to bring Otabek here when he visited next; this place was actually kind of cool.

Blood was pulsing in his ears in time with the music and sweat was beading at the small of his back. Still, he pushed against Sergey, their dancing growing wilder by the second. A far off part of Yuri's mind told him that he should probably end this soon, find Mila, and go home; he knew how nights like this ended. But, he didn't. He continued to dance with Sergey, grinding against him, letting him touch him all over, and kiss the side of his neck. Just a little longer wouldn't hurt. One more song. He closed his eyes again.

Sergey wasn't as good of a dancer as Bal, Roza, or even Otabek. He'd never seen Iska dance to be honest, so he couldn't judge there, and Camran was on a whole other level. Sergey's movements were slightly off-beat and clumsy; making Yuri wonder if he had a bit too much to drink himself or if he was just like this normally. So, he grabbed his hands, bringing them back up from his thighs and pressed them against his hip bones, to use them as a guide to get Sergey swaying in time. It worked for a while, until Sergey let go of his hip with one hand, bringing it across his stomach, and pushed his thumb under the waistband of Yuri's jeans. He opened his eyes, looking down his body; Sergey's hands were hot and sweaty, but Yuri just shook his head and went along with it. He hadn't crossed any lines yet. Reaching behind to clasp his hands around Sergey's neck, Yuri let out a harsh breath through his nose and he threaded his fingers in the short hair. Sergey reattached his mouth to the side of his neck, or had he even taken it off? Yuri hummed tilting his head to the side; his skin felt a bit tender where his mouth was, but he didn't care enough to make him stop. He also found he didn't care about the hand that was creeping down his stomach. His head was so cloudy and his skin was both sensitive and numb at the same time. He let his eyes flutter shut, giving a particularly hard thrust against Sergey's groin.

Sergey hissed, pulling away from his neck, and a spark of nervousness flared in Yuri's chest when he noticed that something was pressed against his ass. Was he getting hard from this? What the fuck? They were just dancing. Okay, this needed to stop, like now.

But, Sergey wrapped both arms tightly around his waist. "You're so fucking hot," his voice was slightly slurred when he spoke into Yuri's ear this time. Yuri all but slowed to a halt and jerked slightly as one of Sergey's hands came up to his chest, pressing flat against one of his pecs. His mind told him to pull away, but his body didn't move. Nothing made any sense in his fuzzy mind right now.

Normally, he wouldn't go for this at all; he would have cut it off the second he had felt his mouth on his neck. But then he was also a bit tipsy, and who gave a fuck if he had a bit of fun? This was what people were supposed to do, right? And well, he wasn't a virgin anymore. He had sex with Otabek, and it wasn't as scary as he thought it would be. He had fucking liked it. He swallowed, steeling his nerves, and turned, a bit clumsily since Sergey had to steady him, and rested his elbows on his shoulders, letting his forearms dangle in the air. He looked up at him, expecting to feel that newly familiar spark of heat in his stomach, or that ache in his gut. There was nothing. He didn't feel anything at all. He was literally grinding against the guy's crotch – he could feel his boner through his jeans – and he wasn't excited at all. Sergey bent down, zeroing in on Yuri's lips and Yuri forced himself not to back away. He tasted of alcohol, and his mouth was all slimy and slippery and not at all like how Otabek's had felt. His tongue was just that, a tongue. His lips were just lips. There was nothing, no spark, no heat, just a lot of saliva and some teeth.The hands, roaming along his sides and back under his jacket felt a bit good, but in a ticklish kind of way, the way it felt if someone hugged him; he wouldn't refuse it, but he wasn't exactly begging for more.

Sergey's hands travelled from his waist down to squeeze his ass, and Yuri knew that he had to stop this soon, especially when he gripped the back of his thighs and spread his legs enough to slip a leg between them and press against his crotch. His heart began to thud; he could feel it hammering against his ribs. Fuck. He groaned internally, kicking himself for not stopping this sooner. Of course, Sergey's thigh felt good against his groin, but it wasn't... it was just... it wasn't for him. It was because of him, but it wasn't for him. God, he was too drunk to be making much sense, but he knew that he didn't want to go any further.

Fuck. He was fucking ace; what had he expected? But then he had felt that red-hot want with Otabek. He knew he had fucking needed him; his stomach clenched every time he looked at him for too long, his chest got all hot and tight when he grinned, and oh. Now he felt something, just a small tightening in his abdomen. But it wasn't for Sergey. No, it was wrong. It didn't feel – well it just didn't feel. Yuri jerked and pulled away from the kiss, looking up at him with a frown.

"No?" Sergey asked with eyes still half closed. "God, you're just so hot. I really want to take you home with me."

Oh fuck. Yuri was silent for long enough that he took it as an agreement, swooping back in for a kiss. He stepped back this time, pulling Sergey's hands from his thighs and shaking his head.

Sergey froze with his mouth open and ready to continue the kiss.

"Sorry," Yuri said, still shaking his head. "I can't do this." His stomach was all bubbly now and any bit of heat he had felt evaporated instantly. God, why? Why couldn't he just be normal?

He frowned. "Why?"

"I uh... can't."

"I bought you a drink."

Yuri jerked back, his words hit like a slap to the face and he blinked in disbelief. "So? I didn't ask you to."

 Blood was almost deafening in his ears and the music wasn't doing much to help either. Sergey clenched his jaw, his face hardened. The buzzing, floating feeling from the alcohol couldn't do much to keep Yuri from feeling irritated. A wave of disgust ran down his body, settling in his stomach and spreading out. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"That was my fucking money I spent on you, you at least owe me a reason."

Yuri narrowed his eyes. Oh wow, so he was an asshole in disguise. He rolled his eyes, and spun on his heel, flipping him off. "No I don't."

Sergey clamped a hand around his arm, yanking him backwards causing him to stumble into his chest.

"What the fuck," he yelled, reeling back ready to throw a punch or kick or both. "Let go of me!"

"Give me a reason, because I know you want this. You were all over me just a second ago!"

Yuri snarled, pulling his arm away. "I just don't, okay." His stomach was actually hurting now; along with a flush of outrage and anger, panic was slowly setting in, causing his throat to tighten. He didn't owe this asshole anything. He clenched his jaw.

Sergey leaned over him, getting right in his face and running a finger along his jaw. "There's nothing to be scared of."

Yeah, says the angry guy centimetres from his face. Yuri took a step back, slapped his hand away, and pulled his top lip back in disgust. "I'm not fucking scared. I'm asexual."

Sergey narrowed his eyes but backed off. "That has to be the lamest excuse I've ever heard." He looked like he was laughing, but Yuri couldn't hear over the music. "You fucking bitch, so what was all that earlier? You were pretty much on my dick."

Yuri narrowed his eyes, excuse? "Fuck off," he yelled backing away, feeling a sweaty body bump into him. He could easily get lost in the crowd. Yet, his heart was beating in his throat. Oh fuck, was he really angry?

Sergey clenched his palms. "You dumb bitch, you think I'm stupid? You think-"

"Hey, leave her alone," a new voice shouted over the music.

Yuri glanced to another guy who was glaring at Sergey. He was the one Yuri had probably bumped into. Sergey glanced from Yuri to him, snarled, and then stalked off. Yuri let out a sigh of relief right as a girl appeared from behind the new guy and wrapped and arm around his shoulders.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He nodded, trying to slip away from her hug without seeming too rude; they'd helped him after all. "Thanks."

The guy nodded. "Guys like him suck. You here with anyone?"

Yuri nodded again. "Yeah, they're here somewhere. Thanks, I'm fine now."

The guy glanced at the girl. "We'll stick with you until you find them."

Yuri thanked them again; his cheeks were aflame. God, he had actually been rescued like a dumb princess. Yup, he should have just stayed home tonight. It would have been much better if he'd just Skyped Otabek and cuddled with Potya.

"What happened to the guy?" Mila asked as Yuri slunk back up to their table.

He grumbled, slumping against her side. "He was an asshole."

Mila clicked her tongue and scowled, pulling Yuri into a tight hug and began to stroke his hair.

"You okay? What happened?"

Yuri ignored her, leaning heavily against her; he was too drunk for that kind of conversation.

It had probably been a bad idea to go out the night before he had to get up early the next day for ballet. It was even worse that he couldn't fall asleep. He probably managed to get a restless two hours before he was wide awake a good forty minutes before his five o'clock alarm. Lilia was going to murder him.

Raising a trembling hand to his forehead, he tried to take a deep calming breath. His eyes were as dry as his mouth and throat. He never paid any attention to his dreams; they were usually as ridiculous as they came. One had involved him, Otabek, and Katsudon's Thai friend – he could never remember his name even though they'd met at like seven competitions before – trying to build a snowman in the middle of a shopping centre, while a random old woman passed by tutting and grumbling about how they didn't have enough snow. Last night, or this morning whatever the fuck it was, he'd been back in Almaty at the club he'd gone to after the Almaty Open, except instead of dancing with Otabek it had been Sergey. Thinking about it now, his stomach tightened, stretching itself taught like a rubber-band. Every time Sergey had touched him he had left something sticky, like honey but black, against his skin, and had repeated that he wanted to take Yuri home over and over again until the entire club was chanting it. When he grabbed him, Yuri had woken up with a start.

Why the fuck had he dreamt of that asshole?

Well, sleeping was out of the question now. He read over to his nightstand for his mostly-full water bottle and took a long drink. The water was stale and kind of warm, but it felt good against his dried out throat. He yanked his charger cord out from his phone, and scooted up against his pillows, turning off his alarm. But seriously, what the hell was that last night? Well, drunk Yuri did dumb things; he knew that. Actually last night had been anything out of the ordinary; he liked dancing and saw no problem with dancing with strangers. And lots of guys and a few girls had come up to him. When it got to be too much he left them and moved on. Sure a few people had gotten mad at him, but yeah, this was nothing new. Still, he hadn't been clubbing in a while actually, excluding that time in Almaty, and it had been a while longer since someone had invited him home. He bit his bottom lip and was the bed swaying? Actually, maybe he should take up Katsudon's offer. He opened their chat and typed a new message. Japan was like six hours ahead; he should be awake now.

Me:
Hey, can you talk now?

He sighed, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his forehead against them. When his phone vibrated he nearly jumped.

Katsudon:
Yeah, sure. We're waiting at the gate though
Is everything okay?

Oh right, they were flying back to Hatsetsu today. They were staying in Japan for the Asian winter games on the twenty-third.

Me:
I don't know

Katsudon Facetimed him a split second later.

"Hey Yuri," he said. His face was a bit pixelated, but airport WiFi sucked at best. "What's up?"

Yuri took a deep breath, not even sure if now was the right time to talk about this; he needed to get ready for practice soon.

"Where's Viktor?"

"He went to get us some coffee. He may take a while; the lines were long."

Yuri took a deep breath, nodding.

"So," Katsudon prompted.

"I um... well," he hooked his thumb around his big toe and tugged. Get it out Plisetsky; Katsudon would know what to do. "I had sex with Otabek."

The range of emotions that crossed Katsudon's face would have been hilarious in any other situation. "Oh... W-was that the thing that happened in Almaty?"

Yuri looked away from his phone, as his face started to steam. "Yeah."

Katsudon nodded, giving him a small smile. "And you wanted to. You weren't pressured or anything?"

"No... we were both drunk."

"Yuri-"

"But I don't regret it. And don't you dare lecture me on doing dumb things when I'm drunk."

Katsudon inclined his head. "Okay, so what's the problem?"

Yuri cocked his head, raising an eyebrow. "I'm ace?"

He sighed dramatically. Yuri winced at how much Viktor had rubbed off on him. "There isn't a law, Yuri. Asexual people can have sex and still be ace. If you would use your computer for something other than social media. I swear you and Viktor are the same. It's a... range-"

"I know that. But I thought that maybe, um, since I wanted it with Otabek, that maybe I was more normal than I thought."

Katsudon sighed again, this time a bit gentler. "Yuri, you're perfectly normal."

He shook his head. "I went out with Mila last night, and I was dancing with this guy and... I don't know. I didn't feel anything."

Katsudon raised an eyebrow. "But that's normal for you."

"Yeah, but... Otabek."

"Otabek's your best friend. Wanting to have sex with someone you've known for years and wanting to have sex with a stranger are two completely different things."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Maybe, you're just not as high up on the spectrum as we originally thought?"

He wrinkled his nose. "I guess."

Katsuon smiled again. "Did you at least have fun last night?"

"Yeah, kinda," he sighed. "Well, Mila's friends aren't really my friends."

He hummed.

"I mean, the guy I was dancing with bought me a drink, but Mila and her friends made me go with him." Katsudon's eyes narrowed. "Don't give me that look; I can take care of myself. He was nice at first."

"At first?"

"Yeah, well, when I told him that I didn't want to go home with him he got all mad and started yelling at me."

Katsudon frowned deeply. "Are you okay? Did-"

"I'm fine; some other guy chased him off. Then I went home."

"What did Mila say?"

"She doesn't know."

"Yuri! You could have gotten..." he sighed heavily. "I'm glad you're okay, but why didn't you tell Mila?"

He shrugged. "She doesn't really get it."

Katsudon pressed his lips together in displeasure. "Well, this is more about respect than sexual inclination... inclinations."

"I just didn't feel like talking about it. She would have been all why didn't I want to go home with him; who cares, it's just casual sex. I mean like, you know Mila, she wouldn't pressure me, but I know she would think I was being a dumb baby."

"Do I need to have a talk with her?"

"Fuck off, Katsudon, you're not my dad."

He rolled his eyes. "Nope, just here to offer fatherly advice." He looked away from his phone for a second. "Viktor's coming back; do you want to say hi?"

"No."

He rolled his eyes again.

"I need to start getting ready for practice anyway."

"Alright, well bye. I'll text when we get to Hasetsu."

"Okay."

He yawned and stretched before getting up to pick out a pair of tights from his closet. He probably shouldn't have waited this long to talk to Katsudon. He was weirdly knowledgeable about things like that, or maybe had over researched when he had helped him come to terms with being ace, or maybe because he'd actually gone to university and majored in something.

"Yurochka," Lilia called, rapping on his door. "Are you awake? I didn't hear your alarm."

"Yeah, I'm up," he called back.

He finished getting ready, and had packed his gym bag when he noticed a new message on his phone.

Beka:
Had fun last night?

His stomach dislocated itself and he felt hot even though he was only wearing a thin crop top and his dance tights. He flopped back onto his bed to reply.

Me:
Kinda. Guys can be assholes some times

Beka:
What happened?

He chewed the inside of his cheek. How badly did he want to rile Otabek up this morning?

Me:
Some jerk started yelling at me because I didn't want to go home with him
But I only know his first name so you can't beat him up for me

Beka:
I can still find a way
Are you okay?

Me:
Yeah
It's no big deal

Beka:
It is a big deal
Stop going out without me

Yuri grinned.

Me:
Are you jealous?

Beka:
I'm worried

Me:
I can take care of myself
What is it with you people?
I could have beat him up if I wanted to

Beka:
I know
But
This sounds so sexist and superficial
But you're really pretty Yura, you should be more careful
Doesn't really help that you're androgynous either

He rolled his eyes.

Me:
Fuck off
I can dance if I want to.

God, Otabek could be so protective sometimes. His heart had just turned into fuzz and was bumbling around in his chest.

Beka:
I'm just saying

Okay time to kill that conversation. It was too early for both Katsudon and Otabek to lecture him. He sent a new message before Otabek could finish typing the rest of his.

Me:
The guy actually thought I was a girl at first

Otabek changed gears, going along with it.

Beka:
I mean, well...
In that outfit

Me:
Fuck off
I'm hot as both a boy and a girl

He could imagine Otabek snorting softly and rolling his eyes. His stomach fluttered and he let himself fall onto his back, bouncing against the mattress. Worlds couldn't come soon enough.

"Yurochka, breakfast," Lilia called.

He sighed, sitting up and pulling one of his sneakers towards him with his foot.

Me:
Got to go, Beka
Lilia's on my ass

Beka:
Okay
My flight is later today, but I'll call you when I get home

Yuri tied his laces then walked out to the kitchen trying to swallow his smile. Lilia raised an eyebrow at him as he sat down at the island and pulled his bowl of oatmeal towards him.

"You were out late last night," Lilia sniffed.

Yuri shrugged and Lilia sighed heavily.

"You can have your fun, but not at the expense of your career. If you were part of my company this would not be allowed. You look a mess." She shook her head, picking up a sliced strawberry from her bowl of fruit with a tiny fork.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but I'm not. It's not like I expect an easy lesson today anyway. I know what I'm doing."

She hummed. "Good. And cover up that love bite; it's unsightly."

Yuri's hand flew to his neck and his cheeks grew hot. Fuck.

Chapter Text

The International Challenge Cup was the only competition Yuri had before Worlds. Honestly, he would have liked to withdraw and concentrate on his audition piece, but between Yakov and his grandpa there was no way he could go through with that, even if this competition was small enough that sometimes some divisions were cancelled because there weren't enough participants. So, he pushed the bed in his hotel room as near to wall as he could and went over the audition piece the night he and Yakov had arrived in The Hague.

"Alright, Yuri, that's enough. Go to bed," Yakov grumbled as he removed his ear plugs and sleeping mask and rolled over to face Yuri.

Yuri sighed, pausing the music and plucking out his earbuds, it was hard to turn on carpet anyway; that last pirouette had been a disaster and he had nearly kicked over a lamp. Probably why Yakov had woken up.

"You should be focusing on the competition tomorrow."

Yuri rolled his eyes, stomping over towards the bathroom. "I've been doing the same two programs for like a year; I can't focus any more than I already have."

Yakov glared at him. "Go to bed."

He rolled his eyes again before shutting the bathroom door. He'd started his impromptu practice around an hour ago, and despite the small space that limited his range of motion he had started to sweat. He turned on the shower and pulled his hair up into a bun – he was not in the mood for blow-drying that shit tonight. It was down to his mid back now, simply because he had kept on forgetting to make an appointment to get it cut. He wouldn't have minded it a few centimetres shorter, especially since he'd been eating through shampoo and conditioner like crazy. But then he'd been getting lots of compliments about it lately, so he didn't hate how it was now. He slipped into bed twenty minutes later; Yakov was already snoring softly, and put his earbuds back in, restarting the music from his audition piece.

He wasn't getting back to Saint Petersburg until early morning on the twenty-seventh, so that meant he was auditioning on the morning of the twenty-eighth. Lilia had agreed to go over the piece with him one last time the day before, but she had shook her head when he had asked and had told him that it was unnecessary. He'd recorded one of his better sessions and sent it to Otabek and Katsudon's old ballet instructor, Minako, and they had both said that he had nothing to worry about. If Yuri didn't know any better he would have thought that they were all making fun of him, because he felt that he still wasn't good enough to go up against actual professionals. And Puck was a pretty important role. He sighed softly, rolling onto his back and looking up at the ceiling. Yakov was right though, the Challenge Cup should be his priority right now, but he fell asleep going through his audition piece in his head.

His short program was near perfect, as he had told Yakov it would have gone a million times. He was in first place, followed closely by a Finnish skater who he hadn't seen before; maybe he'd entered the senior level that year. Yakov went to talk to his coach once the day was over.

After showering and changing out of his track suit, he pulled out his laptop and opened Skype. Otabek called instantly and Yuri couldn't help but grin as he hit answer. Otabek was lying on his back on his bed, holding his phone above his face. It must have been late in Kazakhstan; Yuri wasn't quite sure of the time difference.

"Were you waiting or something?" he asked, tying off his braid with an elastic band and throwing it over his shoulder.

Otabek tilted his head, briefly biting his bottom lip. "No."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "Right. I see you, Altin."

Otabek raised an eyebrow. "I was doing other things, Plisetsky. Congrats by the way."

"Thanks."

"Think you can keep it up tomorrow?"

"Fuck off. This is like my smallest competition; the only one I have to watch is that Finnish guy who came in second."

One of his eyebrows quirked upwards. "Don't get cocky, Yura."

Yuri stuck out his tongue and lay down on his stomach, pushing his laptop up to the pillows. Otabek was silent for a few moments, but Yuri could see the mischievous spark building behind his dark eyes.

"So, any more hickies?"

Yuri rolled his eyes so hard they hurt, and flipped him off. "I go to a club once..." he grumbled.

At least he was joking about it now, though. Yuri had forgotten that it was there when he'd Skyped Otabek last week, he hadn't said much about it but Yuri could tell that he wasn't too happy, especially when he heard the full story of how he got it. Yuri had been worried for a second; he hadn't seen Otabek look that pissed in a while, with creases between his eyebrows and the muscles in his jaw obviously tense. Yuri had managed to change the subject pretty quickly, but he used a pillow to cover that part of his neck as he lay on his stomach. He couldn't deny the bit of tight heat at the thought of Otabek getting jealous over him.

"Yeah, and you nearly get yourself into trouble."

"As if you've never..." wait had he? Yuri paused frowning. Otabek was hot, no denying that, but had anyone ever asked him to go home with them? Or did he do the asking.

He raised an eyebrow. "I've never what? Got into trouble?" he scoffed. "You know who my friends are."

True. Although, his group tended to stay to themselves unless someone else started something. Yuri remembered a time when someone had nearly jumped Camran at a club once. Camran was usually extremely shy around people he didn't know and had been almost overwhelmed when some guy had gone up to him and grabbed his ass. Both Bal and Iska had punched the guy's – and a few of his friends – in the face. Roza finished him off, before going one-on-one with one of the back-ups. And Otabek probably would have joined in if Yuri hadn't held him back because he'd been fucking terrified since that was the first time he'd been directly involved with a serious fist fight. They'd been kicked out of the club afterwards, of course, but it'd had also been funny to see how scared the guy had looked when he found out that both Iska and Otabek were Altins.

"Speaking of," Otabek called. "Camran told me to tell you to check your DMs on Instagram."

"Oh, right." He picked up his phone, thumbing open the app.

"You turned off your notifications again?"

He wrinkled his nose."Yeah."

Otabek's eyes narrowed. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Just a few more dick-pics than usual, 'cause I posted that selfie from the ballet studio." He'd done a standing split in front of the mirror, nothing special, but he'd liked how his hair had looked when he'd taken it down to re-adjust his bun. He'd posted it to Instagram instead of his Snapchat story on a whim. It probably hadn't been a good idea, but it was his profile and he liked the fucking picture.

"You could just make your profile private," Otabek suggested.

"Then what's the fucking point of having an Instagram?"

He rolled his eyes. "Did you report them?"

"Mila will take care of it." He'd get her to go through his DMs to block and drag anyone who had sent him a dick-pic or anything sex related, once they were both back in Saint Petersburg. She took pleasure in doing so; it was morbidly fascinating to watch.

Otabek huffed softly. "Good to see she takes care of her kotenok."

"Fuck off-"

"I'll tell Camran to get you on iMessage then. Don't you have his number?"

Yuri frowned. "Yeah..." he clicked on his contacts to check just in case. "Yeah, I do."

"I showed them your audition piece by the way." Yuri grunted half in surprise half in question. "Bal still can't wrap his mind around how you can bend that way." Yuri snickered. "And my Mom made me send it to her to show one of my nieces."

"She does ballet?" he raised an eyebrow, feeling just a bit embarrassed. He'd shown his mom?

"Yeah, so expect a million questions when you come here."

Yuri sighed. "If I come."

Otabek's eyebrows dipped. "What 'if'? You're coming."

Yuri smirked. "I haven't even booked my flight."

Otabek sat up and reached over for something on his bed, before putting the phone down so that Yuri was staring at the ceiling. "What time do you want?"

"Otabek Altin, don't you dare buy me a ticket." He sat up, leaning on his hands as though getting closer to the screen would stop him.

"There's one at ten am and noon."

"Beka-"

"The ten am is shorter."

"Don't-"

"What's your passport number?"

"Not telling you."

"That's okay; I have it in my notes."

"Beka!" He heard him chuckle and he picked up his phone again. Yuri scowled. "I'll book my own damn flight thank you very much."

"Tell me when you do."

Yuri sighed. "Probably after Worlds."

"Probably?"

"Definitely after Worlds." Yuri rolled his eyes.

"Better." He nodded, mouth twitching upwards into a grin.

Yuri scoffed, but felt his chest ignite as Otabek smiled.

Yuri had just managed first place. The Finnish skater had nearly taken the lead, but he had won by one point. If he was going to Worlds Yuri needed to keep an eye on him. Jani Waris, Yuri added him on Instagram and he had followed him back a minute afterwards and had liked a few of his pictures. Still, the moment the plane back to Saint Petersburg took off; he put the music for his audition piece on repeat and ran through the choreography until he fell asleep.

"One more time," Yuri panted as the final note of the music sounded.

"This time was the one more time," Lilia snapped. "You are ready, Yurochka. You'll end up jeopardising your audition because you'll be too tired to perform your best."

"But-"

"You also got back from the Netherlands this morning; you need a good night's rest. Not more practice."

Yuri huffed, scowling at her reflection in the mirror. "But I messed up on the-"

"No. You had two perfect run-throughs right before. Your body is tired; listen to it. We're going home."

Yuri didn't move, folding his arms across his chest and turning around to glare at her actual face. She stared impassively back.

"I am impressed at your determination." She raised an eyebrow high. "But you still do not know when it's time to stop."

"Just one more-"

"Yuri Aleksandrovich Plisetsky, we are done for the night." She turned to leave, dimming the lights as she passed the switch.

Yuri stamped his foot, glaring at his darkened reflection. He was a bit tired, his muscles felt worn, but his mind was itching, telling him to run through just one more time. Then possibly one more time after that. He couldn't help the churning in his stomach, and just thinking about the auditions tomorrow was enough to make his heart rate speed up. Lilia was right, though – she always was – he would probably end up hurting himself if he went on much longer. He sighed and followed her, switching the lights off completely. She was waiting for him outside of the changing room, already dressed in her coat and boots.

"I don't feel ready," he muttered as he picked out a few bobby-pins and hair bands from his bun and let his hair fall down.

Lilia was silent for a few beats. "You are."

Yet, he couldn't fall asleep that night. He tossed, flipped from one side of the bed to the other, punched his pillow, and managed to dislocate his fitted sheet. It was nearing midnight and his audition slot was at nine thirty am. If he wanted to properly warm-up and do a quick run through before he needed to be up by six. But even as he lay in bed trying to clear his mind his heart was pounding in his ears, and his fingertips and toes were cold. He grabbed his phone, opening the chat with Otabek. It was a long shot; it was really late in Almaty. But his grandpa was sleeping soundly by now and so was Viktor and that meant Katsudon was as well.

Me:
Are you awake?

He went to staring at the ceiling, resting his phone face down on his chest. Okay, so tomorrow he was going to walk into the Vaganova Academy and audition for an actual ballet. He was going to audition in an actual ballet school, that was full to the brim with dancers who had been training since they were like four. Was it possible to feel faint while lying down.

His phone vibrated.

Beka:
Yeah
You shouldn't be
What's wrong?

Me:
Can't stop thinking about tomorrow

Otabek Facetimed him and Yuri puffed his cheeks out before hitting answer.

"Tomorrow's also the day before your birthday," Otabek said as soon as he picked up. He must have called from his desktop, because he was at his ridiculously comfortable computer chair. His head was propped up on his palm making his glasses sit crooked across his face, and he was wearing those bulky headphones he used when he was DJ'ing. He looked tired, even though his glasses reflected the light from his monitor and Yuri couldn't really see his eyes.

"What are you doing up anyway?" Yuri asked, rolling onto his side and propping his phone up against a cat plushie.

Otabek yawned. "Working on a set. I have a gig next week, and Iska is on my case about not having any new mixes."

"Is he your manager or something?"

Otabek scoffed softly. "PR mostly."

"Iska? As in Iskander Altin? PR? His resting bitch face is worse than yours."

"He's good at social media and that stuff. He tells me where to play and I go."

Yuri hummed. Iska did have over 10k followers on Twitter, but Yuri had just assumed that it was because he was rich and well known, and because his tweets were funny in the grumpy-hating-people kind of way. He was the human version of grumpy cat. Hmmm, maybe he actually knew what he was doing. Grumpy cat was a fucking legend after all.

"Do you want to hear it?" Otabek asked through a yawn.

"Hmm?"

"The new mix?"

"Sure."

He unplugged his headphones and hung them around his neck, a few seconds later music started playing softly. Yuri didn't recognise the song, but it had a good baseline. It was a bit fast paced, but it would be easy to dance to.

"I like it."

Otabek nodded.

"Don't you have practice tomorrow, though?"

"Coach gave me a couple days off." Made him, more like. He yawned again, bumping his glasses up the bridge of his nose to rub at the inside corners of his eyes.

"You're exhausted, Beka," Yuri grumbled, he shouldn't have called.

"Yeah. But I can sleep tomorrow. You need to talk, right?"

Yuri shook his head; his stomach fluttered. "Not if you're like dead."

Otabek exhaled in amusement, a short puff of laughter. "I can always go make some coffee."

They talked a bit longer before Otabek moved to his bed. He called Yuri back from his phone and they both lay in bed neither talking, both slowly falling asleep mostly thanks to the soft, relaxing music Otabek had playing in the background. Yuri didn't even realise that he had drifted off until his alarm went off the next morning. He yawned, swiping the alarm off before unlocking his phone. There was a message from Otabek.

Beka:
Good Night, Yura.
You'll get the part. I know you will <3

Yuri grinned like an idiot, his stomach was literally somersaulting. He texted him back, hoping that he wouldn't wake him up; God knows he needed the rest. Then, clutching his phone to his chest, he squirmed around in his bed and tangled himself up even more in the sheets. God, what had he done to deserve a friend like Otabek? Friend. Something clunked out of place inside his chest. Yes, friend. They were friends.

Katsudon knocked on the door, while Yuri was combing his hair into a neat bun for the fourth time that morning. Each time something had been wrong. He had missed a lock of hair, it hadn't been centred at the top of his head, or it had just looked messy. Maybe if he braided it first?

"Hey," Katsudon said, grinning, when Yuri let him in. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, just need to do my hair."

He followed him into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe as Yuri brushed out his hair for the hundredth time and did a quick braid.

"Don't you get headaches from wearing you hair that tight?"

"No. Used to it by now." He wrapped the braid around itself, placing a few more bobby-pins than necessary to keep everything in place.

"I would." He shook his head, running his hand through the black strands.

"Whimp." Yuri pinned the end of his braid in place then examined it in the mirror. It was centred, it wasn't messy, and – what the fuck, was that a zit? He gave a strangled gasp, leaning over the sink counter and prodding his cheek. Fuck! Where was his concealer?

Katsudon watched him in vague amusement. Well, fuck him and his perfect Asian skin.

"Where's Lilia?" he asked as Yuri bumbled from the bathroom to his bedroom, and yanked off his pyjama top and dug through his closet for a clean leotard.

"She left already. The first slot was at eight this morning." He held up a black, long-sleeved leotard. He was wearing pink tights. Would they care? He shook his head, no they wouldn't, what the fuck. He stepped into the leotard, yanking the sleeves up his arms. "Do you see my pointe shoes anywhere?" Fuck, he should have packed them last night.

"Mmmmm... under your bed? Is that a ribbon?"

Right. He grabbed them then yanked a draw-string bag, which he'd stuffed a few necessities in last night, from his closet. He pulled on a pair of knee-length joggers and a pair of slip-ons, before grabbing a jacket, and pushing Katsudon out of his room.

"Hey," Kastudon said, spinning around and grabbing Yuri by the shoulders. "Calm down a bit?"

Yuri blinked. "I'm calm."

"You haven't stopped moving since I got here. Did you have breakfast?"

"Lilia made oatmeal before she left."

"Is it that half-full bowl on the island?"

"If I eat now, I'll throw up."

Katsudon gave him a sort of half-smile."Okay, do you have everything?" Yuri nodded. "Shoes, water, extra tights, hair-pins, snacks..."

"Yes, we should go-"

"Wait!"

"What?"

He pulled him into a tight hug, rubbing circles into his back. Yuri swallowed, giving in after a moment and returning the hug. He wrapped his arms around Katsudon's waist, feeling the slightest bit of tension leave his shoulders and spine.

"I haven't seen you since before we left for Japan."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "I Facetimed you like twice."

"Not the same. Anyway, you'll do great today. I saw the video you sent Minako-sensei, you were incredible."

"It's not about doing great," he muttered. "I have to be the best. I either get it or I don't."

Katsudon patted his back. "You'll still do well."

He stumbled. He had fucking stumbled on his Assemblé.

Yuri stopped himself from snarling aloud, but he knew that there was no saving his expression. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fucking fuck. He landed his next jump harder than he should have, and took a deep breath, doing his best to remain calm. Poise and perfection; Lilia was watching, probably shaking her head in disappointment. He ground his teeth together, flinging his arms into fifth position, high above his head.

Fuck.

The entire audition was going wrong. The morning sun had been shining through one of the open windows at the back of the room, through white, gossamer drapes, and had nearly blinded him when he had entered. So, of course, he had tripped ungracefully to the centre of the room, like this was the first time he had worn pointe shoes in his life. Even after listening to the music hundreds of times before it felt strange to him that morning. His stomach was rolling; he felt like he needed to pee and vomit, and the blasted sun was in his eyes while the judges – Lilia's two assistant directions and the head choreographer – asked him a few questions. Lilia told him last night that she wasn't going to say a word during his audition; she wasn't judging him, because they were too close, but she would be in the room. Somehow that made things a million times worse.

He nearly missed the beat that lead him into a pirouette, and his lips pulled themselves back of their own accord. Fuck. He stamped his foot when he came back down onto the balls of his feet for a few seconds, and gave his head a small shake. Fuck.

There was no way he was getting the part now. He bowled through the rest of piece, not daring to look at the judges in fear of seeing them shake their heads and take notes on everything that he had done wrong so far. Those two minutes were the longest in his life. The final chord of the music struck and he held his ending position, as his eyes started to prickle and blur his vision. He bit his lip, turning to the judges with a quick bow. He refused to meet Lilia's eye, hanging his head and waiting for them to excuse him.

God, what had happened? He had done it perfectly the night before. Even Lilia had said that he had... fuck, he should have practised more. As soon as he was given the okay, he ran from the examination room, straight to the changing room. He threw himself down on one of the benches, staring at the polished, wooden floor, trying to breathe evenly enough so that he wouldn't start to fucking cry. He glared at his feet, grinding his teeth against the urge to rip off his pointe shoes and throw them into the nearest trash can. He clutched the edge of the bench, leaning forward over his thighs. Why had he thought that he could fucking do this. Go up against all these professional dancers, compete for a lead in one of the most well-known summer charity performances. What had Lilia been thinking? God, he had made a fool out of himself in there.

He took a deep breath, screwing his eyes shut. And fuck, his bottom lip was trembling. He raised a hand to cover his eyes, sneering at the bit of wetness that came off against his fingertips. Damnit.

Damnit. Fuck.

Hunching over fully, pressing his forehead to his knees, he let out a few sniffles. He should just stick to skating, ballet was too much. God, the judges were probably laughing at him, and Lilia was going to be furious.

"Yuri?"

Shit, he'd forgotten that Katsudon was waiting on him. He scrubbed his eyes with his palms and sat up straight, watching as Katsudon hesitantly stepped into the changing room.

"We can go now," he said, cursing his shaky voice. He must have gone to the bathroom or something; his coat was still laid over the bench.

Katsudon sighed softly as he came over to sit next to Yuri. He wrapped an arm around Yuri's shoulders and rested the side of his head against his bun. Yuri held his breath for a few seconds, biting his lip, before sagging against Katsudon's side.

"I fucked up," he said softly. "It was a mess, there's no way I'm getting the part." This felt almost worse than not making the podium at Worlds last season. Or around the same. Either way, he felt like shit.

Katsudon was silent for a few beats. "Are you just being dramatic?"

Yuri scowled, wiping his eyes again. "I messed up an Assemblé, like I was some fucking beginner."

Katsudon squeezed his shoulder. "It was just the nerves, no? The judges would understand."

He shook his head. "It was more than nerves. I fucked up-"

"Hey-"

"I did." He clenched his jaw again as his eyes began to water, and he slammed the side of his fist against his thigh, wincing at the sound it made rather than the pain behind it.

Katsudon grabbed his hand, covering his fist, and wiggled his fingers into the spaces between Yuri's to get him to unclench his palm. Yuri glared at their hands, wanting both to pull away and hold tighter.

"It's going to be okay," Katsudon began softly. "We still have Worlds, remember this was just something you were trying out – it doesn't mean anything in the long run."

Yuri took a deep breath, holding it for a few moments before exhaling. Yeah, he'd just have to kickass at Worlds, beat everyone so he could get rid of this bitter taste at the back of his throat. He swallowed, through a tight jaw.

"Ready to head out?" Katsudon smiled, and patted the top of his bun. "Do you still want to come over? Viktor's... should be making brunch."

Yuri wiped at his eyes, with the edge of his sleeve. Lilia was going to be judging all day and it would just be him alone at the apartment, until practice at two. He nodded. Katsudon squeezed his shoulder one more time before standing up.

Katsudon made a sort of strangled noise in his throat as he opened the door to his and Viktor's apartment, and then quickly shut it, turning around to face Yuri. Yuri raised an eyebrow; what were these two idiots doing now? Makkachin started pawing at the door and whining.

Wincing, Katsudon leaned against the door. "Uh," he started, pushing his hair back from his forehead. "So, we were... um confident that you were going to do well in your audition." Yuri rolled his eyes, while his stomach curled in on itself. Like a dead bug. Which was also how the rest of him felt. "We, uh... prepared a sort of celebratory lunch... brunch. But, uh... Viktor decorated."

Yuri let out a long breath through his teeth and shoved Katsudon aside.

"I didn't even get the part, you idiot!" he yelled, kicking the door open and stomping into the dining area. Makkachin followed closely, bumping his nose into the back of his legs until Yuri scratched behind his ears.

Viktor popped out from behind the open fridge door. "But I know you did, Yurochka," he sang.

Yuri ground his teeth, even as Katsudon came up behind him to put a calming hand on his shoulder. "I didn't," he spat, dropping his bag at his feet and kicking it over to the back of the couch.

"But-"

Katsudon made a gruff sound in his throat and Viktor looked to him then back to Yuri. His mouth fell open, and he gasped, slamming the fridge shut and hopping over to them. "What happened?"

Yuri slunk away from the pair, jumping over the back of the couch, and pulling his hood over his head. "I fucked up."

He could imagine Viktor and Katsudon having a silent conversation behind him, full of meaningful looks and shaking heads. He pretended that he didn't see the congratulatory banner that was strung up over the balcony door. He fished his phone out of his pocket, and began the process of untangling the earbuds that he'd left plugged in. After he had made one of the knots tighter rather than loosening it, he growled, and his eyes began to prickle again. Swearing, he threw the earbuds across the room. They were too light to cause any sort of satisfaction, so he grabbed one of the useless throw pillows and buried his face into the gauzy, scratchy fabric and yelled.  

Arms wormed their way around his chest, pulling has face back from the pillow and the smell of Viktor's cologne filled his nose. He rolled his eyes, trying his hardest to keep from fucking crying. Makkachin wedged his snout between Yuri's knees, snuffling loudly.

"It's okay, Yurochka," he said. "We still love you very much."

"Oh my God," Yuri's voice cracked slightly. "If you think I care about that then you're more stupid than I thought you were."

Viktor nuzzled the side of his cheek, ignoring the barb. "What went wrong? Why do you think you did badly?"

"I... it just felt off. I don't know, the sun was in my eyes, I missed a few steps. It wasn't perfect."

"It's an audition," Katsudon sighed as he sat down next to him, and squeezed his knee. "It doesn't have to be perfect. They just need to see what you're capable of."

Yuri rolled his eyes and let Viktor sway him back and forth. "I think you're being too hard on yourself. Let's wait for the results, no?"

"Says the idiot who bought a banner that says congratulations."

Yuri would have liked to say that Viktor chuckled, but he sounded like a teenage girl giggling. "I made blini!" He let go of Yuri, and grabbed Katsudon by the arm, dragging him from the couch. "And baked sweet potatoes for you, love." Katsudon groaned. "Sorry, but you gained too much weight in Japan. Okāsan's food is amazing, but-"

"I know. Do we have to start today, though?"

"Of course."

Yuri raised an eyebrow, watching as the two partially danced around the kitchen setting the table and bringing out dishes of food while touching each other at every chance they got. Yuri turned to face the back of the couch, and set his chin on the top of the backrest. This was a couple that would forever be in their honeymoon phase. He rolled his eyes. Had they ever fought? If they had, he certainly hadn't been around to see it. Maybe one day, he titled his head and narrowed his eyes when Viktor gentle pressed his palm to the small of Katsudon's back to guide him sideways as he opened a cabinet near his head. Maybe one day he and Otabek – his eyes widened and his thoughts came to a screeching halt. What. The. Fuck? He shook his head, and jumped over the back of the couch, going over to grab a couple of glasses from Viktor. God, Plisetsky, he shoved his phone deep into his pocket, fighting down the urge to text Beka – not after he had just thought that.

"Yurochka, how did the audition go?"

Yuri sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He said he was going to call his grandpa after the audition, but he had beaten him to it. He bit his lip getting up from the couch and quickly crossing to the front door.

"Hi, Deduyla." He leaned against the wall under Viktor and Katsudon's apartment number. The following pause was so heavy it made Yuri wince.

"You don't sound very happy. What's wrong?"

Yuri swallowed. He had to explain it sooner or later. "I... I don't think I did so well."

"Oh?" He sounded surprised. Great.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Deda, I was hoping that you'd be able to visit Saint Petersburg this summer."

"I can still come."

"No, it won't-"

"If you want me to visit you, then I'll visit you. There's no need for a special occasion." Yuri sighed, scraping at his cuticles with his thumb nail. "Did they give you an answer right after?"

"No, but I don't think they were impressed with me."

He made a deep sound at the back of his throat. "Well, whatever happens, I'm proud of you. And could you send me the website where I can watch your next competition? I can't find where I had it saved."

Yuri shook his head. "You just to go the ISU... yeah, I'll send you the link."

"Email?"

"Yes. So you can just go to it on your computer."

"Oh, right, of course. Any plans for tomorrow?"

"Tomorr- oh, um, I don't know. I might do something with Mila. Katsudon and Viktor are probably planning a surprise."

He chuckled lightly. "Remember to check your mail this week. I hope your gift didn't get lost in the damn mail."

"Thanks, you didn't have to send me anything-"

"Nonsense, boy. Enjoy yourself, Yurochka. I'll call you again tomorrow. And don't be too sad about this, I'm still very proud of you, remember that."

Yuri cracked a small smile, feeling a small pang of homesickness. "Yeah, thanks – is you back okay?"

There was a long deep sigh. "Don't worry about that; I'm fine. Anyway I don't want to keep you too long; I know you're busy."

"But – okay, Deda, bye." Okay, so it looked like he'd have to call Nelya. God, why was it so hard to get anything out of him?

He stepped back inside, praying that nothing was worse with his grandpa, and was nearly hit in the face with the gym bag he usually left over here. 

"Get changed," Viktor instructed, "We're going for a run before practice."

The sound of his blades hitting the ice echoed around the rink. Yuri tensed the muscles in his free leg, keeping it straight as he twisted out of his landing. The triple axel marked the entrance into the second half of his free skate, and he waited for the beat before launching into a corkscrew spin. Yakov hadn't asked about the audition, but had known instantly that Yuri needed to be distracted and had gone into lecture mode, going on about how close that Finnish skater had been to him at the Challenge Cup. This was his second time running through his free skate today, and he knew that Yakov would make him practise that stupid flying sit spin into shotgun spin combination until his ankles were shot and his legs were jelly next. Good.  

Leaning against the side-boards, he took a long drink of water watching from the corner of his eyes as Yakov and Viktor discussed something. Katsudon was gulping down water next to him, Viktor having put him through an even more intense session than what Yakov had Yuri doing. They were both sweating despite the cold rink air.

"Isn't that Lilia?" Katsudon asked breathily, squinting towards the main entrance.

Yuri tilted head, "Yeah." She didn't have to come in today, what was – he heard the sound of blades against the ice as Katsudon took off towards Viktor just as Lilia came up to him, bracing her elbows against the ledge.

"Yuuri told me you were crying."

He glared at Katsudon's retreating back. The bastard. "I wasn't crying." He bit into his water bottle spout, the soft plastic giving way under his teeth.

"Why?" She raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Why were you upset?"

He clenched his jaw, digging his toe pick into the ice. "You saw my audition."

"Yes, and?"

"And? I sucked." He looked up at her from under the hair that had escaped from his ponytail.

Lilia shook her head, two short jerks, and moved to stand behind him, pulling the elastic from his ponytail and raking his hair back from his face to start a French braid. "How many times do I have to tell you it's dangerous to practise with your hair out like this?" He grumbled. "And in any case your audition didn't suck. I was pleased with how you conducted yourself."

He frowned. What? "I was a mess."

"You were nervous, it was clear as day. But for your first ever audition, you did well."

"Not well enough to get the part, though."

She tied the end of his braid with the elastic. "I wouldn't be so quick to say that. You are too hard on yourself, even for my standards. While chasing perfection like you do is admirable, sometimes it can be unhealthy." Yuri hung his head slightly as he turned around after Lilia swung the end of his braid into his back. It hit his shoulder blade with a thump. She gave him a barely-there smile and reached out to pat his cheek. "In any case, you're done with this for now. The cast list will be posted on the twelfth, try not to think about it too much."

He nodded, chewing his bottom lip. Okay, so maybe he was being a little overdramatic. But if Lilia thought he'd done okay, maybe he still had a chance.

Viktor handed him his skate guards as he stepped off the ice later that afternoon. Yakov had literally run him into the ground, he'd have to ice his ankles tonight. But it had been a good practice; he could already feel the gratifying burn in his thighs. Mila high-fived him as he passed, waiting for her turn on the ice after doing a session in the rink's tiny gym.

"Hey, I saw Lilia on my way in," she said. "I knew you'd do great; you already act like a prima ballerina anyway."

He flipped her off.

"Lilia said that you did great?" Viktor asked raising an eyebrow.

Yuri shrugged when his eyes narrowed in his direction.

He went back home with Katsudon after spending a few hours in the gym. He had clothes there anyway, so he could just shower and wait for Lilia to get back home. Viktor said that he had something to do before coming home, and had given Katsudon explicit instructions for dinner. Katsudon had given him the most unimpressed stare Yuri had ever seen in his life. He tried to look mad after Viktor kissed him, but failed and Yuri yelled at them to get a room. So, after showering and throwing on a chunky-knit sweater and a pair of leggings he threw himself on the couch and pulled out his phone. He hadn't talked to Otabek all day, well not since the text that morning. He had probably slept for twelve hours after going to bed that morning. Yuri grinned, tapping on his contact info to Facetime.

The call went straight to voicemail, though. His grin changed to a frown. Maybe he was still sleeping? Or his phone was dead. Yuri huffed, tossing his phone to the other end of the couch and staring at the blank television. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

"What's the matter this time?" Katsudon asked, emerging from the bathroom while drying his hair with a towel.

"Beka's not answering his phone."

Katsudon gave him a tight, half-smile. "Maybe he's busy."

Yuri scowled, sitting up. "He's never too busy to talk to me. I'm like the most important person he knows."

"Well, then come help me with dinner, my disillusioned son."

Yuri stuck out his tongue, flipping him off, and Katsudon threw his wet towel at him. "What are we making?" he asked, getting up from the couch.

"Turkey lettuce wraps." Katsudon's jaw tightened.

Yuri cackled, tip-toeing to the fridge to gather the ingredients.

They were dancing along to some pop playlist from Katsudon's Soundcloud while Yuri mixed a bowl of Thai-style sauce and Katsudon sliced a few baked turkey breasts. Makkachin was following their every move, somehow managing not to get stepped on as he wound himself between their legs, licking up any stray scraps. They had also made seasoned wild rice and black beans to go along with the wraps. It wasn't really a bad meal to Yuri, but he supposed after eating Mrs. Katsuki's hearty cooking for weeks it would be kind of depressing.

Katsudon set the table once they had finished with the food and Yuri washed the dishes.  "Is someone coming over?" he asked, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. "You set four places."

"Oh, uh," Katsudon tilted his head to the side. "Yeah."

Yuri narrowed his eyes. "Who?"

"It's a surprise."

"I swear, if it's Yakov or Lilia I'm punching you."

He chuckled. "It's not either of them." He pulled out his phone from his back pocket, crossing his legs at the ankle as he leaned against the breakfast bar. "Hey, Vitya," he said brightly after brining the phone to his ear. "Where are you? Dinner's done... oh, okay. Remember to pick up the... okay. Okay... See you soon. Love you... bye, drive safely... Love you."

Yuri stared at him, screwing up his face. "You two are disgusting."

"What? I do love him. We're married." He tucked his phone back into his pocket and reached across the bar for Makkachin's treat jar.

"Yeah, and it's disgusting."

Katsudon rolled his eyes, breaking a treat in half and tossing a piece to the poodle. "I'm putting that in my speech for your wedding. They'll be here in five minutes."

Yuri snorted. "My wedding? Yeah, right. I'd never let you give a speech."

"As your acting father, it's a requirement."

"Oh my god!"

Katsudon grinned.

Voices sounded from the front door when Yuri stepped out of the bathroom. Oh, so Viktor was back; he could hear Makkachin scuttling along the floor. He poked his head into the hallway ready to yell at Viktor for taking so long – that had not been five fucking minutes – but froze, letting his jaw fall.

"Beka!" He was down the hallway in three leaping steps and jumped into Otabek's arms; his customary greeting. Viktor and Katsudon had cleared the way. "What are you doing here?"

Otabek caught him under his thighs, grinning with one side of his mouth. "Did you forget what tomorrow is?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, but I didn't expect you to come for it."

"Yes, it's called a surprise, Yura."

"Ass," Yuri breathed. Otabek pinched his thigh.

"It's time for dinner, you two," Katsudon called.

So, apparently Viktor, Katsudon, Yakov, and Lilia were in on the whole thing. Otabek was staying for three days – going back on the afternoon of the third and Lilia had even set up her guest room for him.

Viktor dropped the two of them to Lilia's apartment after dinner; taking the train with luggage was a hassle in Yuri's opinion, and Otabek looked tired.

"When was your flight?" Yuri asked from the middle of the guest bed, watching as Otabek fished out a worn shirt and a pair of flannel pants from his suitcase.

"Noon, your time."

"Ugh, you didn't have a direct flight?"

He shook his head. "Where's the bathroom?"

God, if Yuri had known that Otabek was coming he would have tried to clean up a bit. Well, Otabek knew that Yuri lived in clutter, but he would have at least cleared a bit of the counter for him. Yes, he did need like five different hair products; they did different things, Beka. Yuri waited for him to shower in the guest bedroom, scrolling through Instagram and yelling at Roza through iMessage because she didn't tell him that Otabek was coming.

The mattress sank as Otabek sat down. Yuri rolled on to his back, locking his phone. Otabek had combed his hair back from his forehead and had switched his contacts for his glasses. Yuri bit his bottom lip, as his insides started to swirl. Otabek lay down next to him on his stomach, nudging Yuri across the bed with his hip.

"How was your audition?" he asked.

"Lilia said I did well."

He hummed. "But you don't?"

"It's her opinion that matters."

He nudged him with his hip again. The spot felt like it was on fire.

"It wasn't perfect."

Otabek hummed. "Did you text me?"

"... No."

Otabek rolled onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. He raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't want... I didn't... I thought I fucked it up."

He sighed. "That's impossible. Lilia is a smart woman; she would have never suggested that you audition if there was even the slightest chance you would have fucked it up."

Yuri breathed out heavily through his nose. "I guess."

"When do you find out who got in?"

"The twelfth." Yuri picked at a loose thread on the sleeve of his sweater.

Otabek grabbed his hand. "You don't have to stress about it anymore. You did your best."

Yuri rolled his eyes, pulling his hand back and ignoring the way it was tingling, like electricity ran through Otabek's veins. "Yeah, dad."

Otabek clicked his tongue. "Stop it."

"Then don't say things like that."

He scoffed. "You do know what that insinuates, right?"

"I said dad not daddy."

Otabek blushed instantly, going back onto his stomach. "Stop it."

Yuri giggled, rolling closer and Otabek raised an arm to allow Yuri to snuggle against him. Once settled against Otabek's chest, Yuri breathed in deeply before he caught himself and could only hope that it had looked like a sigh and not like he had fucking smelled him. He licked his lips, realising that they were dry, and dug his chin into the mattress as his face lit itself on fire. Then, to make things worse, Otabek wrapped his arm around Yuri's waist, tugging at the excess fabric of his sweater.

"Did you lose weight?"

"Nope, it's just a big sweater."

"You're so bony. If my mom notices, she'll actually follow you around with a plate of food."

Yuri laughed. "She's a good cook; I wouldn't mind."

"She'd get annoying really fast."

"I like your mom."

"Because you don't live with her."

Yuri nudged his jaw with the side of his head and Otabek's hand snuck under Yuri's sweater to pinch his waist in retaliation. Yuri squirmed away from his fingers but also pushed himself more firmly against his side. Oh God, his stomach tightened and he felt his breathing grow shallow. They'd lain like this before, they cuddled all the time while watching movies, God they'd even shared a bed before. Why was it only now that it had any effect on him? And of fucking course Otabek seemed oblivious; he was even smoothing his palm up and down Yuri's waist, soothing the sting from the pinch.

He swallowed, but with his neck bent to rest his chin against the mattress, it made his entire body move. He felt Otabek's cheek move against his hair as he glanced at him. He then rolled onto his side, pulling Yuri with him and yanked a pillow under their heads. Yuri held back a high-pitched squeal. He was spooning him. Oh God, his chest was so broad and hard against his back, one of his arms had to be bigger than both of Yuri's together. He couldn't breathe, and okay, okay. Maybe, maybe he had a crush on his best friend. Why wouldn't he? Otabek was a human incarnation of a god. But, but, they were just friends. Best friends and that was how it should stay. Yuri would never be able to give Otabek the type of relationship he wanted. Needed.

The bitterness that rose at the back of his throat was even worse than it was after his audition. It would be cool to be in Lilia's production, and he really really wanted it, but, honest to God, he might have wanted Otabek more.

"You okay?" Otabek mumbled, his breath brushing across Yuri's neck.

Fuck. His eyes actually rolled back into his head. "Yeah." He squeaked past the boulder forming in his throat. "Fine."

Otabek tightened his hold. Yuri was positive that he was going to combust. "You feel a little warm."

"Yeah, 'cause you're an actual furnace."

"Or your sweater is too thick."

"I'm not taking it off, pervert."

Otabek's chest rumbled as he chuckled softly. Yuri swallowed, wanting to strangle his heart for beating so fast. They fell into silence, Yuri panicking while Otabek's breathing evened out.

"Beka?" he said after a while.

"Hmmm?" he answered sleepily.

"Thanks for coming."

Otabek squeezed him gently. "Anything for you."

He swallowed again. Yeah, he always said that.

Chapter Text

Yuri tore through the gift bag Mila had brought over, throwing the tissue paper over his shoulder and upending the bag on his bed. He picked up a bottle of foundation and rolled his eyes at her, but there was a bunch of other makeup stuff, a marbled black and white, destroyed t-shirt, and a bag of cat treats.

"Thanks," he said, opening one of the eye-shadow palettes that had landed on his lap.

Otabek had just avoided being hit in the face by a tube of eyeliner when it had bounced against Yuri's comforter, picked it up and tilted his head while reading the packaging.

"You want to try it?" Mila asked, grinning.

Otabek dropped the eyeliner like it had burnt his fingers. "No thanks."

Yuri snickered, remembering the time Roza and Camran had pinned Otabek to his bed and had attacked his face with their makeup. He could have pushed both of them off if he had wanted to, but had taken it like a man while threatening death if anyone recorded or took pictures. Of course he'd looked fucking amazing; Yuri would have killed for eyelashes that long and thick. They later discovered that there was a reason why Otabek didn't wear makeup, not even during competitions, and had resisted vehemently at first; he was allergic to the eyeliner or mascara and had spent the rest of the day looking like he'd been stung by a bee. Roza had yelled at him for almost fifteen minutes; allergies might have been something that he should have mentioned beforehand. Maybe.

Otabek kicked him lightly, knowing exactly why he was laughing. Yuri flopped backwards against his mattress, making sure that he hit Otabek when he flung his arms over his head.

"Allergies," he snickered, answering Mila's perplexed expression.

"You tried?" she asking, grinning wider as she pushed Yuri's legs aside to sit down next to him.

Otabek gave a long-suffering sigh. "I was forced to."

She eyed Yuri.

"It wasn't me," he huffed.

It had been a good haul this year. Lilia had gotten him a bunch of new leotards and tights, and – his eyes had nearly bulged out of his head – a rose gold necklace with a diamond, olive leaf pendant from Tiffany. He was almost too scared to touch something that expensive. Viktor and Katsudon had stopped by to take him and Otabek out for lunch and had given him a package of Japanese sweets, and a pair of black and grey, fucking-Coach, leopard print tennis shoes. Both Yakov and Georgi had called to wish him happy birthday and said that he'd get his presents when he came to the rink, and then he had spent nearly half an hour talking to his grandpa on the phone.

His birthday had fallen on an off-day, or Yakov had planned it that way knowing that he needed a break after the Challenge Cup and his ballet audition. Yuri hadn't realised how tired he was until he woke up at ten thirty that morning. He had shuffled out of his room to see Otabek on the couch reading a scarily thick book with Potya curled on his lap, while Lilia was typing away at something on her computer. His heart had leapt to this throat and his stomach danced upon seeing Otabek looking so fucking domestic in Lilia's apartment. They'd both given him his gifts after Lilia had forced a bowl of oatmeal down his throat. She may not have known the reason why Yuri was so jittery all of sudden, but she could tell that he was about to refuse his breakfast.

After his breakfast, Otabek had given him a stuffed ocelot half his height, dressed in a blue sleeveless jacket and a matching beanie which had taken up most of his suitcase. Yuri had spent three minutes hugging it and trying to remember where he had seen it before. It had to have been in a shopping centre somewhere in Almaty. Otabek had to have a photographic memory or something because Yuri knew that he must have gone crazy over the ocelot, but he could not remember it. He also gave him a thick, leather biker jacket, somehow knowing that Yuri had outgrown the one he'd given him a few years ago.

"So," Mila said, tapping at her phone screen. "We'll leave at around ten thirty, the club's only fifteen minutes away."

Otabek nodded, while Yuri shot upright. "I don't know what I'm wearing."

Mila chuckled. "Go pick out something, I'll help. What kind of look do you want?"

Yuri tilted his head, bouncing up from the bed. That was her way of asking if he wanted to dress like a boy or a girl. He wasn't sure. He flung open his closet doors, tapping his foot as he glared at his clothes. Mila got up and began sliding the hangers along the rod.

"When did you get this?" She held up the leg of a pair of leather overalls.

"Uh, in Italy last year I think."

She pulled them out and threw them onto his bed. Guess that meant he was wearing them. Otabek reached out to pick at one of the silver clasps. He quirked an eyebrow and gave him a small nod. Yuri fought down a grin and tugged at a lock of hair behind his ear. Mila then commandeered the bathroom to do her hair and makeup while Otabek went back to his room.

"What do you think?" Yuri toed the door to the guest room open after he had finished dressing. He had pulled his hair into a low ponytail, leaving a few locks out around his face and had decided to go with minimal makeup tonight; just eyeliner and nude lipstick. Otabek paused in the middle of pulling on a shirt and Yuri felt like he'd been hit in the chest with a sack of potatoes. His jeans rode low on his hips, his zipper and belt still open showing off his black, boxer-briefs and the thick trail of hair below his navel that accentuated the sharp V of his waist. Yuri held onto the doorframe, freezing.

"Stunning," Otabek breathed.

Yuri swallowed. Yes, yes he was. Oh wait – "God, would it kill you not to be so cheesy for once in your life?" He forced his eyes up to Otabek's face as he finished putting on his shirt and tucked it into his pants.

"Are you two ready?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull on his shoes.

"Mila's still doing her face," Yuri sat down next to him, leaning back on his arms and crossing his legs.

Otabek sat up and copied his position. "I like that," he mumbled after a short silence, and Yuri felt his fingertips against his neck, brushing along the black choker he'd put on at the last minute.

He felt his cheeks heat as he brought his hand to his throat. "Thanks," he squeaked. Why was it hard to breathe all of a sudden? He turned his head to look at Otabek, what little breath he had left escaped with a woosh.

One corner of his mouth was pulled up into a grin as he looked at Yuri. His fingers were still stroking his neck, his thumb resting lightly at the hollow between his collarbones. He swallowed thickly, knowing that Otabek felt his throat bob as he scrambled for something to say.

"I've been thinking about getting my ears pierced." The fuck, Plisetsky?

Otabek raised an eyebrow, letting his hand fall from Yuri's neck. "Okay."

"I um... will it hurt?"

Otabek sat up straight, tilting his head to the side. "Ears don't hurt that bad. I got mine done when I was fifteen; I don't remember it hurting that much." 

Yuri narrowed his eyes, he didn't remember Otabek ever wearing earrings; he must have let them heal up. "You said your tongue hurt."

He scoffed through his nose. "The clamp hurt, not the actual piercing. Would Lilia even let you?"

He bit his bottom lip. "She's not my mom, and I'm nineteen. I don't need permission."

"Don't you have an image to upkeep?"

Yuri scowled. "Fuck off. If I want to get a piercing I'll fucking get it-"

"Who's getting what pierced?" Mila asked, poking her head into the room.

Otabek turned towards her. "Yuri wants to get his ears done."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?" Well, not really. It had been a passing thought, but his mind had drawn blank. He shrugged. "Are you guys ready? I'll call an Uber now."

Lilia did not allow Yuri to drink in her apartment; she'd tolerate it if he went elsewhere else, so they arrived at the club sober. The bouncer wished him happy birthday after checking his ID and Mila said the first round was on her, but he knew that Otabek had paid, shaking his head at her when the time came.

"Stay right here," she told them after they had gotten their drinks and walked around a bit to check things out, "I'm going to get the others."

'Others?' Otabek mouthed.

Yuri shrugged. She had mentioned that she was going to invite some of her friends, and had talked about asking some players from the hockey team that shared their rink to join. He took a large gulp from his drink. Otabek smirked at him and scooted closer to wrap an arm around his waist. Yuri leaned against his side, staring up at the dim, amber lights overhead.

Minutes later there was loud shouting over the music. Yuri looked around not expecting to see Mila and one of her friends, carrying what looked like a giant goblet that was set on fire, followed by several hockey players and more of her friends. The shouting had turned out to be them yell-signing happy birthday. He saw Otabek shake his head slowly and step to the side as Mila swarmed him, yelling for him to blow out the candles. Yuri grinned as one of Mila's friends held up her phone and tried his hardest to blow out the flame. It actually was a goblet Mila had been carrying, probably reserved for birthdays or if someone really wanted to light their drink on fire because there was a hollow section in the middle that could hold a candle. But the drink itself was large enough to feed like four people and was something creamy and chocolaty, a chocolate mudslide maybe. Yuri had to hold it with both hands, and Mila grabbed the other glass from him. He passed it to Otabek who grimaced at the sweetness and shook his head before taking a long sip of his beer. Yuri pouted, but watched his throat bob as he drank, while biting the end of his straw.

"That's yours for the night, Yurochka!" Mila shouted and guided him to a free booth off to the side of the bar.

"Are you insane?" He gapped. "I'll get alcohol poisoning."

Otabek snickered from behind his hand as he settled next to him on the seat, close enough that their hips touched. Yuri took another sip from his drink. Most of Mila's friends went back to dancing, but a few hung around –Yuri recognised Anna – and a couple hockey players remained. Yuri set his drink down on the table shaking out his hands, which had been protesting the cold and the weight of the drink.

"Heavy?" one of the hockey players asked, winking at him. "You sure you can finish all that?"

Yuri winced and gave a short laugh. "I dunno."

"Happy birthday, by the way. Yuri, right?" He glanced to Mila and Anna who both nodded. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen." He grinned, taking another sip.

"I'm Vanya, and this is Alexei." He elbowed his friend, who smiled and nodded at Yuri. "Thanks for inviting us, by the way." Yuri raised an eyebrow; that was all Mila. He didn't even know what the hockey players looked like under their helmets. Apparently blond and really big.

"It was a surprise," Alexei jumped in, "You figure skaters seem so uptight all the time. Apart from Mila." He grinned at her. She smiled, raising her glass with a small nod.

Otabek scoffed over the top of his beer bottle.

"You're a figure skater too?" Vanya asked him. "I haven't seen you around."

"I'm Yuri's friend, from Kazakhstan. Otabek."

They nodded at each other with hard gazes and Yuri raised an eyebrow feeling like he was missing out on something. He took another mouthful of his drink. He was never going to finish this.

"Need some help?" Vanya asked, leaning across the table.

"Uh," Yuri titled his head, playing with his straw with one hand. He shrugged and pushed the goblet towards him. "Why not." Otabek nudged his thigh with his knee, but when Yuri looked at him he was on his phone.

"It's sweet," Vanya said, grinning. He stared right into his eyes as he pushed the drink back to him and Yuri looked away in discomfort.

Wrapping his hands around the stem of the goblet, he dragged it from the centre of the table and took another sip. Vanya grinned at Yuri as he drank and Yuri gave a tiny smile back from around the straw, then found himself unsure of what he was supposed to be doing. Mila was talking with her friends and the other hockey player. Vanya seemed to be listening to them and Otabek was scrolling through something on his phone. Should he say something? Should he join in on Mila's conversation? He pulled his drink closer, feeling his cheeks heat as Vanya smirked at him when it vibrated the table. He had barely made a dent in the drink and he knew that he was going to have to pee so badly later. God, how many calories was in that anyway. Lilia would murder him. He brought the straw to his mouth and drank before twirling it around mixing the melting crushed ice into the rest of it. Oh crap, he hadn't gotten a picture of it yet.

He pulled out his phone out of a zippered pocket in his overalls. He took some of him and Otabek, of Mila talking to her friend, then recorded her when she noticed and stuck out her tongue at him, then he took one last one of his drink and updated his Snapchat story with the caption 'Birthday night, go big or go home'.

Grinning, he leaned into Otabek's side feeling the base from the music shake the booth. Otabek rested his free arm along the backrest, softly tapping a beat against Yuri's shoulder. Yuri giggled softly; he always did that. Otabek raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He took a final drink from his beer, nearly upending the bottle then set it down on the table. "Do you want to dance?"

Yuri nodded, instantly shooting up from his seat. He grinned, remembering the last time they had danced together, then flushed and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. At least he wasn't drunk this time, well not yet. God knows he would be by the time the night was through. Otabek tugged him through the crowd holding his hand tightly. Yuri's skin felt like it was on fire; where Otabek was touching him was tingling so badly he nearly ripped his hand away. But he bit his lip and watched as Otabek hid a smirk and pulled him closer. Their chests bumped together, forcing all the breath out of him as he looked down into Otabek's eyes. His boots gave him a few more centimetres than normal, but Otabek didn't seem to care that he was looking up. Yuri grinned, and Otabek patted his hip as they began to sway gently to the music.

"Having fun so far?" he asked, leaning in close to Yuri's ear.

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, it would better if Camran and Roza and Iska and Bal were here."

Otabek chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe for your next birthday. Or you can just come to Almaty and save us all the trouble."

Yuri stuck out his tongue and Otabek copied him.

"I thought we were going to dance," he scoffed.

Otabek raised an eyebrow. "Aren't we?"

Yuri rolled his eyes and spun around, bending his knees to press his back against Otabek's chest. He felt him inhale, his ribs expanding sharply, and he hesitated for the briefest of seconds before grabbing Yuri's hips and guiding him flush against his pelvis. Yuri bit his lip, thanking the dim lighting because he was like tomato red right now. He took a deep breath arching his back and resting his palms against Otabek's wrists and slowly, slowly, began to grind against him. His throat had gone dry, or that might have been the alcohol catching up to him. Once again, Otabek was so hot and fucking broad behind him. God his chest was so ugh, and his abs could have actually left indents against Yuri's back. He swallowed thickly, his head was beginning to buzz, but God, he didn't know if he was going to make it through the rest of the night.

He let his head loll backwards against Otabek's shoulder and he grinned widely. One of Otabek's hands left his hip, and he brushed a lock of Yuri's hair from his face, then trailed his finger along his jaw and then down his neck, resting his thumb against the hollow between his collarbones. Yuri's breath hitched, his eyes widened, and his stomach was doing fucking gymnastics. He drew in a short breath through his teeth, training his eyes on the underside of Otabek's jaw then up his chin to his full lips. It would take almost no effort at all to just lift his head and kiss him; his mouth was right there and – Yuri swallowed. No. He couldn't do that. Grimacing, he lifted his head from Otabek's shoulder and moved to pull away. He felt Otabek's shoulders tense and he wrapped his arms tightly around Yuri's waist, holding him in place.

"Done already?"

Yuri gulped and a tremor ran through his body. Okay, he could do this. They'd danced before and he'd never had a problem with it. He shook his head, grabbing Otabek's hands and dragging his palms down his thighs, making a point of ignoring the tiny, hot pinpricks that exploded wherever he touched. He pushed his ass back into Otabek and smirked over his shoulder.

"Nope. You?"

Otabek's mouth quirked upwards and he shook his head before rolling his hips, nearly causing Yuri to stumble forward.

Yuri's drink was waiting for him when he got back to the table, and although he was quickly tiring of the taste he drank for nearly half a minute before slumping against the booth. His entire body was buzzing from the high of dancing and having Otabek's body pressed so close to his. He drank another few mouthfuls to cool himself down, and fanned the back of his neck with his ponytail. It felt like they had been dancing for hours; the leather was unforgiving against his sweaty thighs. And he really needed to use the bathroom now. He dragged Mila from the booth after a few moments hesitation. Usually, he would use the male bathroom, but wearing overalls made things a bit trickier. When they got back to the booth, Yuri's skull was beginning to buzz. He raked his hair from his face, he bumped into Otabek's shoulder as he leaned against the backrest; his body was starting to move much slower than his brain was telling it to. 

Mila caught his eye and scooted over to take a few pictures; he stuck out his tongue and she placed a big, wet kiss against his cheek. She showed him the outcome; his hair was a bit messy and his eyeliner was already smudging at the corners, but it was looked like they were having a good time.

"Send me that one," he shouted reaching for his drink again. He didn't know what he was going to do with it, but he liked it.

Otabek grabbed his phone and titled the screen towards him, his eyebrow twitched at the picture – the most laughter he would do around strangers. Yuri elbowed him; of course he still looked like he'd just gotten to the club. He might have been sweating under his jacket, but it didn't show. Otabek elbowed him back and Yuri went crashing into Mila who looked over at the two of them with an amused yet perplexed expression. Yuri grinned, trying his hardest to straighten himself, but his arms weren't listening, and his neck was an actual noodle, and fuck, he was so drunk. When had that even happened? Once he had managed to sit up straight he looked at his drink, tilting it towards him to see the inside. He had managed to drink a more than half or maybe three quarters. It was hard to tell with how the glass curved.

"How many drinks do you think this is?" He waved at Mila.

Mila's eyes widened and she let her jaw drop. "What the fuck, Yuri, that was supposed to have lasted you all night. God, have you ever heard of pacing? Do you need some water?"

He moved his tongue around the inside of his mouth; it felt more like swollen cotton than part of his body. "Yeah."

She made to get up, but Otabek stopped her. "I'll get it," he said. "I can get for the table."

Mila winked at him, and Yuri felt a strange urge to punch her. He frowned, dragging his drink to the edge of the table, and watched Otabek leave out of the corner of his eye. He didn't admit to how many tries it took his mouth to find the straw.

"That's enough," Mila snapped, dragging the goblet away from him and smoothing his hair from his face. 

God, her hands felt so nice and cool. He leaned into her touch and nodded, just able to make out a cooing noise from Anna over the music. Yeah, he was fucking adorable. He rolled his eyes and would have bristled more just to show how adorable he really was when he recognised the song that had just started playing. He shot up straight, looking over the back of the booth to the dance-floor.

"Oh my god, this song," Mila snickered, running her palm down his shoulder and arm. "Remember, Yuri?"

He snorted. "I'm not senile, Baba. Of course I remember." Then he began singing along and bobbing his head while trying not to crack up. 

"Do you want to dance?" Vanya asked. Yuri blinked; he'd forgotten that he was even there.

He shrugged. "Sure."

Vanya helped him out of the booth, but the ground tilted under his feet and he stumbled into his chest. God, no one would believe him if he said he was a figure skater and a ballet dancer. His shoes weren't even that high. He tugged at a lock or hair near his ear, biting his lip. God, Vanya was probably laughing at him now.

"Sorry," he mumbled, tucking his hair behind his ear and straightening his spine.

"It's okay." He smiled helping to steady Yuri with a hand around his waist.

Yuri looked up at him trying to fight off a giggle; his hair was changing colours with the lights. He probably failed at trying to hide his laughing, because Vanya looked down at him and grinned.

"Has anyone told you how cute you are?"

"Huh?" Yuri asked like an idiot, nearly stumbling again. Vanya's hand tightened around his waist. He took a deep breath, keep it together, Plisetsky. "Yeah, I guess."

That made him smirk for some reason. Yuri rolled his eyes, but that made his whole head roll as well.

They danced the same way he and Otabek had danced earlier, with Vanya behind him rolling his hips against his ass. Yuri barely felt him, though. He knew his hands were all over him, his stomach, his hips, his thighs, his ribs. It was whatever, though. He raised his arms over his head, shaking out his hair, and pumping them to the music. He liked this kind of dancing, there were no rules, no one cared about his line or form, and he could be as wild as he wanted and no one would bat an eye. He bit his bottom lip, his lipstick had been long since lost to the night, and he closed his eyes and mussed his hair over his face. Take that, Lilia, who was a danger now? He laughed at himself, shaking his head.

"What's so funny?" Vanya was right next to his ear. Yuri's eyes shot open and he nearly jumped away. God, he really needed to stop forgetting about him.

"Uh, nothing," he pushed his hair back from his forehead.

"Really? You've been laughing all night."

Yuri cocked his head. "I dunno. I'm just having fun."

He felt a harsh exhale against his neck as Vanya laughed. "I never would have thought you were like this from the times I've seen you around the rink."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? He gave a particularly hard thrust with his hips. "Well I don't remember seeing you, so..."

Vanya griped his hips almost uncomfortably hard. "You're really cute."

"You said that already." He wanted to sound annoyed, or bored even, but his tongue messed it up. Whatever.

He arched his back, pressing his shoulder blades against Vanya's chest and looked down his body, watching but hardly feeling his hands as they palmed the tops of his thighs. He should stop this soon. He swallowed, just then realising that his throat was painfully dry, yet he felt sweat drip down his spine. How was that even possible? His mind flitted to his drink at their table, probably dripping cold water down the glass. Yeah, that sounded nice right about now. He turned his head to the edge of the dance-floor blinking as everything went blurry for a second.

But then he saw Otabek standing on the top of the two or three stairs that separated the dance area from the rest of the club. He was a bit blurry from his distance, but Yuri could see that his arms were folded across his chest and he could tell that he was watching him. He grinned, and waved, swearing that Otabek nodded at him.

"Hey." Vanya's hands loosened. "Are you and that guy together?"

"What?" That guy? He lost the beat of the music. Otabek? "Beka? No! We're just friends. He's my best friend." Fuck, there was that bitter taste again.

"Your best friend?"

"Yeah," Yuri said, forcing a grin and turning back to Otabek. "I've known him since I was like fifteen. He's awesome."

"So, nothing is going on between-"

"Hey, I'm thirsty," Yuri pulled away.

"Okay, do you want something from the bar?"

He shook his head, giggling at how his hair swung like spaghetti around his face. "I have my birthday drink at the table."

Vanya smiled and put a hand on the small of Yuri's back, guiding him back to the table. Somehow, dancing was fine, but the moment he tried to walk his legs got all dumb. He stumbled a few times, before Vanya wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him tightly against his side. Okay, well that worked too. He rolled his shoulders, shaking off the embarrassment of having to be basically carried. Otabek was still watching as they made their way over. His head was tilted slightly to the side, and his mouth was turned down at the corners. Yuri frowned craning his neck to see him better, was something wrong?

"Beka!" he yelled, wiggling out of Vanya's hold. Had one of Mila's friends said something, or had the dumb hockey players been jerks? He moved as fast as his legs would let him, the floor tilting dangerously to each side with every step.

"Yura," Otabek said, taking a quick step towards him holding out his arms. Wait, did he sound worried?

"Yuri!-"

He didn't notice the first step until it hit him on the forehead. He sat up and the lights swam around him for a few seconds before he realised that he was on the floor.

"Ow," he grumbled, but before he could react any further, strong hands were pulling up him by his armpits.

"Shit, are you okay?" Vanya asked from somewhere to his left, or his right. But he was more concerned with Otabek skidding down the steps, his eyes wide.

"Beka!" He tore himself from Vanya's grasp to sag against Otabek's chest. "Are you okay?"

Otabek exhaled deeply, his breath ruffled the hair at Yuri's temple as he wrapped his arms tightly around him one went around his waist the other around his shoulders. "I got him." His chest rumbled as he spoke. Snapped? He sounded angry. "How did that happen?"

"I don't know, I had him one second then the next he was-"

"Where did he hit?"

"Did he? He seems fine."

He heard Otabek's teeth click as he clenched his jaw. "Yura? Did you hurt anything?"

Yuri nuzzled against Otabek's chest and winced as his jacket zipper pressed against his forehead. "My head hurts."

"Fuck," Otabek growled. Yuri giggled; it was always funny when he swore. "You need to sit down."

"Do you need help-"

"I got him."

His feet left the floor and he squeaked as Otabek lifted him up like he weighed absolutely nothing. Fuck, he was so hot. 

Mila yelled at him for drinking so much so quickly, and had taken him to the bathroom to look at his head. Then Otabek bundled him into a taxi while his eyes became increasingly harder to keep open and his head harder to keep up. This was the best birthday ever.

"Who the fuck is Ivan Lilov?" Yuri grumbled, thumbing through his Instagram; he had followed him last night.

After taking double the recommended dosage of painkillers his headache had finally subsided to a manageable throb and he no longer felt incredibly nauseated when he sat upright. The bruise on his forehead was another matter however, it had darkened to a purple over night. He vaguely remembered Otabek hoisting him into bed last night while grumbling about how badly he needed to shower, then taking off his shoes and peeling off the leather from his legs when Yuri found he couldn't bend over without gagging. It was an actual miracle he hadn't thrown up. He'd gotten him an ice-pack for his head and made him drink fucking-four glasses of water, despite Yuri saying that he would wet the bed if he drank any more. God, what would he do without him?

But yeah, he'd still woken up with a hangover and had thrown up almost immediately. Today was a lying around in sweatpants and watching movies day. He didn't care how much Yakov yelled at him; he was not going to the rink. He could feign a head injury at least.

Otabek snorted softly from the other end of the couch. "From last night, the hockey player that was all over you."

"What?" Yuri tapped on his profile. Oh. He had looked way different last night. Wow, he had a really square face. He scanned his bio, flicking Potya's tail when it curled around his wrist and across his phone screen.

Vanya
20
Saint Petersburg
Hockey life

"He wasn't all over me," Yuri glanced over to Otabek.

He scoffed and adjusted his glasses. "He was."

"No-"

"He was flirting so badly. It was almost uncomfortable to watch."

Yuri rolled his eyes, scratching the roll of fur at Potya's neck. "No he wasn't. I've seen him before at the rink; those hockey players couldn't give a fuck about me."

"Not what it seemed like last night."

"Shut up, he wasn't flirting."

"What would you know? You were so drunk."

Yuri kicked him hard on the thigh. "You're just jealous."

He watched Otabek over the top of his phone. His jaw tightened and he glanced up at Yuri only to look away when he realised he was watching him. Yuri's stomach fluttered.

"Why would I be jealous?"

Yuri opened his mouth, but then closed it with a pop when he realised that he didn't have an argument. He buried his palm in Potya's fur. Okay, so he had a crush on Otabek, but he was positive Otabek didn't have a crush on him. He brought his legs back to his side of the couch and curled around the cat. Could painkillers suddenly stop working? He wanted to vomit again.

"Because I'm hot and I can get anyone to dance with me." He pouted, trying to hide the bitterness that was pooling at the back of his throat.

"I think he wanted to do more than just dance."

Yuri rolled his eyes. Well, yeah. That's generally how it went, but he would never go there. "He called me cute."

Otabek jerked, but tired to hide it by stretching his arm over his head. He cleared his throat after working his jaw for a few seconds. "You are."

Yuri looked away, biting his lip. That wasn't news, though. Otabek told him he was good looking almost every day. But, he still had to hide his grin.

"He... he called you cute?" Otabek asked after a few moments of silence.

Yuri's head whipped back to him, but Otabek's eyes were locked to his phone. "Yeah, he added me on Instagram too."

"Did you follow back?"

"Not yet."

"Yet?"

Yuri raised an eyebrow. "Dunno if I will."

"Didn't realise you were looking for a boyfriend."

"Boyfriend? What the fuck?"

"That's what he's looking for."

"You don't know that."

He scoffed.

"You sound pretty jealous for someone who isn't jealous." He had meant it to sound bratty, but there was something at the thought of Otabek getting jealous over him that made his stomach tighten and flutter. He had actually growled at Vanya last night. 'I got him', before he'd swooped him up in his arms like some sort of lame-ass prince. Yuri fixed his eyes on the way Otabek's t-shirt was pinched at the arms, straining to contain his biceps, and how it pulled across his chest, creases forming in the fabric.

Otabek hummed, and Yuri's eyes shot up to his face as he glanced at him from under his eyebrows. "Are we really going to argue about this?"

Yuri rolled his eyes. "Who's arguing? I'm posting this from last night." He held his phone out to show him a picture of the two of them sitting at the booth, Yuri's birthday drink just visible at the bottom of the shot. Yuri was grinning, his hair was slightly messy, while only a corner of Otabek's mouth was smiling.

He shrugged. Yuri rolled his eyes again and posted it. Bal and Camran liked it right away.

"What happened to your head?" Viktor's eyes nearly popped out of his head and he reached across the table, catching Yuri's jaw when he tried to back away. That was going to be the question of the week. Viktor and Katsudon had invited him and Otabek to dinner. He wanted to decline, but Otabek had told him not to be rude. 

Yuri cursed the restaurant lighting and slapped Viktor's hand away. "I got into a fight."

Katsudon's eyes widened and he nearly dropped the napkin he had been about to place on his lap.

Otabek nudged him. "He fell on some stairs at the club."

"I don't know which is worse, to be honest," Katsudon mumbled, shaking his head. "How drunk were you?"

"Not very."

Otabek pulled up his Instagram and showed them a few of Mila's pictures. The fucking traitor.

"You didn't drink all of that, did you?" Viktor asked sounding both parts impressed and worried.

Yuri rolled his eyes, and kicked Otabek under the table. "No. I don't have a death wish."

"What did Lilia say?" Katsudon handed Otabek back his phone.

Yuri folded his arms across his chest and sneered at him.

"He's not allowed to set foot inside a club until the off-season and has a ten thirty pm curfew."

He glared at Otabek, who conveniently busied himself with his menu.

Viktor laughed.

"Shut it, you old fart."

"I would have grounded you too."

Yuri flipped him off.

Yuri held onto Otabek like hugging him any tighter would give them more time together. God, why did he have to live so far away? And it was not even like Almaty was all that far, just a three hour time difference. It wasn't like that time Katsudon was in Japan and Viktor was here, he thought he would die with the amount of moaning and groaning Viktor was doing because they couldn't find a decent time to talk. He felt his throat tighten as he breathed into the crook of Otabek's neck. The smell of leather, that fucking cologne that was like 60,000 rubles, and a small bit something that was distinctly him was all he ever wanted to smell ever again.

"I'll see you at Worlds." Otabek's chest rumbled with his soft words as he tightened his arms around Yuri's waist.

"I know," Yuri mumbled. "But that's so far."

"The twenty-ninth-"

"That's like a whole month."

He sighed. "I know. I'll call you as soon as I get back. It's a direct flight this time."

Yuri pulled his face away from his neck. "I know you're going straight to the rink. Don't lie to me."

Otabek grinned, not denying it. "I'll see you later." His arms loosened and Yuri's stomach nosedived straight into the ground.

"Yeah," his voice came out small.

Otabek paused and his lips tightened the slightest bit – Yuri wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't staring directly at his face – before he reached up to tuck Yuri's hair behind his ear and placed a quick, soft kiss to his forehead, right where his bruise was. Yuri's heart started hammering immediately.

Biting his lip, as Otabek's cheeks grew noticeably red, Yuri squeezed his arms around his ribs one last time and let go.

"Bye, Beka."

He adjusted his backpack against his shoulder and waved, then turned around to join the queue for the security check. Yuri watched him until a giant of a man came up behind him and blocked him from sight.

The twelfth of March came faster than Yuri could even blink. Yakov was pushing him during practice harder than usual. Jani Waris, from Finland, was in fact going to Worlds, and now that his ballet audition was out of the way he had no reason to be distracted. He went to bed feeling like he was still spinning from his flying sit spin combination. And then there was Katsudon. He pretty much dominated the Asian Winter Games and a small part of Yuri was beginning to think that he had no chance of ever beating him. He hadn't even made the podium last year while Katsudon had gotten gold. So, he put his alarm on half an hour earlier and some days left the apartment even before Lilia had gotten up. And then he had remembered that Worlds wasn't even his last competition, there was the Egna Spring Games in Italy that he and Mila were competing in. It was nowhere as stressful as Worlds but he was practically kicking himself for forgetting about a competition.

So, excuse him if the days started to blend into one another.

"Have you checked your email today?" Lilia had called him over lunch.

"I'm at the rink," he grumbled, and he wasn't going home until five today. He was back on the ice until two, then he and Katsudon were going for a jog before Viktor put them through some land drills, and then he had a phsio session because his ankle was fucking acting up.

"The cast list was sent out earlier. Do not look at it until you are off the ice, Yurochka. You do not need any more distractions."

Fuck, was today really the twelfth? Ugh, why hadn't she waited to tell him when they had gotten home? He wasn't going to be able to concentrate on his routines now.

He fell on his triple toe loop. That's how good it was going. And now his hip and elbow were throbbing. He limped to the stands after Yakov yelled at him to get off the ice and pulled his waistband from his hip to see if there was a bruise. Then when he was allowed back on, he accidentally rammed into Katsudon, causing them both to fall on their asses. Katsudon had sprung back up laughing and helped Yuri up. he swore that his cheeks were hot enough to melt the ice. Five o'clock couldn't come fast enough.

When he got back home that evening he started up his computer then took the world's quickest shower and called Otabek on Skype while he was pulling on a pair of sweat pants. He answered and Yuri scrambled to finish dressing, tripped on his mat, and landed on the edge of his mattress before sliding down to the floor. 

Otabek chuckled, actually two people chuckled and Yuri blushed all the way to his chest when he saw Iska and Bal crowding around his desktop screen, pushing Otabek to the side.

"Do you two normally give each other stripteases?" Bal asked.

"I was putting clothes on, asshole," Yuri grumbled, climbing back onto his bed and pulling a fuzzy pillow to his chest, suddenly self conscious that he wasn't wearing a shirt. He rolled his eyes at himself; it was just Bal and Iska, they didn't care. Bal pretty much lived without a shirt in the summer. He wrapped his wet hair into a bun at the base of his neck.

Bal threw his head back and laughed. Yuri bit his lip and reached to his vibrating phone. Otabek had messaged him.

Beka:
Sorry
They were here when I got home
My mom let them in

Yuri snickered.

Me:
It's okay

"What's up, Yuri?" Iska asked, shoving Bal out of the way as Yuri looked up from his phone.

"Stop texting him; he's literally right in front of you," Bal shouted from off-screen.

"Today's the twelfth," Yuri breathed. Iska raised an eyebrow, looking so much like Otabek that he had to do a double take. "They sent out the cast list for the ballet I auditioned for." There was a soft thump from behind him as Potya jumped onto the bed. She began purring as she rubbed her face along Yuri's thigh. Yuri scratched her behind her ears; the voices had probably lured her in.

Bal pushed Iska out of view, his bun bobbing as he moved. "Did you get it?"

"I didn't check yet." He let go of Potya to squeeze the pillow.

Otabek pushed Bal away from the computer. "It's okay, whatever the result is."

"I know..." he dug his nails into the purple fuzz of the pillow.

"Do you want me to look for you?"

"I..." He nodded.

"Send me the link."

Yuri forwarded him the email from Lilia's assistant. He hadn't even opened it.

Otabek grabbed his phone, giving either Iska or Bal a dirty look. He tapped on the screen, pulling up Yuri's email. "Dear Mr. Plisetsky, thank you for auditioning for-"

"Wait!" Bal cut him off, "I'm calling Camran, Iska get Roza."

Otabek rolled his eyes. Bal elbowed him.

"This is a family moment; we all need to be here."

He restarted once they had gotten hold of Roza and Camran, mumbling through the email and skipping to the link at the end. "Okay, Yura, you ready?"

He swallowed. Was the bed fucking swaying? Had Lilia turned up the heat again? "Y-yeah."

"Are you okay Yuri?" Roza's voice was raspy from over his computer speakers and Iska's phone. "Are you sitting down?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Go on, Beka." He couldn't hold his pillow any tighter.

"Okay..." he hummed. Bal and Iska leaned in closer on either side of him. "Should I just read all of it?"

"Yes," Iska hissed.

"Titania is being played by Stella Agafova; Oberon, Prokher Levin; Hermia, Katenka Lubasheva; Helena, Marfa Fedosava; Puck," Yuri held his breath, or rather forgot how to breathe; Otabek's face gave no indication of what he was reading. Yuri thought he was going to faint in that short one second pause. "Yuri Plisetsky-"

Cheers erupted from the room behind Otabek, and he caught a glimpse of Bal pumping his fist in the air. Yuri felt a little winded. He blinked at his computer screen, feeling like he was swaying even though he was sitting down.

"What?" His voice sounded far away.

Otabek grinned. "You got the part, Congratulations."

Yuri felt as if he was hearing things from behind a door. "I got..." he blinked, pulling up Lilia's email and clicking the link himself. There it was on his screen, Puck: Yuri Plisetsky. "I GOT THE PART!" He tossed his pillow to the other side of the room, covering his face before parting his hands to hold his temples. Potya leapt from the bed and scampered from the room, oops. But, was this even real? There was a small, happy fire in his chest and his eyes were starting to water. "Oh my god," he muttered, his lips stretching into a smile. "Oh my god!"

Otabek was still grinning. "I didn't doubt that you would get it."

"I knew you could do it," Iska said, giving a small grin to the camera.

Roza was singing something in Kazakh, and he could hear Camran laughing and yelling congrats.

"I knew it!" Bal yelled, rushing back in front of the computer. "I knew our little Russian was the best dancer out there!"

Yuri chuckled, wiping his eyes. "Thanks. Thanks you guys."

Otabek's grin grew, the skin around his eyes was crinkled, nearly narrowing them to slits. Yuri grabbed another pillow and pressed it to his face, kicking his legs like an excited child. He was going to explode from excitement, like actually explode.

Lilia was clearing the dishwasher when he left his room. She looked over her shoulder as he walked up to her, dragging his feet.

"Did you look at-"

He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her from behind. Her muscles tensed in shock before she relaxed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed.

"Well done, Yurochka. I'm very proud of you." She patted his cheek before smoothing his hair from his face. "The judges could tell that you are very green, our newest dancer actually, but what set you apart was your expression and the emotion you put into your dancing. That's always been your forte on the ice."

Yuri frowned. "I was angry."

Lilia gave a single chuckle. "I know." She handed him a dish to put away. "Puck is a spunky character, very mischievous; if you can show us anger then the character won't be a stretch for you. Just remember, don't let your form suffer because of your emotion. We've got a lot of work ahead of us."

Chapter Text

It wasn't really a surprise to anyone that Katsudon had taken first place again in Dortmund, Germany. He deserved it of course; Yuri had seen how hard he had worked this season. Both his short program and his free skate had been near flawless; he'd touched the ice on his quad flip during his free skate, but his step sequences had been stuff of Yuri's dreams. It made him look like he was stumbling across the ice in comparison. Yuri looked down at the bronze medal around his neck then up at Katsudon who was waving and smiling for the cameras. A small part of him was relieved that he had at least made the podium, but he knew that he should have done better. He could have.

If he hadn't messed up his triple Lutz, triple loop, quad loop combination he would probably have come in second instead of Chris. The combination had been ambitious; he imagined that Yakov had gone pale. There had been a beat of silence from the commentators; he was supposed to have done a double Lutz, quad loop combination, but he made a quick decision to change it after Katsudon's short program put him nearly five points above everyone else. Turns out that it had been a bad idea; Yakov had yelled at him for nearly ten minutes afterwards. He had nearly twisted his ankle on landing the quad loop, and had fallen heavily on his knee and wrist. His ankle still twinged when he put all his weight on it. His saving grace for that routine had been a quad Salchow and a triple Axel with his arms raised near the end of the program.

The flying sit spin to shotgun spin had been flawless, but when he pointed it out to Yakov he hit him upside the head and restarted his rant about being careless. Yuri was positive that his ears were going to bleed by the end of the night.

"We don't have to go if you don't want to, Beka," Yuri said, tugging at one of the belt loops on his grey dress pants.

Otabek sighed softly as he limped out of the bathroom in a pair of grey boxer-briefs, socks, and an unbuttoned, white dress shirt. His knee was covered in medical tape and Yuri couldn't help but squirm when he saw it. There had been no major injuries or bad jumps in either one of his routines, but the thing with jumper's knee was that any bit of impact could set it off.

"We have to go," he answered, buttoning his shirt as he leaned to the side to rest his weight on his good leg.

"I already got my medal," Yuri grumbled. "I don't need to go the banquet as well."

Otabek shook his head. "Yes you do."

Yuri rolled his eyes, but hopped over to help his fasten his cuffs. Otabek's lips quirked upwards as he held out his wrists and Yuri's stomach fluttered.

"Do you..." Otabek paused and shook his head.

"What?"

"No. Nothing."

"Beka."

"A couple of my rink mates had something planned for later. If you want to join."

"What kind of something?"He tilted his head to the side. A muscle tensed in Otabek's jaw and Yuri raised an eyebrow. "What kind of something?"

Otabek huffed, picking up his pants from the bed. "Just something to de-stress after the competition."

"Uh, de-stress?"

Otabek chuckled as he sat down on the edge of the bed and gingerly bent his knee to slip it through the pants leg. "We're just going to hang out, maybe get high."

He said it so casually that Yuri had to do a double take. His eyebrows jumped. "Get high?" he hissed, looking around as if he expected Viktor, Katsudon, and Yakov to jump out of the closet and drag him back to his room. "Like with... marijuana?"

Otabek's eyes glinted with laughter. "Yes, Yura. weed." He stood up to tuck in his shirt and buckle his belt. "Do you know how to tie a bowtie?"

Yuri blinked taking a step back, his heart hammering. "What?"

"Here, look." He slung an emerald green tie around his neck and pulled the two ends to the correct lengths.

"No, Beka, you can't just – isn't that like illegal?"

He raised an eyebrow, still smiling slightly. "You've never smoked weed?"

"You know I haven't," Yuri grumbled and folded his arms across his chest. Even though he was nineteen now there were still so many things he hadn't done. His cheeks grew hot; it wasn't like his rink mates were anything like Otabek's. Viktor was almost eleven years older than him and Mila kept her figure skating life separate from the rest of her life - he honestly didn't know how she did it. Not to mention he was the youngest of Yakov's students, so, of course, everyone had always kept a watchful, parental eye on him and called him out the moment he did something wrong.

Otabek cocked his head as he straightened his bowtie. "Well, you don't have to."

"But you want to."

"Yes, but I'm not forcing you."

Yuri bit his lip and picked at the end of his tie. "I mean, like, I'll go with you, but I don't know if I want any."

Otabek nodded, shrugging on his jacket and giving himself one last look in the mirror. "Whatever you want, Yura."

So, of course Yuri would spend the entire banquet low-key freaking about what was going to happen later. He felt like this was actually stamped across his forehead. He held onto Otabek's arm as they walked through the crowd and picked up a few hors d'oeuvres from the buffet table. He was about to refuse until Otabek had mumbled that it was safer to eat something if he did plan on joining them later. The pastries felt dry in Yuri's mouth. Yakov congratulated Otabek on fifth place when they passed around, and he graciously accepted, but Yuri could see the tightness in his jaw. He had gotten silver last year and while fifth out of like thirty-six skaters was good Yuri knew how he felt. He squeezed his hand and told him that JJ could go fuck himself. Mila had passed by a few times, asking them if they wanted to go out with her Sara, Mickey, and Emil later. Eventually, they found an empty table close to the exit and sat down.

"Can we leave now?" Yuri grumbled.

"We've barely been here two hours."

"I know, but ugh."

"Soon. Anes said she'd text me when everyone's ready, and she's still here, so..." He pointed to a girl in a purple dress who looked like she was actually four feet tall.

"Her? She has the drugs?"

"Hush."

Yuri slapped a hand over his mouth. Shit. Was he that loud? Otabek gave an amused scoff and nudged his shoulder with his. Yuri took a deep, calming breath, but the fuck if it helped because he actually jumped when Viktor came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. Otabek rolled his eyes at him and squeezed his forearm.

"Everything okay, Yurochka?" Viktor asked, raising an eyebrow and pulling up a chair.

"Yeah," he coughed; reaching up to tug at his hair but his fingers couldn't find any loose strands. Viktor, himself, had actually styled it that night, pulling it all back into a fucking-chignon while reminiscing on how many hairstyles he could do when he was younger.

Viktor smiled. "Well I hope you take it easy tonight."

"Wh-what?"

He cocked his head. "Don't go clubbing on that ankle. You too, Otabek. Jumper's knee can be a serious condition if you're not careful."

Otabek nodded. "We're planning on relaxing tonight, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov."

Yuri elbowed him and Otabek batted his arm away.

If Viktor noticed anything he didn't show it, instead he nodded and grabbed a tiny sausage from Yuri's plate.

"What did you want?" Yuri snapped and pulled his plate closer to him.

"Can't a father talk to his son?"

Yuri rolled his eyes. "Go away."

Yuri knew he could be chatty when he was ready, but Viktor was another story. His morning alarm was probably a recording of his own voice or something to do with Katsudon. And also being Viktor fucking Katsuki-Nikiforov he had his own gravitational pull. In a matter of minutes the empty table was full. At least he knew a few of people, though. Katsudon's Thai friend Phi... Phi-something sat down next to him, and dragged along the Korean guy that Yuri had competed with several times before. Seung-gil, Yes. Mila, Georgi and Georgi's wife, Inessa, sat down then the Crispino siblings and Emil Nekola followed. And Kenjiro, he knew Kenjiro too. He tilted his head, Katsudon should be around then, if Kenjiro was nearby.

"Viktor, Yuuri's drunk," Chris sang, hauling a very drunk Katsudon to the table. Yuri looked at them from over his shoulder, wincing.

"What? When? I left you two three minutes ago." Viktor pushed back his chair, holding his arms out for his husband.

"More like two hours?" Chris deposited him onto Viktor's lap and winked. "You'll have to keep a closer eye on him at my retirement party."

Katsudon slumped against Viktor's chest, smiling widely, his eyes nearly closed shut. Viktor wrapped his arms around his waist then chuckled, waving at Chris to grab a chair from the table over.

"Where are your pants, love?" he mumbled switching back to Russian, kissing Katsudon's cheek.

It took a while for Katsudon to understand words. "Idunno," he slurred in Japanese-accented English, butting the back of his head against Viktor's face.

Okay, that was Yuri's cue to leave. He nudged Otabek, jerking his chin towards the door. Otabke hid a smile behind his palm and followed him out.

Otabek's bed was the softest thing Yuri had ever felt in his life. The sheets were so fluffy and God, he just wanted to rub his face on them for the rest of his life. The sheets puffed up around him, like soft snow banks, and he sank deeper and deeper into the mattress like it was going to swallow him. He jolted upright, gasping. Too soft, it was too soft.

"Beka!"

Otabek was laying next to him, his glasses low on his nose as he scrolled through something on his laptop. "I'm here, Yura." He reached out to squeeze Yuri's hand.

"Your bed was eating me."

"Was it?" He grinned.

"Yes," he felt himself sinking into the bed again; the sheets were like the inside of a whale's mouth. "It's doing it again!" He scrambled closer to Otabek, nearly sitting on his shoulder.

"It's okay." Otabek hooked an arm around his waist, and patted his thigh. "It won't eat you; I have it trained."

Yuri snickered. Snuggling against Otabek's side, and stretching out alongside him. "What are you reading?"

"Maalik sent me something about motorbikes."

Yuri set his chin against Otabek's chest squinting at the computer screen. "How to fix – He's a mechanic?"

Otabek chuckled again. "No, Yura. It's just a hobby."

"Oh." He laid the side of his head against his chest, searching for his heartbeat. "Why are you reading that now?"

"Because I want to."

"Your bed just tried to eat me and you don't even care 'cause you're reading about motorbikes."

Otabek hummed. "If it had eaten you, would you have fallen out underneath or gotten stuck in the mattress?"

Yuri sat up slowly, his eyebrows dipping downwards. "I... don't... know. Oh my god, Beka, this is dangerous."

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "You're so messed up."

"I am not."

"Yura, beds don't have mouths."

Yuri paused. But it had almost eaten him earlier. He looked down, running his palm in circles on the comforter. It was so soft and poofy. He could leave handprints in it, like it was snow or something. He pressed his palm into it, giggling when it puffed up between his fingers. He lifted up his hand and did it again in a different spot this time, erasing the old handprint. Then again, but this time in the same spot. Maybe if he pressed hard enough he could leave his handprint and everyone would know that he had been in this room. Like his autograph. He lifted it up and pushed it down again.

"Hey, Yura."

"Hmmm?" he looked over to Otabek who was watching him with a small smile.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He pushed his hand against the comforter again.

"You've been doing that for a while."

"Hmmm?" The sheet puffed up between his fingers.

"Yura-"

"What's in this?"

"Um, feathers I think."

"What! From birds!" He pulled his arms back to his chest. He'd been touching dead birds. Gross.

Otabek scoffed, removing his glasses to rub at his eyes. "Oh, Yura," he chuckled.

Yuri frowned. "How come you're not high?"

"I am."

He didn't seem like it. "But we ate the same thing," he whined, kicking his heels into the mattress; it wasn't fair.

"I'm used to it, and I'm bigger than you."

"No you're not. I'm taller."

"By like two centimetres. Besides, You're an actual stick."

Yuri stuck out his tongue, but then dissolved into laughter. "A stick." He repeated the word until it was clunky on his tongue. Then Otabek started laughing too, his body shook so much that and he closed his laptop and leaned over to place it on the floor.

"I think you should stay here tonight," Otabek said, grinning. His eyes glinted in the light from the bedside lamp, and Yuri's breath caught in his throat. God, he was so handsome.

"Okay!" He answered bouncing on his knees and feeling as if he bounced hard enough he would start to fly. He didn't want to go back to his room; he didn't want this night to end. Otabek caught him around the waist, snickering, and pulled him against the bed. Yuri squealed, kicking out his legs and wiggling the rest of his body. Otabek's glasses went crooked when he laid the side of his head against the comforter and Yuri reached out to straighten them but ended up stroking his nose instead. God, it was so soft and smooth – he could literally do this forever. Otabek wrinkled his nose after a while or longer and pretended to nip at Yuri's fingertips. Yuri pulled his hand back, clutching it to his chest out of harm's way and stuck his tongue out. Otabek scoffed and Yuri nearly jumped when he felt a hand worm under his hoodie to rub circles against his hipbone. But, oh, that actually felt good. He bit his bottom lip and Otabek's eyes crinkled in a smile.

They lay there just staring at each other for a while. Otabek's eyes were so dark it was impossible to tell where his iris ended and pupils began. They were dark, mysterious, and sexy, just like him. There was a warm gurgling in Yuri's stomach and a vibrating in his chest. He reached out gently pressing his fingertips against Otabek's cheek.

"Beka," he whispered soft enough that he wouldn't break the spell they were under.

"Hmmm?"

"I want to kiss you." He started giggling at the little voice that had told him to say that, and brought his hand back to cover his mouth. No, if he was too loud they would lose this feeling, he would break the spell.

"Yura," Otabek's voice was low, and the hand rubbing circles against Yuri's hip stopped.

Yuri frowned, did he say something wrong? Did – Otabek surged forward. Their noses bumped and Otabek kissed his chin before he found his lips. Yuri clutched at the soft fabric of Otabek's shirt, pressing his mouth against his lips. His entire body sighed and he was so warm and fuzzy like a peach at the market. He giggled again and pulled away slightly only to have Otabek follow. Yuri tilted his head, deepening the kiss and parting his lips in a gasp as Otabek pulled him closer with an arm wrapped tightly around his waist. He tasted vaguely of gummy worms layered over something earthy. The pot, Yuri snickered letting his eyes fall shut as allowing himself to fall freely into the kiss; their breaths mingling and tongues tangling.

They kissed like that for a while, wrapped up each other's body, until Yuri's shoulder started to fall asleep. He grunted as he pulled away, a dead arm felt so much different when he was high, it was like it had gone missing. He must have been wearing a funny expression as he sat up and rubbed his arm to check if it was still there, because Otabek started to snicker.

"Here," he said, sitting up as well and moving over to lean against the headboard. He took off his glasses and leaned over to set them on the nightstand then patted his thighs.

Yuri licked his lips as he crawled over to him and straddled his legs. He settled, leaning forward with his arms braced against Otabek's thighs. Otabek's hair was messy, and his lips were swollen, if Yuri stared any longer he was going to lose like thirty percent of the liquid in his body. The sound of his zipper was loud in the hot emptiness of the room, Otabek was deliberately slow in dragging the zip down his chest to his hips, where he unhooked the bottom of his hoodie and let the sides hang open. A giggle bubbled past Yuri's lips; it had been a good idea not to wear a shirt underneath. Otabek was palming his ribs, chasing shadows up his stomach and chest, drawing patterns across his skin, and pressing the heel of his palms against his nipples. His fingers felt like bits of heated velvet and Yuri let his eyes flutter shut as a pool of tight, heat began to flood his stomach. He found Otabek's mouth again, roughly re-joining their lips and moving up the boulders of his thighs to wrap his arms around his neck. Otabek hissed into the kiss, pulling away to nip at Yuri's bottom lip, while he smoothed callused palms up under the loose back of his hoodie against his spine and shoulder blades and pressed him even closer.

After he had pushed Yuri's sleeves down his arms he dug his fingers under the waistband of his sweatpants. Yuri shivered, wiggling and allowing him to push them down his hips. He hadn't even realised that he was hard until he saw himself when Otabek helped him pull down his underwear too. God, if Otabek wasn't there to help him undress, he would have probably ended up tied up in his own pants. He snickered at the image and pressed a few wet kisses to the side of Otabek's neck, as he slid his pants and underwear down his legs. Then the world spun, the lamp-light circling lazily in his eyes as Otabek laid him on his back. The sheets were cool, like a river of milk against his back and he raised his arms over his head, just to feel the way they slid against his skin.

"Beka, snow angels," he laughed, turning his head to rub his cheek against the sheets as well.

Otabek chuckled, leaning over him and gently pushing his knees to either side with his thigh. Yuri reached out to him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as he sank into him, the entire lengths of their bodies pressed together. His shirt had disappeared; Yuri's palms met bare skin when he ran them up and down Otabek's back. Oh, his pants too; his thighs pressed against his bare hips. There was an excited jolt in his lower stomach and something warm trickled inside of him. He tightened his thighs around Otabek's hips, hooking his ankles together and bringing him closer. It was funny, he thought, that he and Otabek were around the same height, but Otabek was so much bigger. From his shoulders that Yuri was digging his nails into in response to his mouth hot on his neck, to his chest that was pressed so firmly against him that he was pushed flat into the mattress, and his thighs, God, Yuri would die for those thighs. And, of course, the pulsing erection between them. Yuri shivered, biting his lip as he squirmed and canted his hips upwards, if just to feel more of the hot length pressed into the crease where his thigh joined his body. Otabek hissed, sinking his teeth into the side of Yuri's neck. Yuri felt his own dick twitch and a bit of slick slid between his ass cheeks.

"Mmmm, Beka," he moaned.

Otabek sighed as he shifted onto his elbows, hovering over Yuri. His cheeks were so red that Yuri's breath caught in his chest. "Yura," he whispered hoarsely, "I want you so badly," he broke into Kazakh, mumbling a prayer maybe, Yuri swore he was asking Allah for strength.

"Then have me... wait, take me, uh..." What was it supposed to be?

Otabek blinked owlishly, freezing until Yuri cupped the back of his head and guided their mouths together. He breathed out heavily through his nose, giving in almost instantly and thrusting his tongue into Yuri's mouth. Yuri screwed his eyes shut, lazily copying what Otabek was doing with his tongue, pressing it into his, chasing it in circles. He tried his best not to laugh; kissing was almost like a game. He briefly wondered if he should pierce his tongue too, because the little ball was almost fascinating when it slipped against his tongue. 

"I want you too," he giggled when they pulled apart.

That was all Otabek needed. He kissed him almost feverishly as one of his hands trailed down Yuri's side and under his leg. His breath caught in his chest when he felt a finger circling his entrance and he bit Otabek's lip, telling him to go on.

"You sure?" he pulled away, looking down at Yuri through his eyelashes.

Yuri swallowed thickly. "Yes."

Otabek still hesitated, causing Yuri to huff and squirm underneath him. God he was so – his brain caught up to his body, which was funny because he hadn't even realised that his hand had moved, but suddenly he was grabbing Otabek's dick. Otabek's mouth fell open, and he let out a high, breathy gasp, that went straight to the fire in Yuri's stomach. He held it and gave a gentle pump, smirking as he felt Otabek's entire body tense. Their mouths met in an actual crash, and the finger that Otabek had pressed against his entrance slipped inside. Yuri might have actually moaned a 'yes' into their kiss. His eyes rolled back into his head, that was for sure.

Otabek grunted softly with each thrust of his hips. He'd gone in easier this time, or maybe being high cut some of the pain from the initial stretch. Yuri's mouth had fallen open some time ago and stayed that way, he was probably drooling too. He was past caring, though, his entire body was in a state of bliss with Otabek's natural heady scent thick in his nose; this was all he ever needed. Each thrust pushed Yuri further into the mattress; he grabbed at Otabek's back, pressing his fingers into his shoulder muscles, and dragged them down his spine to the small of his back, pushing his closer, begging him deeper. He barely recognised his own voice, so high and needy with each moan, with each shock of pleasure that radiated up his spine and out through his stomach as Otabek slid in and out of him.

Sweat was beading in the baby-fine hairs at the small of Otabek's back and the creak of the bedframe was loud in Yuri's ears. It was almost like a beat, like the base of a song, their moans were the chorus. A giggle bubbled from his mouth, causing Otabek to raise his head from his shoulder and blindly press a kiss to the side of his mouth. Yuri turned his head, capturing his lips before he pulled away and allowed one hand to travel from his back to cup the back of his head and play with the soft velvet of his undercut.

They were close, Otabek was close, Yuri's entire body was vibrating in pleasure that it was hard to even make out the bed underneath him; he had to be close. Otabek was thrusting into him, trying to get even deeper and nearly lifting Yuri's hips from the mattress as he pushed in. His abs were clenching hard and he pulled away from the kiss, breathing heavily across Yuri's face. Yuri swallowed as he stared up at Otabek's flushed face, feeling the stretch in his ass become steadily tighter. Otabek let go a few deep, pitiful whines; his hips jumping, picking up speed and Yuri giggled at the thought that he was searching for something. And yup, it was like he was growing inside of him; he had to push just the tiniest bit harder with each thrust inwards and the drag out was more delicious. Yuri pressed his palms into his biceps, unable to even wrap his hand halfway around them, a hot coil steadily building in his groin and he screwed his eyes shut, biting his lip against all sorts of moans and whimpers. Then Otabek's rhythm stuttered and he gasped before Yuri was suddenly empty, his ass muscles clenched around nothing, seconds before Otabek groaned deep in his throat and came, hot and hard, all over his chest and stomach, trembling and gasping all the way through. It was hot and sticky and so much that Yuir's eyes flew open. But he forgot everything when he saw the way Otabek's mouth hung open and his face was screwed up with a little wrinkle in between his eyebrows. God, his face was so red; he didn't even know that he could get so red. Smiling, Yuri reached up, cupping the side of his jaw and craning his neck to pepper kisses all over his face. Otabek was breathing heavily through his nose, but his breath was catching in his throat, and Yuri could feel the way his abs were clenching rhythmically.

"Fuck," Otabek swore, sounding almost pained. His chest was heaving and Yuri was entranced, bringing his other hand to press against his wild heart. "Fuck," he repeated. "Yura-" he cut himself off, pressing his mouth to Yuri's kissing full of need, sucking and panting and doing everything so right.

Yuri closed his eyes again, shifting underneath him to get into a more comfortable position, but he cracked his eyes open again shocked at how much Otabek had come. God, he felt it dripping down his sides onto the sheets, but he liked it? His insides felt like they were aflame, twisting and knotting and making him squirm and causing slick to drip between his ass cheeks. Otabek pulled back from the kiss, burying his face in the crook of Yuri's neck and breathed in deeply before pressing his nose into the hollow behind Yuri's ear. Scenting him, Yuri's mouth went dry, drier, and he tightened his arms around Otabek's shoulders, pressing the side of his face against his neck as well. His scent was strongest here, and Yuri opened his mouth lapping at salty skin until Otabek rolled to the side, breathing like he was going to have a heart attack. He swallowed, blinking at Yuri with wide eyes, his jaw was slack and his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. Yuri felt weak all over; his heart panged. He reached out to run the back of his hand against Otabek's cheek.

"Beka, are you okay?"

Otabek turned his head to gently kiss his hand as he managed to get control over his breathing. "I... um. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm great."

Yuri wiggled closer going onto his side as well and pressing up against Otabek's chest. “You seem..." he wasn't sure what to say"

"I," he sighed breathily and swallowed. "I, uh, I knotted."

Oh. Yuri's eyes widened, but that only happened when – it had to be the weed; they weren't like connected emotionally or all that crap. He swallowed, tucking his head under Otabek's chin, feeling a shaky uneasy feeling take root in his stomach. Yeah, it was the weed that just made him emotional. He didn't think he had seen Otabek laugh or smile so much in their entire friendship than he had that night. It had to be because he was high. His knot was still hard and swollen against his thigh. Fuck, why was he tasting bitter again? 

 "I... I always forget you're an alpha," his voice was slightly hoarse.

He felt Otabek's chest muscles tense. "Sorry."

Yuri shook his head. "It's not... don't apologise, asshole."

Otabek gulped, and, well it seemed like a good idea so, Yuri uncurled from under his chin and stretched upwards to press their lips together, unable to fight another fit of giggles that bubbled straight from his stomach to his mouth. Soon Otabek was snickering tiredly as well.

They fell asleep pressed against each other, after Otabek had forced himself from the bed and stumbled to the bathroom for a washrag. He was barely able to keep his eyes open and he bumped into the doorframe going in and again coming back out, so Yuri took pity on him and cleaned them up himself. He tried not to pay attention to his slowly deflating knot, but his stomach trembled and fluttered - he ignored the new wetness between his ass cheeks - and cleaned them up the best he could. Otabek was already snoring lightly when he finished. He pulled the sheets back and coaxed Otabek underneath them, giggling at how clumsy he was. He wrapped his arms tightly around Yuri's waist as soon as he was lying down and was snoring again within seconds. Yuri fell asleep with a smile on his lips.

The next morning, they were woken by loud banging at the door. Yuri sat up, blinking a few times and yawning. What the fuck was going on? His head was cloudy, and there was a dull throb and tightness at the base of his spine. Wait. His eyes landed on Otabek, sleeping on his side a scant centimetres separating them. Oh. Fuck. Wait, were those nail marks on his shoulders? Fuck. Otabek groaned, yanking one of the pillows over his head. Yuri stared at him, blinking slowly through the grogginess. God, if he felt like this after eating pot gummies, he clearly wasn't meant to do drugs. It might have been the best sleep he had gotten in years, but now he felt as if he was swimming through custard.

The banging continued. "Yuri! You better be in there, Yuri!"

Fuck. Viktor.

"What?" he yelled back.

"We're leaving in twenty minutes!"

Fuck. He looked around wildly for his phone. "I'm coming! Give me a second!"

Otabek sat up yawning, and the sheets fell down to his hips. Yeah, and then there was that.

"Twenty minutes, Yurochka, or I'm getting security to knock this door down!"

"Fuck! I said I was coming!" His heart was in his throat and he looked around for his clothes.

"Everything okay?" Otabek mumbled as Yuri slipped from the bed and nearly fell over from the unexpected, but completely expected, soreness between his legs. He ground his teeth as he bent over to grab his sweatpants from the floor. Underwear first, Plisetsky.

"Yeah, we overslept," he grumbled, ignoring the way his insides swished and swirled as he moved. Why was it so hot in here? Wasn't the AC on? "What time is it?"

The sheets rustled as Otabek leaned over to the nightstand and picked up his phone, bringing it almost to the tip of his nose to read the time. "Ten seventeen."

"Fuck." Yuri looked around for his hoodie, biting his bottom lip and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"What time is your flight?"

"Twelve forty-five."

Otabek grunted. Okay, shoes, he got on his knees to look under the bed, fighting down a pained groan as the muscles in his lower back and ass flared. Fuck.

"Yura," Otabek sighed heavily. "We... we need to talk."

They were under the desk. He stood up, pressing his palm to the small of his back trying not to wince.

"Beka, I have to hurry-"

"Yuri."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. He swallowed as he slipped his feet into his unlaced sneakers. He couldn't turn around to face him, instead stood with his shoulders hunched and stared at the TV stand. "Okay."

Otabek was silent for a few moments then cleared his throat. "What are we doing?"

Yuri swallowed; an actual watermelon had just flourished to maturity in his throat. "We were high.... I don't know. Everything seemed like a good idea last night."

"You, you wanted this, though; I asked you."

Yuri sighed, wrapping his arms around his stomach. Yes, he fucking wanted it. He wanted Otabek, he wanted to kiss him senseless and hug him until they both passed out. He wanted to love him, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him, and adopt a few younger siblings for Potya. But, the big fucking but, he couldn't have him. He was ace and he didn't like sex. Otabek was normal. The two didn't add up. He wouldn't be able to make him happy or satisfy him, unless, as it seemed, he was drunk or high. And that would be a set up for failure. He could deal with the fallout from this, but he knew he wouldn't be able to survive losing his best friend.

"This won't happen again, Beka. It can't." Fuck. He held his breath, feeling his eyes start to prickle.

"Yura-"

He finally spun around. "I don't know what the fuck's going on, Otabek!" he yelled, throwing his arms up into the air. "It seemed like a fucking good idea when I was high out of my mind last night!"

Otabek swallowed, his jaw tightening. "But now you're not so sure."

No. Yuri wrapped his arms around himself again. No, it wasn't like that.

Otabek winced, and hung his head. "Please, Yura. Please tell me we didn't do this just because I wanted it."

"I... no, Beka. It's confusing, but it's not like that. I think I wanted it."

"You think?"

"Why does this only happen when we're high or drunk?"

He was silent, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Yuri watched him, unsure what to say. He pulled a bobby pin from his now destroyed chignon and loosened a lock of hair behind his ear then wrapped it around his index finger.

"Okay," Otabek breathed. "So, what does this mean for us?"

"I'm not mad at you!"

"I didn't say you were."

Yuri swallowed. "Are... are you mad at me?"

He was silent for another while longer. "No, I'm just confused."

"Yeah, well me too." He scoffed. "I need to go-"

"Do you really want to leave it like this?"

Yuri clenched his jaw. What the fuck was he supposed to say? "No, but I don't know..." he cut himself off with an angry growl. "It was stupid, we shouldn't have done anything."

Otabek's expression was steely, and he raked his hair back from his temples. He then let out a long sigh through his teeth. Yuri's stomach clenched and the watermelon in throat had just frozen solid and was slowly sliding down to his stomach.

"Okay. We won't do it again." His voice was clipped and low.

Yuri licked his lips with a dry tongue. "Friends don't just have casual sex, right? And I'm ace so that makes it even more wrong." Otabek nodded slowly. "We... we can still be friends, right?"

Otabek's shoulders rose almost up to his ears as he sighed like he had never breathed before in his life. "If that's what you want."

Yuri winced. "Best friends?" His voice went so high at the end.

Otabek looked up at him, one eyebrow slightly raised, but his mouth was drawn into a straight line and his eyes gave nothing away. "Of course."

The Egna Spring Games were a mess in Yuri's opinion. He spent a scant two days in Saint Petersburg where he had his first rehearsal with Lilia and the rest of the cast and staff to get to know everyone, before flying off to Italy with Yakov and Mila. It wasn't the competition that was all wrong, though. No, he'd gotten first place, Michele Crispino had come in second, and another Italian skater had come in Third. Mila really, really wanted him to go out with her since he had ditched her at Worlds. Also she was starting the off-season with a month in Italy so this was the last he was going to see of her for a while. She and Sara had forced him into a pair of sequined shorts and made him wear heels.

"Italian clubs are nothing like the clubs in Saint Petersburg," Mila told him as she came at him with an eyelash curler. "You need to look good."

He grumbled and he let her do his face, but when they got to the cub he honestly couldn't tell the difference. The music was different, the drinks were different, the people, not so much. He ordered something light and fruity from the bar; already knowing that he was going to burn up in here. It was dark and small and there were so many people. He had fought with Mila to put his hair up, but Mila had won and it hung down his back in bouncy curls that were going to be tangled mess by the end of the night. And even though his shirt was a sheer, gauzy fabric it was long sleeved, and he was already feeling hot.

He hung back with Michele and Emil at the bar while Mila and Sara went to dance; he had spied Leo and Guang Hong somewhere around too. He probably should have gone with them. He had barely finished his first drink when a guy sidled up to him, whistling something in Italian.

"Sorry, no Italian," he said in English.

He grinned, showing off impressive straight and white teeth. "I said, pretty lady, you must be proud of those legs. Dance with me?"

Great. Yuri rolled his eyes trying not to gag. "I'm not dancing tonight."

"What? How you can come all the way to Italy and not dance? Where are you from? Germany?"

"Russia."

"You've ever danced with an Italian?"

Yuri raised an eyebrow. God, he wasn't drunk enough for this guy. "No."

"Come, it'll be worth your time. I'll make all your dreams."

Yuri ground his teeth together. "I said I'm not dancing tonight."

He didn't give up. Instead he grinned. "You'll sing a different tune by the end of the night, principessa."

"Yeah, I also don't sing." He pushed off the edge of the bar, looking for the bathroom sign. He didn't need to go, but he did need to get rid of the guy.

He was waiting for him when he came back out. Fuck. He looked Yuri up and down as if trying to decide on something. When his eyes landed on his chest, Yuri rolled his eyes and attempted to push past him. But he grabbed his shoulder.

"I would never guess you are a guy. Omegas can be so pretty-"

"Who said I'm an omega?" he said, rolling his eyes as he pulled away.

"Just one dance?"

"No." He looked around for any sign of Mila. God, why was it so dark in here?

Mila hooked her arm around his waist when he found her and bounced her hip against him. "You don't look like you're having much fun, kotenok."

He nearly stumbled in the heels at her attempt at getting him to dance. "No, there's a creep who keeps on trying to ask me to dance with him."

She grinned and gave a very suspicious look to Sara. "I bet; you're really pretty tonight."

"You look like a model," Sara added unhelpfully.

Yuri scowled.

"I thought you liked dancing."

"I don't feel like it tonight."

Mila tilted her head to the side frowning slightly.

"Why don't you go find Mickey?" Sara asked. "He doesn't like dancing either."

Yuri huffed. "Yeah I guess."

He gave Mila one last look before turning around to find Michele and Emil. He had done two rounds of the place before he realised that they had probably left. He didn't blame them; the club was far too hectic for Yuri's tastes and he honestly wasn't feeling it tonight. He was tired, his feet were hurting, he was sweating, and he didn't even feel like getting drunk. He was about to go find Mila again when someone grabbed his arm.

"Are you ready to dance, principessa?"

Yuri reeled with a rush of blood to his head. He balled his palms into fists, yanking his arm away. "God, fuck off!" he yelled before he realised that he'd shouted in Russian.

The guy grinned. "Did I scare you, beautiful?"

Yuri rolled his eyes. "No." He hated guys like this who obviously thought that they were God's gift to mankind and didn't understand the concept of 'no'.

"Come on, let's dance?" He took a step closer to him and Yuri backed off, bumping into someone's shoulder.

Yuri ground his teeth, taking in a deep breath through his nose before he punched a mother fucker. "I said no."

"I promise you'll have a good time." He took a step closer.

And fuck was the crowd closing them in? His heart was beating in his ears and he looked around for the fastest escape. He could probably wait for Mila outside the club, or find a taxi and text her that he had gone home. 

"Why are you playing hard to get?" He was stroking his arm.

Yuri drew back again, looking over his shoulder to not bump into anyone else. "I'm not playing."

The guy chuckled. "Girls like you always say that."

Girls like him, right. He probably thought he was being courteous by calling him a girl. Any other time Yuri wouldn't have given a fuck, but coming from this guy, it made him see red.

"Fuck off, I said I wasn't interested." He made sure to speak in English, turning around to get the hell away from him.

At first, he didn't even realise that the guy had slapped his ass. He felt it, a sharp sting, but it took his brain a few seconds to catch up. He spun around, breathing actual flames, but the guy just chuckled and wrapped his arms around Yuri's shoulders and waist, pulling him flat against his body.

"That's not what your eyes say, baby."

Incensed wasn't a strong enough word. Livid barely cut it either. "You fucking, asshole!" He shouted, possibly feeling his vocal chords tear. "Let me go, you fucking fuck!" He didn't know if he was shouting in English or Russian or if some Japanese or Kazakh swear words had made their way into the mix. He kicked the guy's shin with as much force he could, he knew he could do some damage with all the dance and skating he'd done in his life. He kept on yelling even after the guy's hold on him loosened and he pulled away planted his feet, ready to give him a piece of his mind. The guy looked like he hadn't expected him to fight back, but then Yuri hadn't expected him to do more either. He reeled back holding his stinging cheek, and – these fucking heels – stumbled backwards. He was barely aware of someone catching him before he fell as he snarled, wiping a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth. Oh fuck, he saw red and blood pounded in his ears blocking out the sounds of the crowd around him. He was going to destroy this guy, to everyone who thought that Yuri Plisetsky was all bark, who couldn't hold his own or take care of himself; he was going to prove that no one fucking messed with him.

The bouncer kicked them out. Yuri sat on the edge of the curb nursing his bruised knuckles and sniffling. Mila had her arm wrapped around his shoulders, while Sara was calling a taxi. Yeah, this whole night had been a mess; Yakov was going to lay it into him and once Viktor and Katsudon found out – oh God and Lilia. She always went on and on about how he was always supposed to conduct himself with decorum, especially now that he was dancing in her charity show. She wouldn't kick him out, would she? Fuck, she totally would. He screwed his eyes shut, and used his good hand to press against his temples.

"You okay, Yuri?" Mila mumbled. She had seen the last part of the fight and had followed him outside, yelling at the guy and threatening to beat him up further if he didn't leave Yuri alone.

"I want to go home."

Yakov was so angry he was silent, but when Yuri had explained that the guy had asked for it when he slapped his ass and grabbed him, he realised that the anger wasn't directed at him. He helped Yuri to his room and hovered over him as Mila and Sara went in search of a first aid kit and some ice.

"How badly did you hurt the guy?" Yakov asked, as he pressed an ice pack to Yuri's cheek.

"I gave him a black eye." Yuri mumbled, taking the ice pack from him.

He thought that Yakov would have berated him more and lectured him on controlling his temper, but instead he scoffed.

"That's my Yurochka." He then turned to Mila to ask her details about the club and to figure out whether or not it would become a bigger problem.

Yakov had told him to get some rest, but he couldn't sleep. His thumb hovered over Otabek's name on his recent calls list. He knew that Otabek would have wanted him to tell him about something like this, but it was really late in Almaty, and he wasn't sure if they were okay. Well, things had been a bit tense between them since Worlds. He had called Otabek when he'd gotten back to Saint Petersburg, but the phone had rung until it went to voicemail and he didn't call him back for a few days. Yuri had tried texting him, DMing him on Twitter and Instagram, and sent him a few snaps – their fucking streak had died and he would never forgive him for that.  Otabek had sent him a single text the morning before he left for Italy saying that he had lost his phone. Yuri wasn't sure if he believed him; he could have used his computer to reply, his desktop or his macbook – or his fucking iPad, actually.

It wasn't like they hadn't fought before, but they'd always made up pretty quickly afterwards. So, this just further proved to Yuri he and Otabek wouldn't work as anything more than friends. That night had been a mistake and if he could have gone back and changed it so they didn't have sex he would. Or... if he could just fucking rewire his brain and make everything easier. But even if he had been high or drunk, that didn't change the fact that he had liked it and wanted it. So basically, Yuri didn't have a fucking clue what was going on, and it was unfair to drag Otabek into this mess as well.

Still, he should probably call him. He pressed the call button, sitting up and hooking the fingers of his free hand around his toes. Otabek answered on the third ring.

"Hey," he sounded as if he'd been sleeping.

"Sorry, did I wake you up?"

Otabek yawned softly. "Yeah. What's wrong?"

Yuri sighed and bit his bottom lip. "I got into a fight-"

"What? Are you okay? What happened?"

Yuri's stomach gurgled. "It's not a big deal, probably won't even make social media. I went out with Mila and a guy grabbed my butt so I punched him in the face."

"I'm Facetiming you." Yuri waited a few minutes before Otabek's face showed up on his screen and even though he had just woken up and his bedside lamp made him look yellow and he was squinting at his phone screen, Yuri's heart thudded at the sight. "Yura..." he hissed. "Who is this asshole?"

"I got him back, Beka," Yuri grinned. "He ran away."

"Did you punch him like how I showed you?"

"Uh," he looked down at his bruised knuckles. "I think so?"

Otabek scoffed through his nose. "Can you move your fingers?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

"Yakov was proud, but I think Lilia might kick me out of her show."

Otabek frowned. "Why?"

"Starting fights isn't a very ballerina thing to do."

"It was self-defence," he deadpanned and Yuri snickered, suddenly relieved that he had went through with the call. The corner of Otabek's mouth twitched upwards. "If I was there they would have had to arrest me for murder."

Yuri felt a hot shiver sweep through his entire body, and he swallowed thickly. "Don't say that. I don't want you to get arrested. The ISU would kick you out and then I'd never see you again."

He scoffed. "You wouldn't visit me?"

"Nope. If your ass is dumb enough to go to jail for murder then I'm sure as hell not going to endorse it."

"That's cold, Plisetsky."

Yuri stuck his tongue out.

"When are you going back to Russia?" Otabek asked through a yawn.

"Tomorrow morning. I should be back by two, so like five pm your time."

"Oh, good. I'll Skype you then." Yuri raised an eyebrow. Did they have to make appointments to speak to each other now? "I want you to help me with something."

"What?"

He hesitated, letting out a soft sigh. "I... I'm going on a date tomorrow night."

"What?" Yuri actually heard brakes squealing as the world came to a stop.

"Yeah it's sudden." He scratched the back of his neck. "My mom has been on my case to let her try matchmaking – it's like sort of really old tradition here, but it usually came like right before marriage... my mom's weird."

Yuri swallowed, but his chest was seizing so that didn't go too well. "Yeah."

"Her name is Sallma. She seems pretty nice; we sent a few texts. I'm sending you her Instagram."

His phone beeped with an incoming message and he clicked on the link Otabek had sent. Everything was narrowing to a tunnel. She was beautiful with long, wavy, black hair and full, heart-shaped lips; her skin was a flawless, light olive, and her eyes were warm, dark amber. Like syrup. He closed the app.

"Do... do you like her?"

"I don't know yet. I might."

Yuri's world was spinning. He clutched at the comforter. "I didn't realise you were looking for a girlfriend." God, his throat hurt. He hoped that the shitty hotel WiFi lived up to its name because he did not need to Otabek to make out his expression.

Otabek scoffed. "I'm not opposed to it, especially during the off-season."

And Yuri had told him that he wanted to remain friends. He had every right to date other people. He licked his lips, but his tongue was so dry that it sucked up the little bit of moisture they had left. Why did he feel so angry? God, he had fucking told Otabek that he wanted to stay friends. They were better off as friends.

Or had he made the biggest mistake in his entire life?

Chapter Text

"How did the date go?" Yuri asked, pretending to file down the torn edge of one of his toenails while Otabek sat at his desktop, typing away at something. The clicks of his keys echoed over the speakers.

Yuri had taken two days to build up the courage to ask. He and Otabek had barely talked since that night in Italy, and he'd been largely aware of the silence. Yuri wanted to kick himself – he actually tried – they were still friends and something like a date shouldn't cause such a huge rift. Still, he couldn't help his stomach clenching whenever he saw Otabek's name come up on his phone screen. And he also hated Sallma, he had never wanted to punch someone in the face, no, that was a lie; he wanted to punch many people in the face, but never one that he'd never met before and for no other reason than existing.

Otabek was a bit reluctant to answer, focusing on typing more before he looked at the camera and tilted his head to the side. "It wasn't too bad, like not terrible at least."

Yuri frowned, biting his lip as a little spark of something warm and light ignited in his chest.  He dropped the file to his bed. Fuck, was he smiling? "What do you mean?"

Otabek shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. "We didn't really click... I don't know. She was really nice; there wasn't anything wrong with her. But I was waiting for the night to be over. I don't think that's a good sign."

"Oh." Yuri had to fight down a grin. "So no second date?" This should not make him happy.

He shook his head. "No, we both agreed something was... off."

Yuri had to look away, pretending that he heard Potya come in, to hide the smile that would not fucking stay away.  "That sucks."

Otabek grunted. "My mom wasn't too happy."

"What did she say?"

He sighed heavily. "Otabek," he mimicked his mother's Kazakh accent. "You didn't give her a chance. You'll end up all alone at this rate." Yuri snorted as Otabek rolled his eyes. "Apparently she's itching to marry me off; she has a whole bunch of friends with children my age lined up."

Yuri's stomach jolted like he'd been punched. Then it got really cold. "You're like twenty-one; she can wait a few years."

He shrugged. "Kerim got married at twenty-three; he kinda set the tone for the rest of us."

Yuri winced. "Fuck, that's young..."

He shrugged again. "I guess they'd been dating since before I was even born so, it probably made sense. Yuuri got married young too."

Katsudon had been like twenty-five or was it twenty-six. It wasn't like twenty-three. "Ugh, stop trying to justify it."

"I'm just saying, if you know you love someone, why wait?"

Yuri bit his lip, suddenly worn out from going from angry, to elated, to just fucking empty in the span of a few minutes. "So... is that what you're doing? Looking for someone to marry?" There was that bitter at the back of his throat again despite the really tasty split-pea soup Lilia had made for dinner. His stomach was now rolling uncomfortably.

Otabek pursed his lips ever so slightly. "I don't know. Maybe eventually."

"Oh."  Yuri swallowed, searching for the file he'd dropped earlier. Well fuck. The following silence nearly choked him.

"So," Otabek began at length. He had gone back to typing. "How was rehearsal?"

Yuri took a deep breath. Okay, back to friend stuff. He didn't know if he was going to get rid of the cold tightness in his chest soon, though. "Long, but it was fun. Everyone's nice; I like thought they were going to be all snobby since I'm not actually a dancer, but they're all..." he paused; there was a hitch in his breathing, like a slow hiccup. "They're great."

"What are you two laughing at?" Yuri grumbled, looking up from his phone to the two girls sitting on the bench next to him. They'd been snickering at one of their phones for the past two minutes, almost as soon as Lilia had called break.

Jelena looked away from the phone, grinning. She raised a sharp eyebrow, her eyes sparkling. "The best figure skating falls – Yuri Plisetsky 2017-2018."

Yuri rolled his eyes, swearing under his breath. He had made 'friends' with the two girls sometime during the second rehearsal. He remembered Lilia calling a break then suddenly they had been sitting with him and asking him questions; Jelena Klavdia and Danulka Lipova were the only other dancers around his age in the performance. This was Jelena's second show, while Danulka – Dani – had joined the Mariinsky Ballet last year. Right now he was regretting telling them about his figure skating career.

Still, he edged closer to them, peering over Dani's shoulder. The video was on mute so they wouldn't disturb the other dancers.

"Are you sure you're a world class figure skater?" Jelena teased.

"Can you even skate?" he retorted, wincing at one of the falls. He remembered it from his short program at the Triglav Trophy in Slovenia, towards the end of the season. He hadn't been able to complete the program and ended up having to pull out of the competition. God, that one had hurt and physio had been a bitch.

"How are you still even able to walk?" Dani asked, wincing as well.

Yuri shrugged. "Most of the time it looks worse than it is."

"So you really did go to the Olympics," Jelena said, clicking on one of the related videos.

At times like this Yuri really hated his fans.

"Did you get a medal?" Dani asked.

"No, came in fifth. Well, fifth overall. Seventh for the short program and fifth for the free skate."

They looked at him blankly and he went back to drinking his water, not ready to give them a crash course in figure skating. He was almost thankful when he was called over to work on his solo.

Rehearsals had officially started on the eleventh of April, since some dancers had flown in from Moscow, and – he had overheard one of Lilia's phone conversations – one dancer was a member of a troupe in Italy, and two were from France. He didn't realise until then just how big of a deal Lilia's show was. Well, he did know it was a big deal, but not big enough for French ballerina's to audition. The off-season had officially begun, but Yuri's days still began at six am and sometimes he didn't get back home until seven or eight. Istagram and Snapchat were flooded with all the other skaters posting pictures of their vacations. Leo was in China with Guang Hong and Kenjirou. He already knew that Mila was in Italy with the Crispinos, but so was Georgi and his wife. Katsudon's Thai friend, Phichit, – hah, he had finally remembered it – was posting a continuous string of beach selfies. A few of them had featured Seung-gil making Yuri wonder if they were together or not. And dumb JJ had taken his family on some kind of boat trip. Even Otabek had posted a few pictures from a camping trip with the group; he was jealous of those.

The only ones who hadn't really posted anything vacation themed, were Viktor and Katsudon who were busy moving into their new house. He got frequent updates on how that was going.

"We're getting Chinese for dinner," Viktor said as he opened the front door, ushering Yuri inside.

It had been so weird to walk around the neighbourhood with all their perfect families, well-kept yards, and expensive cars. Maybe he should have changed out of his rehearsal clothes before coming over; black on black on black had Viktor's neighbour craning his neck over his stupid shrubbery to watch where Yuri was heading. He probably had the number for the police already dialled and was just waiting to press call.

"Did you find the house okay?" Viktor asked.

"Yeah," he answered, toeing off his worn sneakers. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Viktor smiled then called over his shoulder, "Yuuri, love, Yurochka is here! We'll give you the grand tour."

Yuri heard Makkachin skidding down a staircase, barking and panting excitedly. He scrambled over to Yuri and nearly rammed into an end table. Katsudon followed slowly, chuckling.

"He's not a fan of the stairs," he said scratching behind the poodle's ears. "Those floofy paws on wooden stairs are a disaster, aren't they Makkachin?"

"Didn't you have wood in the apartment?" 

"This was newly waxed courtesy of the sellers. You might want to take off your socks too."

Yuri stuffed his cat-face socks into his sneakers and followed the two inside, Makkachin panting after them, occasionally slipping. Basically, it was a damn expensive house. Downstairs there was a sitting room right after the entrance. They showed him the dining room, the kitchen – all the new cabinets and fully stocked pantry, there was a home office with an oversized desk and more books than Yuri realised that they had owned, and a laundry room, guest room and bathroom, garage, and back yard. Then upstairs was a family room, a wide, open balcony looking down onto the dining room and a loft space that they weren't quite sure what they were going to use it for.

"I was thinking," Viktor said, flouncing onto the sectional couch in the family room and almost landed on Katsudon's lap. "We could use it as a play area for the kids-"

Katsudon scoffed. "Kids..."

Viktor grinned, pressing a wet kiss to Katsudon's cheek and slinging an arm around his neck. "Yes, love I want four or five."

Katsudon started laughing, and Yuri curled up tighter on the love seat as Makkachin wiggled his nose under his armpit. Yuri scratched the greying snout.

"You two are disgusting." But, that was probably the reason why they had gotten a house in the first place – to start a family.

"Four or five?" Katsudon shook his head, ignoring Yuri.

"I don't want to have just one; it was lonely growing up."

Yuri hummed in agreement.

"Why not just two or three? Five is a lot."

"Well, I read that omegas have a forty percent higher chance of having twins and triplets than betas."

"Well, that's good for you, but we are not having five kids and definitely not before I retire."

Viktor tilted his head sideways. "But, of course, love."

"Otabek has four siblings," Yuri added. "Two brothers and two sisters."

Viktor raised his eyebrows and gave Katsudon a smug smirk. "See, love-"

"But I don't think he was planned, so..."

Katsudon cleared his throat. "Yuri, that's not-"

"He's the youngest by like thirteen years. I don't think anyone plans that, and it's not like his parents remarried or anything."

"Still, that's not something you should-"

"I was definitely an accident."

Katsudon sighed softly, but Viktor still went on. "Think about it, love. Five-"

"We are not having five kids. Did you order dinner already?"

Viktor smiled and patted Katsudon's thigh. "Yup. Anyway, about the loft, why don't you use it as your room, Yurochka?"

"What?" Yuri raised an eyebrow.

"You only stay with us on weekends and less now that you're doing Lilia's show. It can definitely fit a bed and all of your stuff. What do you think? Unless you'd rather a room closer to Yuuri and me-"

"Hell no. Sure, I can stay up there. It's cool, like I get my own floor."

Viktor grinned and nudged Katsudon. "I told you he'd like it. He's like a cat; they like high places."

Both he and Katsudon rolled their eyes.

Yuri didn't expect Viktor to have fully furnished and decorated the loft for him in less than a week's time. He had thought that they would be trying to save money after buying a house, but then a package had show up at Lilia's addressed to him and it turned out to be some items from the 'Mizuno X Viktor Nikiforov' line. His fucking signature was the logo, like he was some sort of lame fashion icon. Apparently, they had sold out within the three weeks they had been released – Viktor had been proud to include that in the note that came along with the package.

He tried on the pants – they were a bit long, but otherwise the quality was great and the fabric wasn't too constricting like how some athletic wear tended to be. And they were thick, finding pants like these that were thick enough for the rink was a surprising challenge, unless he went brand name every time or closed his eyes and ordered online. So, he might as well text Katsudon to tell him thanks.

Me:
Why the fuck is Viktor so popular in Japan?

He never really had to wait long for him to answer.

Katsudon:
I'm not sure about the rest of Japan, but he's well known in Hasetsu. The hot spring guests think his accent is cute

Me:
His stupid clothing line sold out? Why?

Katsudon:
It's good quality

Me:
Why?

Katsudon:
I have a theory that most of the population thinks he's a model. He was on a few billboards to promote the line and well...
You know Viktor :)

Me:
God

Katsudon:
I told him he should think about becoming a model over there

Me:
No
I see him in my newsfeed enough

Katsudon:
He'd be good at it, though

Me:
And that's the problem
Ugh
What the fuck is this? Viktor Bragging time?

Katsudon:
I don't need a specific time ;)

Me:
You are disgusting
Leave me alone

Katsudon:
But you're the one that texted me, Yurio

He slammed his phone down on the island, causing Lilia to look up at him and raise an eyebrow. After shoving a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth he picked the phone back up.

Me:
Tell Viktor thanks for the clothes

Prokher Levin, who played Oberon, was currently another one of Yuri's nightmares. They had a duet and well, Prokher was an amazing dancer – Yuri felt like he was stumbling around in comparison – but he was also so eerily similar to Viktor that Yuri wanted to punch him in the face when he smiled. He was what would have happened if Viktor had decided to become a dancer instead of a figure skater, like they were in a parallel universe and if Viktor had dark hair and eyes and his hairline wasn't receding and was much shorter. So basically a different person. But his reasoning was still solid, because they were both on the same level of annoying.

"You know, there are theories that Oberon and Puck were in a romantic relationship." Prokher hummed, holding his hand out for Yuri, perfectly in time with the music even though this was like the third time they were practising together.

"Oh my god, will you shut up?" Yuri growled. "That's the last thing I want to hear."

Prohker chuckled, dark eyes sparkling as he smiled. "Just trying to get you to loosen up."

Yuri growled again just as Lilia clapped her hands, halting the pianist. "He's right, Yuri, you're far too stiff. And Prokher, you're hardly regal enough, yourself." Yuri ground his teeth together and looked at his feet. "Remember, you two are hatching a scheme; you're excited, act like it."

They started again from the top. Prokher had a few minutes of solo before Yuri was supposed to join in with a powerful grand jeté – eager that he had been summoned by his liege.

"Yuri that was pitiful, hardly a split," Lilia snipped, "You did not warm-up correctly."

"I did-"

Prokher grabbed him around the waist, anticipating that Yuri was going to miss the beat, then hooked a finger under his chin making look 'off-stage'. He ripped his chin away, possibly too forcefully, and scowled when he realised it before giving the prescribed exaggerated nod and stepping into a Balancé. Second position with his left foot moving it to the front, then fourth position with his other –

"That was absolutely mechanical," Lilia noted, "Stop. Zakhan, can we start over from the crescendo?" The pianist nodded and waited for her signal. "Prokher, smugger, and Yurochka, if I see that again, I'm sending you back to my beginner class."

He huffed, moving back to the position when Prokher was supposed to pull him in from.

"The emotion last time was better, Yuri, the way you pulled your face from his hand – oh excellent, Prokher."

They continued on with the rest of the piece, Lilia calling out tiny adjustments to make the characters more believable. Prokher was even quicker to pick up the choreography than Yuri, but then he'd been a danceur for almost five years; it was his second time working with Lilia.

"If you keep this up, boys, we can have a perfect run through by next week. Yuri, we'll start you en pointe during the next rehearsal."

Prokher turned to him with raised eyebrows, impressed. Yuri didn't think that he knew he could dance en pointe; even in this day and age it was rare – even amongst the more feminine male omegas– that men performed en pointe, although more were willing to learn. Yuri allowed himself a few moments of smugness before Lilia rattled on about what she wanted to see improve by the next rehearsal.

Then, after lunch break, Yuri saw Stella Agafova dance. He had thought that he was doing alright, but there was no question at all why she had been chosen to play the fairy queen. She was already practising en pointe, and it looked like her feet weren't even touching the ground. Everything was so effortlessly graceful, that Yuri felt like he was back in his first ever ballet class and didn't even have the proper posture.

"She's amazing isn't she?" Jelena mused, wiping the back of her neck with a towel.

Stella was talking to Lilia, elegantly stretching out her calf with one hand extended towards the barre, barely touching it.

"Yeah..." Yuri mumbled through a dry throat, then coughed and took a drink of water from his bottle.

Jelena giggled. "Does someone have a crush? Are those heart-eyes, Plisetsky?"

"Shut up," he grumbled, turning towards the changing rooms.

"It's funny," Dani said, nudging his shoulder. "She's like an older version of you."

"What?"

"Oh my god, yes!" Jelena gasped. "They're both blond, they have the same cheekbones, oh my god, the same eyebrows too–"

"Shut up – she's looking this way!" He grabbed both of them by the arm and yanked them from the studio. Besides, they looked nothing alike; her eyebrows were way thicker. Okay fine, they did have blond hair, but hers was more gold, and well, maybe similar facial structures. God, he was so going to stalk her Instagram when he got home.

"Maybe you could ask her for a few pointers?" Dani suggested.

"Or an autograph." Jelena raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Yuri stomped over to his locker and yanked out his gym bag, ignoring them as he pulled a hoodie over his leotard and fished out his sneakers from the bottom of the bag.

"We're going for juice, if you want to come." Jelena tossed her towel at his head to get his attention.

"Sure." He tossed the towel back to her and pulled his hair down from the tight bun, running his fingers through it to loosen the coil.

Dani skipped up to him, throwing her bag over her shoulder. "I want to try the ginger pomegranate; they sent me a coupon yesterday."

Yuri liked that particular juice shop because they gave the option of having unsweetened juice and everything was cold pressed and made to order. He and the girls had become regulars since they'd discovered it a few weeks ago. He needed to bring Katsudon here sometime, maybe take a break from coffee on Saturdays. He sent a quick text to Lilia telling her that he was going out, but he'd be back home for dinner, before Jelena grabbed him by the back of his hoodie and dragged him towards the exit.

"Maybe I could get a picture with her for my Instagram..." he mumbled, unthinkingly. "Or would that be weird?"

"I could probably set something up for you," Jelena winked at him. "Bring up that you two are like twins."

He would never tell her how much of a compliment that was.

Lilia didn't seem to mind that he was late for dinner that night. She had even fed Potya while she was waiting for him. They sat down to a dinner of red quinoa and baked chicken, eating silently while Potya wound around the table legs purring loudly.

"Can you unlock the studio for me tomorrow morning?" Yuri asked after a short internal debate.

Lilia paused with a glass of water to her lips. "Why? Saturday mornings are for rest. And don't you go to yoga with Yuuri Katsuki?"

Yuri huffed, Katsudon would understand. "I need to practise."

The glass clinked against the dining table when Lilia firmly set it down. "You have been practising. Why do you think you need more?"

Yuri pulled his lips into a thin line, moving the quinoa around on his plate. "I'm not as good as –"

Lilia tapped her nails against the tabletop – a loud clicking that made Yuri squirm. "I do not want any of that nonsense, Yurochka. If you needed extra practice time I would tell you." She sighed. "You are not a seasoned danceur, so I can see how you would be intimidated by some. But you are doing well, and I am not going to have you injure or exhaust yourself. Then you will be a liability. Go to your yoga tomorrow morning; I'll see you at rehearsal in the evening, and then I expect you to rest on Sunday."

Yuri ground his teeth, itching to argue more but he knew that Lilia would not be swayed. "I'll never be as good as the others then."

Lila's gaze was piercing. "Fine, go injure yourself. I can work with Puck's understudy just as well."

Yuri's stomach gurgled, and the bit of chicken he had just swallowed got stuck in his throat. Lilia was not one to be played with; Yuri knew that if he pushed too hard or if he fought her she would kick him out of the show in the blink of an eye. She'd been upset when he had come back from Italy with a bruised jaw, but had argued with Yakov for not watching him close enough. Still, he had gotten the expected lecture about conduct, was re-grounded, and his curfew was put back into place. Honestly, Lilia was like the strict mom he had never wanted.

She knew she had him by mentioning the understudy and Yuri could have sworn that she was smirking as they went back to eating their dinner.

So, he did end up going to yoga with Katsudon that Saturday morning. It was an easy class that day, their regular instructor was on holiday and the new guy wanted to get to know what the class was capable of. He had commented on their flexibility too many times for Katsudon not to keep a straight face. He ended up explaining that they were professional figure skaters and they were supposed to be flexible. The instructor had responded with a sheepish grin.

"Coffee?" Katsudon asked once they had left the studio.

Yuri shrugged, but started to head in the direction of their usual coffee house. They got their drinks and silently sat down in front of the window in two low, vinyl armchairs with a short table between them; Yuri watched a pair of joggers run down the street followed by a giant, fluffy dog.

"So," Katsudon began after a while. "You've been quiet today and you haven't even taken out your phone. What's wrong?"

Oh. He hadn't, it was still in his pocket. He took it out and set in on the table, there were a few notifications from Instagram and Snapchat, but nothing special. He locked the screen and turned it over. Katsudon was frowning at him when he looked up.

"Okay, are you sick? Usually I have to pry that thing away from you to get you to talk to me."

"That's not true."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're always talking to Ota – oh did... are you guys not talking?"

Yuri rolled his eyes, his stomach turning and rolling. "He's not the only person I talk to."

"No, just the one you talk to the most."

Biting his lip, Yuri looked down at his phone case and then back up to Katsudon. "We haven't really been talking much lately," he mumbled. Admitting it was like stabbing himself in the stomach.

"Why?"

"I... it's complicated."

Katsudon's eyes widened for a brief moment before he took a sip of his coffee and leaned back in his seat. "Okay, well last night I couldn't fall asleep and nearly had a panic attack." It was Yuri's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Because I was wondering if I'd made a huge mistake in buying this house, actually in committing to Viktor." Yuri's jaw fell open. "Honestly, it didn't hit me until then what all of this really means. We're planning on starting a family, just tthinking about everything that goes into it, I mean having children just always seemed so far away. And suddenly it's not; I moved here from Japan for Viktor, I'm married to him, I have a house, and then when he was talking about wanting kids, it all just became too much. What if we expect different things? I don't think I want a family that big, and he seemed set on it, and of course it's a matter of when I'll retire, and then what we'll do afterwards. I know we both have... a lot saved up, but to raise five children and neither one of us has a steady job is honestly terrifying to me." He sighed heavily, and took his glasses off to rub at his temples. "But I also know that I love Viktor and I can talk to him about all of this and we can come up with a way to make it work." He put his glasses back on and smiled.

"Why... why are you telling me this?" Yuri stirred his straw around his coffee; the way the ice crunched normally would have been satisfying if not for the direction this conversation was going.

"Because relationships are always complicated. And you and Otabek... you can work it out."

"I..." Well, fuck, now he had to share. "He's dating other people."

Katsudon was silent for almost a full minute. "Yuri, do you like Otabek?"

He opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out. Suddenly that night at Worlds was fresh in his mind. The way they kissed and touched, and the weed, how everything had just felt so right in that moment, and then how Otabek had knotted. Yuri looked away, fixing his gaze on an empty bench across the street and his cheeks started to steam and his insides wriggle. What the hell was he supposed to say? Yes, he liked Otabek, but he consciously holding himself back because they didn't have a future, not with him being ace. His throat was closing up. He cleared it softly then took a sip of coffee, but then his eyes started to sting.

"Yuri?" Katsudon prompted softly.

"Can.... C-can we talk about this later?" He watched a bead of condensation drip down the glass and disappear into the napkin beneath. God he felt so small.

Katsudon nodded. "Okay. But, uh... I'm going to email you some articles when I get back home, and maybe you should take a look at them."

He called Otabek Saturday night after Viktor had picked him up from rehearsal. After showering and soaking his sore feet in an Epsom salt bath, he settled in the middle of his new bed, and called Otabek on Skype. Viktor and Katusdon had set up the loft for him and it now featured a full-sized bed with black sheets and fuzzy, purple and leopard-print pillows, a desk, and a cat tree for Potya – although she wasn't too big on climbing, she would be happy to use it as a scratching post and would make use of the lower levels to nap.

With his stomach suddenly intent on tying itself in a knot, he watched the screen as the Skype dial tone sounded. Otabek answered the call lying on his stomach on his bed, looking at something on his phone. It was sometime after eleven in Almaty, but it was surprising that the others hadn't dragged him out somewhere.

"Hey," Yuri said, chewing at a hangnail on his thumb while trying not to make it look obvious that he was practically drooling over Otabek's tensed biceps as he held his chest up off the mattress.

"Hey."

"How come you're not out tonight?" He bit his bottom lip, letting his hand fall to his lap.

Otabek shrugged. "We went out last night, but exams are coming up soon and I didn't really feel like having a study party." Oh right, university was a thing, but he had thought that Roza and Bal graduated last year. Iska was going for his masters, so he would be in school forever, but Camran had a full-time job. Otabek turned towards his laptop and raised an eyebrow. "Where are you?"

Yuri forced a grin. "My new room at Viktor and Katsudon's place." He leaned to the side to let Otabek see more.

"Oh, right they moved. Looks nice. You already decorated?"

"Viktor did actually. He texted me asking which I liked better leopard or cheetah print then when I came over next he had all this done."

Otabek scoffed then turned back to his phone.

"So how's the off season?" God, it was like they were talking for the first time with all the awkwardness and stupid questions.

"Uh... the same as always. Going to the gym more, babysitting, the usual."

Yuri's stomach clenched and he took a deep breath, fighting the discomfort. "Any... any more dates?"

Otabek paused, raising an eyebrow as he looked back to his laptop. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you asking because..."

Yuri swallowed thickly. "Because we're friends and I want to know? We haven't talked in ages, Beka."

Otabek blinked a few times then sighed and sat up, crossing his legs over one another and adjusting the angle of his laptop. "Right, sorry, I uh... of course." He cleared his throat. "No more dates yet, but my mom has a few... prospects. Yes, she actually called them that." He rolled his eyes.

Yuri snickered softly. "Too good to find your own dates, Altin?"

"No. But this way is easier."

"It's not supposed to be easy, asshole." He grumbled and the block of tension that had been stopping him from breathing broke into pieces. He leaned back against his pillows.

"Yeah, well at least this way I know she'll approve of them."

Yuri frowned.

Otabek tilted his head. "When I was in America she used to start every conversation asking me if I was seeing any one then telling me not to date any uncultured Americans while there were plenty of good, wholesome Kazakhs waiting for me at home."

Yuri snorted. "That actually sounds like her." Unintentionally racist.

The corners of Otabek's eyes crinkled in a smile. "Oh, yes, and don't date anyone with a funny religion – that was from my grandmother. It was terrible. At least no one understood Kazakh, and her English skills are next to zero."

"My grandpa never asks," Yuri said still giggling. "He just assumes that... well you know."

Otabek tilted his head while a small crease formed between his eyebrows. "He does know that a romantic relationship is different from a sexual relationship."

Yuri paused, as a swarm of bees hatched in his stomach and started buzzing to be let out. "Well yeah. But honestly, Beka. What normal person would want a non-sexual relationship?"

"Lots of people. You never know." He combed his hair away from his forehead with his fingers.

"Yeah, well it's not like I have time for a relationship anyway." Fuck, that stung to say, especially with Otabek watching him.

"Yeah. Right. Ballet." Otabek shrugged, wrinkling his nose. God, that was adorable.

Yuri bit his lip. "I'm in the studio all day now."

"Isn't this supposed to be the off-season?"

Yuri took a deep breath ready to explain everything about rehearsals and the other dancers. But his words dried up with he looked at Otabek who was studying him with steely, dark eyes, his mouth pulled into a straight line, slightly turned down at the corners. "Beka?"

"Hmmm? Go on, you looked like you had a story."

Yuri swallowed; the bees were back, but he went on with his story anyway. "So there's this ballerina, Stella – she plays Titania – and, hold on I'm sending you her Instagram, do you think I look like her?"

Otabek paused, clicking open the link on his computer, then narrowed his eyes as he examined her pictures. "Kind of... yeah, I can sort of see it, the cheek bones."

Yuir's chest went all hot and fuzzy, and a wide grin split his face in half. "She's the most amazing dancer I've ever seen. I'll need to send you a video; it's like her feet don't even touch the floor and everything is so fluid and effortless and so pretty. I only have like two scenes with her, but I need to talk to her, Beka, she's so amazing. She lives in Moscow, though, so she'll be going back there when we're done. Maybe I can see her when I visit my grandpa. I know where the Bolshoi - she's one of the soloists there, almost a principal, but I bet in a few years..." he trailed off when he realised that Otabek was laughing. "What?"

"Nothing," he smiled. "Little Yurochka seems a little star struck."

Yuri scowled. "Shut up."

"It's okay; everyone has a celebrity crush," he chuckled softly. "Have you talked to her yet?"

Yuri bit his lip, as his cheeks grew hot. "Not much." Otabek covered his mouth, starting to snicker. "I don't know what to say. She did an arabesque today – that's the one that looks kinda like a half Biellmann – and, oh my god, stop laughing at me!"

Otabek shook his head, looking off to the side, and pushing his hair for his forehead. "You're adorable, Yura."

"I'm not; I'm a fucking tiger. I'm badass."

"Yes, a badass ballerina."

"Oh, fuck off, Otabek." He was smiling, though; he didn't sound too intimidating.

Otabek scoffed. "Hey, uh, sorry for not calling more or you know."

Yuri shrugged. There was that jolt in his stomach again. "It's okay; I mean I could have called too. I guess... I don't know. Space?"

"Yeah, space." Otabek's smile was tight-lipped, but they were good now, so it couldn't have been strained, right?

Katsudon and Viktor had a housewarming party on the twenty-eighth of May. Katsudon's parents and sister flew in from Japan and he had gone through all the rooms cleaning everything with a toothbrush before Viktor got him to settle down. Seeing the mess that was currently their lives, Yuri was glad that he only stayed with them on weekends. Chris flew in, Phichit flew in and Yuri was positive that he and Seung-gil were a thing because he came too, and Viktor's family was all over. The Nikiforov clan, much like Viktor, were amusing but were best to take in small doses. Plus, with Mila and Georgi there as well things were going to be wild. And Yuri had seen the amount of alcohol they had stocked up for the party; he knew to make himself scarce. It royally sucked that Yuuko couldn't make it; she was probably the only one who Yuri was looking forward to see.  He managed to stomach two hours of the madness before he had to leave for Saturday rehearsal and then told Lilia he was spending the weekend with her.

True to her word, Jelena did manage to talk to Stella. They both were from Moscow and were living the in the housing provided for the out-of-city dancers. It was a nice apartment block a few streets away from Lilia's studio, but Yuri could not wrap his head around that she was living in the same apartment block as – in his opinion – one of the best dancers from the Bolshoi. Granted it was almost a month after she had said she would, and Yuri had managed to at least say hi to her after one rehearsal and compliment her on her piece.

"She thinks you're cute," Jelena nudged him as he leaned over to tie his pointe shoes.

 Yuri froze, dropping the ribbons. "What? What did she say exactly? No, what did you ask her? I swear, Jelena, if it was something random-"

"Relax, it was just a bunch of us in the apartment lobby talking and I showed her your Instagram and asked if she knew she had a twin." Yuri shook his head; well, that was a bit blunt. "She thought it was hilarious, laughed about not noticing it before."

He did get a picture with her, but Stella was the one who uploaded it and tagged him. It was a simple side-by-side pose, she had her arm around his waist and had made him copy her toothy smile. Honestly, he knew that she was pretty petite, but she danced so well that he forgot; it had been a shock when he was almost half a head taller than her. He still screenshotted the picture and debated putting it as his wallpaper. She had captioned it 'long lost twins'. He was grinning all the way back home, not even caring that his fans were going to take the picture and run wild with it. He messaged Otabek on the train ride, unable to sit still, and tugged at a lock of hair that had fallen from his loosened bun. Wait should he? He paused, his thumb hovering over the chat. Well, it wasn't like he and Otabek were actually fighting; things were still just a bit weird. Yeah, they'd been talking more, but it wasn't like how it was before Worlds. Their chats were awkward in a way, or was that just him projecting his insecurities. He took a deep breath and opened the chat. If Otabek didn't want to talk to him then he would say so. 

Me:
Did you see it!

Otabek replied within a few minutes, but it was like an hour to Yuri; staring at his reflection in the window wasn't cutting it, and he had already gone through all the comments on the picture as well as Stella's entire profile.

Beka:
It?

He nearly dropped his phone scrambling to unlock the screen.

Me:
Check Instagram
NOW
Omg why are you so slow? Bal and Camran already liked it

Beka:
The one of you and that dancer?

Me:
Stella fucking Agafnova, asshole

Beka:
My bad
Just out of curiosity, who's my favourite rock artist?

Yuri pulled his lips into a thin line, scowling at his phone.

Me:
Shut up
Okay fine I get it
But still
Look at it!

Beka:
I am

He rolled his eyes about to reply when Otabek started to type again.

Beka:
So, I have to do a few more sets
Need to get back to it
Can we talk later?

Yuri bit his lip, the hard, plastic seatfelt like it was opening up and slowly swallowing him.

Me:
Sure

So maybe Otabek really didn't want to talk to him after all.

The first dress rehearsal was on June sixth. Yuri couldn't believe how fast the time had went; there was little over two weeks until opening night, and he wasn't jittery now but he could feel it coming, more so after he tried on his costume. He got to wear horns, like actual devil horns, except they were tan not black. He took a picture, winking and sticking out his tongue, and immediately posted it to Instagram, captioning it with just the smiling devil emoji. Viktor must have had notifications for his posts because the first comment was from him saying 'now your outsides match your insides'. He was in a good mood; he liked it. Jelena and Dani took a couple hundred pictures of them together, and then spent nearly half an hour deciding one which ones to post. The rehearsal went without any major issues and Yuri was still in a good mood by the time he got home. He took a long shower, soaked his feet, and helped Lilia with dinner. She gave him a few pointers on some areas where his was still a bit uneasy – mostly during his solo, but those were mainly expressive details and not technical. They would start off with his solo tomorrow morning, but he'd have to work one-on-one with her second assistant Nastya.

Curling up in bed with Potya later that night, he unplugged his phone and went through his notifications. There were a few snaps from Camran's marathon from Bal, Roza, and Iska. Otabek had updated his story from the gym. Then the rest were from Instagram. He had a bunch of new DMs and his stomach gurgled when he saw the pink dot at the top of the screen. He knew he shouldn't read them, he should just let them sit there and rot until Mila could get around to it, yet he found himself tapping open the first one.

Yup, that was a dick. God. He closed the chat, before shutting his eyes and pressing his fingertips to them. Honestly, though, what had he expected? Hopefully there had been a message that went along with it and it wasn't just a random dick-pic because if so the world was going to shit. Fuck, he really hadn't needed to see that tonight, his stomach was all queasy now and his heart was beginning to thud heavily. He took a few deep breaths against the thickness in his throat. Potya mewled, and snuggled against his chest, he got a mouthful of cat hair, but the deep rumbling from her purring calmed him somewhat. So, he picked his phone back up, throwing an arm around the cat and stroking her belly. He tapped out of his DMs then decided to go through the comments on the picture with Puck's horns. Hmm, that might explain the influx of DMs. God, it wasn't even anything provocative, it was literally just of his face and he wasn't even wearing any makeup and he was all greasy from the morning practice. He scrolled through mostly harmless comments from his fans saying how pretty he was or how much they loved him but then there was one that made his stomach turn and goose-bumps rise on his arms.

'Does this mean that you're a naughty, little boy?' followed by an eggplant emoji, those fucking water-sperm drops, and an open-mouth smiley face. He pressed the button to block the person so hard that he felt the screen buckle under his thumb. God, the fucking perverts. He sat up, dislodging Potya who only blinked lazily at him then settled on his lap, and managed to stop himself from throwing his phone across the room.

Gritting his teeth, he closed Instagram and debated on deleting the app altogether, but then settled on turning off notifications again. Then, he texted Mila while counting his breaths, holding them in for a few seconds before releasing slowly.

Me:
Can you log into my Instagram?
There are a few DMs I need you to take care of.

He set his phone face down on the bed, fighting to get his heart to stop beating so forcefully. He dug his palms into his eyes and breathed out through his teeth. It wasn't like sex repulsed him that much; he could sit through those kinds of scenes in movies and TV shows. He didn't like them, but he didn't need to look away or change the channel. It was just the thought of himself having sex that caused his stomach to churn uncomfortably and sometimes made him feel faint. Well, unless he was high or drunk and Otabek was nearby. What the fuck was going on with him. His phone vibrated; Mila had texted back.

Baba:
Sure thing kotenok I'm on it as we speak
Those assholes will have to delete their accounts after I'm done dragging them

Me:
Thanks

Baba:
No problem
How are you, tho?
Do you need to talk? 

He cocked his head, pulling a leg to his chest and resting his chin on his knee. He should probably call Katsudon; he would know what to say.

Me:
No, I'm okay

Right as he was about to press the button to call Katsudon, he got an incoming Facetime call from Otabek. His finger stuttered on the answer button, but it was Beka, why the fuck would he decline a call from Beka?  

"Hey," he said once the pixels cleared and he could see Otabek's face.

"Hey," Otabek answered pushing his glasses up his nose with his thumb. He looked freshly showered; his hair was shiny and slicked back from his face. "What's up?"

Yuri pushed back the lingering tightness in his stomach with a deep breath. "Nothing. You called me."

Otabek raised an eyebrow, squinting slightly. "You okay?"

Yuri swallowed. God, he could tell already? "I uh... yeah. Just some dumb people being dicks on Instagram."

He frowned. "Did-"

"Mila's already on it. It's no big deal."

He sighed. "Was it the picture with the horns?"

Yuri shrugged, his stomach started to slowly churn discomfort through the rest of his body again. "I guess so."

"Really, why don't you just make your account private?"

He shrugged, flicking the tip of Potya's tail. The cat looked up at him then made herself more comfortable on his lap.

"Can you send me your flight itinerary again? My parents are being annoying, like this is your first time flying internationally."

"Sure, should I just send it to your mom?"

Otabek blinked a few times then rolled his eyes. "Why do you have her email?"

Yuri scoffed softly. "Because she gave it to me. We're secretly best friends, Beka, she tells all the embarrassing stories about you."

Otabek shook his head. "Honestly, that's not beneath her. She was asking if you were on any special diet."

"Uh, well my off season diet, so I'll eat anything I see."

He shook his head, huffing in amusement. "I told her you'll actually eat anything, but she got mad and said I wasn't being a thoughtful host. Like you haven't been here ten times before."

Yuri grinned, he had almost forgotten about his trip to Almaty. The closer the show got the sooner he would be leaving Saint Petersburg as well. There was a buzzing in his chest at the thought, well maybe things would fix themselves when he and Otabek saw each other in person.

"So, uh, I also wanted to tell you," Otabek scratched the side of his neck, tilting his head to the side. "I'm going on another date next week."

Yuri's stomach dropped. Why, though? He had asked for this; he'd asked to be Otabek's best friend and this was in the fucking contract. "Oh?"

Otabek gave an uncomfortable smile with the corner of his mouth. "I guess one of my mom's friends' daughters just came back from studying in like England and she thinks we can bond over the fact that we're both fluent in English."

"Ha-have you met her before?"

Otabek opened his mouth for a second before closing it. "Yeah," he said after a short pause. "I met her yesterday actually. My parents dragged me to some potluck charity thing at our mosque."

Why was his throat so dry? He glanced to his nightstand, and every single mug was empty and a bit crusty.  "What's she like?"

"Uh, well her name's Klara, I guess she's part Russian. She doesn't have an Instagram, though. But, uh, she majored in education and child development, she said something about finishing the program here, so uh, yeah. She likes dogs, not much of a cat person."

"Eww, you can't date her, Beka," He meant it as a joke, really he did, but the words left a bitter residue on his tongue.

Otabek grinned. "Stop being prejudiced. Dogs are good too."

"I don't have a problem with her liking dogs; Makkachin is great. It's that she doesn't like cats. I don't trust people that don't like cats." He picked Potya up, resting her chest on his forearm to point her at his phone. She yawned then closed her mouth around his thumb.

Otabeck chuckled softly, his eyes doing the wrinkly thing at the corners. God, was it possible to drown on land?  "We're just going for coffee, but we had more to talk about than I did with Sallma."

Yuri took a deep breath, hiding behind Potya. "Great, that's... great. Well, hope it goes well."

"Yeah, me too."

Katsudon apologised profusely for not being able to meet with Yuri sooner.

"It's okay," Yuri grumbled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his joggers.

Katsudon looked like he had run all the way to the park. He took his glasses off to clean them on his shirt. "Sorry, were you waiting long?"

"Nope, just got off for lunch break."

He looked down at the white tights that peeked out from the ankles of his pants.  He had also just thrown a thin tank top over his leotard, so there was that too.

"Okay, so do you want to eat now or walk for a bit first?"

"There's a stall that sells boiled corn; I don't really want a big lunch."

Katsudon hummed, falling into step with him. They walked for a while in silence, dodging joggers and children high off of summer. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

Yuri bit the inside of his cheek, his insides swirling uncomfortably. He opened his mouth even though he was unsure where to start, but saw the row of food carts a little way off and sped up towards them. "Let's get food first."

They settled on a park bench a few minutes later with sticks of boiled ears of corn. Yuri had asked for light butter, but the guy had slathered it on anyway. He blotted at it with a tissue, scowling.

"I don't think I've ever had boiled corn here before," Katsudon mused, nibbling at the smaller end.

Yuri raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"I haven't had much street food, come to think. I mean, Viktor only eats at artisan restaurants, and we've never really... huh, we buy from food stalls all the time in Hasetsu." Yuri rolled his eyes. "I've never even go into that potato store, uh, what's it called again?"

"Kroshka-Kartoshka. Really, they're all over the place. But you'd probably gain like five kilograms by just breathing the air in there."

"Funny." Yuri thought it was. "So, uh... do you want to..."

Yuri sighed, squeezing a corn kernel between his thumb and index finger. "Otabek's going on another date next week." He bit his lip, ears burning.

"Another?"

"His mom keeps on setting him up with her friends' kids. But, I don't know, he seems to like this one." He wasn't even hungry any more, twirling the stick between his palms.

Katsudon sighed through his nose. "So, my question from last time; do you like him?"

Yuri swallowed. "I..." He shook his head as his throat closed up.

"If you didn't then this wouldn't be bothering you so much, right?" Katsudon asked slowly.

"Right."

"So..."

He took a deep breath; his shoulders almost touched his ears. "I can't do it. I can't tell him that I like him; there's no future for us."

"Woah, hold on," Katsudon frowned, jerking his head in Yuri's direction. "Aren't you being a bit too quick?"

Yuri ground his teeth together. "No. There isn't. Even if I did tell him then what? We can't have a relationship when I'm like this."

Katsudon paused, narrowing his eyes. "Like this? Because you're ace? Didn't you read the articles I sent you?"

Yuri blinked. "What articles?"

Katsudon looked skywards. "Okay, Yuri. Being ace doesn't mean you can't have any romantic relationships. They're different kinds of attractions-"

"I know, God. But Otabek is normal and if we did get together it wouldn't work. I don't know if I can..."

Katsudon paused with his mouth struggling to start a sentence. "Didn't you have-"

Yuri's cheeks heated instantly. "Yes, but we were drunk. And high."

Katsudon's eyes went wide and he raised his eyebrows. "Wait what? At the same time?"

"No! Not at the same time-"

"Then you had sex more than once?"

Yuri made a soft, dying noise deep in his throat. His face was so red right now; it was even hot to the touch. "Yeah..."

"Oh," Katsudon put a finger to his mouth in a very Viktor-like way. "Well, that proves my theory then."

Yuri swallowed thickly, his throat muscles were spasming.  "Theory."

"You're demisexual."

Yuri raised an eyebrow.

"You know... please tell me you know." He sighed heavily. "It means you don't form a sexual attraction before forming strong emotional bonds. You've known Otabek for how many years now? And you two are pretty close."

"Is that an actual thing? There's a name for that?" Huh, maybe that's what he was then. It felt almost as if the air was ten times lighter now.

Katsudon sighed again. "If you had read the articles I sent you. Yes, it's on the asexual spectrum, grey-ace is the term, I think. But even though, Yuri, it's really important to me that you know you can have healthy and successful relationships and be asexual. You do know that; please tell me you know that."

"Yeah-"

"And if Otabek or anyone else pressured you into doing something that you're uncomfortable with-"

"I got it, Katsudon. You can shut up now."

"No. I'm sending you the link to a few forums now. I will know if you don't do some reading." He pulled out his phone and began tapping furiously.

Yuri scoffed, finally taking a bite out of his corn. But it felt as though he had cheated somehow, like this shouldn't have been so easy. He'd been beating himself up all this time and fucking Katsudon had had the answer ready to go.

"If you don't read this, I'm going to come over and read it out loud to you."

"Okay, dad."

Katsudon looked up with a small smile on his face. "I've been waiting so long to hear you call me that."

Yuri rolled his eyes and shoved him so hard that his glasses slipped down his nose.

Chuckling, Katsudon pushed his glassed back up with his little finger. "So, about Otabek.  What are you going to do?"

Chapter Text

Yuri was sure that he was going to vomit; he had woken up with his stomach rolling and had decided to just lie in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling. Potya had wiggled out of bed and pawed open the door when she had heard Lilia pouring out her breakfast. Today was opening night. Months of rehearsals had all lead up to this. God. Today he would walk into the Mariinsky theatre and actually perform – as a main character too; he had a freaking solo. He grabbed one of his cat plushies and hugged it to his chest, curling around it. This was it. His stomach was tight and he felt short of breath, but in a good way. Definitely a good way. He reached over to his nightstand and turned on his lamp before grabbing his phone. It was still pretty early; his alarm hadn't even gone off yet, but he grinned and opened Snapchat, his hair was splayed out on the pillow and his eyes were slightly puffy with sleep but he updated his Snapchat story anyway.

"It's today," he sang, his voice was still a bit croaky but he didn't care and switched the camera to zoom in on his pointe shoes peeping out from his gym bag near his closet.

He set the phone down on his bed and took a deep breath before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and wiggling his toes into his fluffy mat. He had ripped a toenail during rehearsal yesterday, right across the nail bed; it was covered in a pinkish bandage now, but it should be fine for the show tonight. Lilia had helped him dress it when they had gotten home last night and gave him a short pep talk, which was funny because he was used to pain from all his years of skating – she knew this, yet she had brewed him an extra large cup of lavender-chamomile tea and had actually squirted a swirl of whipped cream on top like he had needed the extra consoling.

"Yurochka, are you awake?" Lilia knocked on his door. "It's time for breakfast."

"Yeah, coming," he called before pulling on a pair of rumpled sweats from a pile on the floor. Lila was sitting at the island, peeling a banana, when he emerged from the bathroom.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked. He nodded, sitting down in front of his bowl of oatmeal. "Good. I have to leave at nine, so you'll have the day to yourself. I would use it to rest up."

"I was going to visit my grandpa," he said, throwing a few blueberries into his oatmeal from the bowl of fruit that sat in between them. His grandpa had flown in yesterday afternoon and was all settled in Yakov's guestroom; he had made arrangements behind Yuri's back, but he couldn't blame him for not wanting to spend the weekend with Viktor. Yakov had coffee and a giant TV; he didn't need much more.

She nodded. "Did you give him and Yakov their tickets?"

"Yup. And Katsudon and Viktor. We're you able to get for Mila and Georgi?"

She nodded again. "They'll get them at the door. What time are you supposed to be at the theatre?"

"Five thirty," he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"And not a minute later." She smirked. "Try to take it easy today. You'll do well tonight; that's what all the rehearsals were for."

Otabek Facetimed him after Lilia had left. He was lying on the couch lazily scrolling through Twitter on his laptop with Potya around his shoulders like a scarf. He wasn't really paying attention to anything, and found himself having to scroll back up when he realised that he hadn't even seen the last ten posts. Otabek's called made him jump, and Potya rumbled her displeasure.

"Hey," Otabek said with a small grin. "You excited?" He was at his desk again in a dark tank top and his glasses, with messy hair like he had just rolled out of bed.

"Did you just get up?" Yuri raised an eyebrow, studying a lock of hair that just brushed the top of Otabek's glasses. He had no right to look so good right after waking up. 

Otabek shrugged one shoulder. "It's off season; I'm not getting out of bed earlier than I have to."

"It's like almost noon, Beka."

"Your point?"

Yuri rolled his eyes.

"So, you ready for tonight?"

Yuri shrugged, biting his lip; his stomach had been fluttering all morning. "I guess."

He raised an eyebrow. "You guess-" the door swung open behind him and his mother stepped in.

"Beka," she started and Yuri tried to listen before he realised that she was speaking Kazakh. Otabek turned around with a heavy sigh, pointing at his computer screen. "Hi, Yuri," she called, striding up to the computer and stooping down to see. "Oh, such a pretty kitty, what's her name?"

"Potya." He scratched her chin.

"Puma Tiger Scorpion," Otabek corrected. Otabek's mother frowned slightly and turned to look at him. "Her name is Puma Tiger Scorpion-"

"Potya for short," Yuri added.

She laughed, shaking her head. "Don't keep him too long, Yuri. I have some things I need him to do today." Otabek grumbled and she instantly scolded him like he was five. Yuri bit his lip to hide a giggle. She straightened and turned to leave before pausing and tilting her head. She must dye her hair, Yuri mused, there was no sign of silver anywhere, but he was still jealous of the waves that fell down her shoulders as she moved her head.  "Today's your show, isn't it, Yuri?" She stooped back down, slapping Otabek's shoulder. "Why didn't you remind me?"

Otabek gave Yuri a long-suffering stare, as if to say 'you see what I have to deal with?'

"Yes, tonight," Yuri answered. "At eight, the show runs for a week, and then we end with a matinee next Saturday."

"How wonderful; I would have loved to see it."

"I think there might be recordings, I can ask Lilia."

"It's okay, don't trouble yourself. Anyway, Good luck, but you're an amazing dancer, so I'm sure you don't need it." She smiled widely, standing back up, and then glanced to Otabek. "Ten minutes," she said sternly.

"What does she want you to do?" Yuri asked when she closed the door.

"I don't know yet," Otabek said, scratching his jaw.

Oh God, Yuri squinted at his screen, was that stubble? He coughed into his elbow. "You're literally a national icon, you have countless medals – an Olympic medal – and she still makes you do chores."

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "She's my anam."

Yuri bit his lip to fight away a grin; and he'd seen firsthand how she babied him sometimes. He tilted his head, well technically he was her baby; her youngest son and the only alpha of her three boys. Plus, Otabek could deny it all he wanted, but he was a complete mama's boy. It was adorable, to be honest.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Otabek asked.

"Uh, I'm going to see my grandpa later, and then Katsudon said he wanted to get lunch together. You? I mean, apart from chores."

He rolled his eyes. "Might go to the gym with the guys later. And Klara wanted to see a movie tonight."

Yuri took a deep breath through his teeth. Right. "Which one?"

He frowned. "The same one I always go to – oh. Uh, some romantic comedy thing, I'll have to ask her for the name again."

Yuri's throat went dry. "You're wrapped around her little finger, Altin, if you're going to sit through a romantic comedy. Those are the worst types of movie, where's the action? Where's the blood and explosions?"

Otabek hummed, slowly rocking his head side to side. "Your taste in movies is worse."

Yuri let his jaw drop, pretending to be offended to hide the tightness in his throat. "It is not!"

"Don't make me remind you what I had to sit through last summer."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "Okay fine, that one was bad, but the trailer looked cool! How was I supposed to know?"

"Um, look at the reviews? Go to a few critique websites? And the trailer was not cool; you could tell it was going to be bad."

He stuck out his tongue. He had lost movie choice privileges for the rest of his vacation. "At least it was short."

"Yes, the one saving grace."

Yuri swallowed. "So, uh, this is what, date number four?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, so you really like her, then?"

Otabek pressed his lips together. "Uh, I guess."

Yuri sighed softly. "You guess?"

"You'll meet her when you come here."  He shrugged.

"Yeah." That wasn't an answer, though. "So, uh-"

"Otabek!" his mother's voice sounded through the closed door.

Otabek rolled his eyes. "Sorry, Yura, I need to go. Good luck with the show tonight. I know you'll steal it, though." Yuri forced a smile. "Call me when you get home after."

"Yeah. Definitely." Otabek ended the call and Yuri was left staring at his Twitter again, but with a gnawing in his stomach and a tight throat.

His grandpa had kept him a bit longer than intended, but he hadn't minded even if they were just sitting on Yakov's couch talking about nothing in particular. They had caught up as much as they could at lunch yesterday. Yuri kept a close eye on his back, and had noticed the new wooden cane, but had chosen not to mention it. He had made him rest up after the flight, but he would never turn down an afternoon with him. Yakov asked simple questions about the show and Yuri found himself prattling on about Stella and how he hoped to be able to dance like her one day. His grandpa chuckled while Yakov asked him if he wanted to switch careers. The two of them had formed a surprisingly good friendship over the years; Yakov was a bit gruff and strict, but he made sure to be on good terms with his students' families. And well, Yuri's grandpa had always made friends easily; he knew he had taken after his grandma that way. When he had learnt that Deduyla called Yakov regularly and of his own choice had been a shock, and then to learn that Yakov enjoyed his calls was grounds for a heart attack.  But it was whatever, as long as his grandpa was happy, and, well, Yakov too – God knows he deserved it with all the yelling he did at the rink.

Turned out that Katsudon was quietly waiting for him in the hallway outside Lilia's apartment.

"Why didn't you text me, idiot?" Yuri grumbled, unlocking the door and blocking the entrance so Potya wouldn't escape. She wouldn't go far, but catching her when she didn't want to be caught was a pain. He scooped her up as he went in and she purred, flopping against his chest.

"I knew you were with your grandpa. I can get her WiFi out here anyway."

Yuri rolled his eyes, toeing off his shoes and depositing Potya away from the door. "I thought Viktor was coming too."

Katsudon took his shoes off as well then pushed both his and Yuri's to the side. "He was on a conference call with Mizuno when I left; he said he'd text if they wrapped up in time for lunch. They're thinking of expending the line."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "Great more things to go to his oversized head."

Katsudon chuckled. "Or more free clothes for you."

"Good point, actually." He pulled out his phone checking the time. "Were did you want to go eat?"

Katsudon checked the time as well. "We can get delivery if you would rather; it might be quicker than going out," he offered, sitting down on the couch. Potya immediately jumped onto his lap and curled up into a ball.

"Sure."

Katsudon nodded and began to tap at his phone. They fell into silence as Yuri wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water and brought one out for Katsudon as well.

"What's this?" he asked holding his phone out to Yuri.

Yuri squinted at the screen. "Coulibiac, it's a pastry with fish and rice-"

"Oh yeah, it's kind of like a giant pirozhki, right?"

"Kinda." He sat down on the couch next to him, playing with the hem of his shirt. "So, uh, I talked to Otabek today."

Katsudon tilted his head to the side. "You don't sound too happy about it."

He sighed, bringing his knees to his chest. "He's going on another date with Klara."

"Did you tell him..."

"No." He wrapped his arms around the back of his head. "I don't know how. I can't just be like 'hey Beka, turns out I'm demisexual and I want to bang you'. Anything I think if comes off as, I don't know, fake."

"Well, maybe don't use those exact words." Yuri glared at him, his cheeks just the slightest bit hot. "Honestly, Yuri, there's nothing fake about being demisexual-"

"It just seems a bit convenient, maybe too convenient."

Katsudon huffed, and his shoulders sagged slightly. "So, you didn't read the articles."

"I did. And I get it, but, I mean, sitting down and reading about a bunch of people isn't going to help me with Otabek."

"Maybe not, but it could help you understand that you're not alone in this, and that it's perfectly normal to be confused at first."

"Yeah, but..." he couldn't argue with that. "It might be normal but, like, ugh. I spent all this time getting him to understand that I'm – was – ace and he actually gets it and we're comfortable like this. I can't just, ugh," he dragged his palms down his face. "I can't just take it all back."

"You are still ace, you're grey-ace; it doesn't work like that. You're what nineteen? You're still developing; of course your sexuality can change as you grow into yourself-"

Yuri squirmed, burying his face against his thighs."Oh my god-"

"No, listen! Going from asexual to demisexual is not erasing anything; that's just how you're maturing. It just means that you're comfortable enough with him to explore this aspect of your relationship." Did he come with a mute button? Yuri's face was getting so hot he was sure it was going to explode. "Either way, identifying as asexual or demisexual it doesn't take back anything you've built up with him. If anything it should strengthen it."

"Yeah well maybe to me, but to him-"

"Then maybe he's not that great of a person-"

"Oh my god, you've met him!" Yuri shouted a bit louder than he'd intended, Potya looked up from Katsudon's lap and her tail twitched, but he would not let Katsudon go there. "He's kind, and smart, and he's so fucking funny sometimes, and he understands everything I say, so don't even! He's a great person-"

"So there's my point!" Katsudon flicked him on the side of his head, quieting him instantly. "You need to talk with him."

Yuri's face was steaming. "I..." he rested his chin on his knees. "And say what? I told him we should just be friends and now he's dating someone else. He's happy with her. What kind of friend would I be if I told him all that now? I've put him through enough shit with this, haven't I?" He bit his lip and stared at one of the ornate, brass candle holders on the coffee table. Fuck, was it blurring? He roughly wiped his face, just to make sure.

Katsudon sighed and squeezed Yuri's shoulder. "Yeah." He took a deep breath. "I honestly wish I had the answer for that."

He sighed heavily, clenching his jaw as his eyes started to prickle in earnest. He screwed them shut, so he had no warning before Katsudon pulled him into a tight hug. There were few times he didn't resist Katsudon's hugs; this was one of them. They sat in silence on the couch for a while, long enough for Yuri to force down any dumb tears and for Katsudon's stomach to rumble. Yuri scoffed; yeah, they still had to order lunch. 

"Don't you want to eat a bit more before tonight?" Katsudon watched as Yuri put his unfinished salad into the fridge. He had gotten a grilled chicken salad for lunch, and threw away the dressing packets it came with.

"And be all slow and bloated while I perform? I thought you were my friend."

Katsudon sighed softly. "There's a reason why I only take ballet so far."

"It's not for the weak." Yuri grinned. He still had two hours before he needed to leave and Katsudon had said he'd stay with him, which was all good because the closer it got to five thirty the less he could sit still. He had paced around the living room, stretching out his calves on the back of the couch. He had ended up on his stomach on the floor and had rolled under the coffee table while texting Mila. He did a series of jetés around the dining table then pirouettes in the living room.

"Yuri," Katsudon grumbled, "You're making me exhausted, sit down for a minute."

"Can't." He jumped into an entrechat, crossing his legs over each other twice before landing heavily. Ugh.

"The neighbours will complain."

"Well fuck them."

He chuckled softly. "You'll tire yourself out."

"No, I won't." His next fouetté turn knocked a vase from an end table. He dove to catch it; Lilia would have his head if it broke. God, it was probably worth as much as a car.

"Yuri!"

"Ugh, okay." He rolled his eyes, jumping onto the couch and picked up his phone, but immediately started to bounce his leg.

"Why don't you go take a bath or something calming?"

Actually, that sounded like a good idea.

Once Yuri got to the theatre everything passed in a whirlwind. He'd gone through the group warm-up in almost a daze, unable to believe that this was all real, that in less than two hours he'd be on stage in a major production as a main danseur. Jelena had teased him for looking a bit pale then proceeded to tell him that it would be all over in the blink of an eye and all that would be left was this amazing relieved and elated feeling; he'd be floating for the rest of the night. Dani had nodded in agreement, and then hugged him before going to change into her costume. Even Stella had winked at him and said that he was probably going to steal the show. He could have died happy right then and there. Hair and makeup was honestly a blur. They must have used an entire can of hairspray to pull his hair back into a messy – but functional – bun and threaded bits of fake moss and leaves into it, and of course his horns. Under normal lighting his makeup was atrocious; the combination of darks and lights were horrifying, but he knew that his cheekbones would look sharp enough to cut glass onstage. And he had begged Lilia to let him wear the dark purple lipstick he had seen the makeup artist waving around. He was glad that he hadn't been forced to wear leaves like most of the Puck costumes he had seen, in fact his tights had an opalescent, scale pattern and his waistcoat-like top had been made out of rhinestones, vines, and feathers.

Then, before he knew it, there were twenty minutes until curtain call and he was standing off to the side picking at his cuticles. The dry mouth was real and he found himself practising his yoga breathing.

"Yurochka, a word." Lilia came up to him, stunning in a flowing, dark blue evening dress with a delicate. diamond necklace, and her hair in a low bun – still a very tight bun, but it was good to see that she changed things up a bit. He nodded and followed her a little way away from the other dancers, hoping he didn't scuff the white satin of his shoes. "I'm very proud of you." She rested a hand on his shoulder. "I had no doubt that you would make it here, and tonight you dance with some of the best dancers in Europe and Russia." Yuri swallowed, was this supposed to be helping? Because it was a bit harder to breathe after hearing her say that. "Now, you've done the hard part. Your soul is already here, just let it out tonight." She patted his check then turned around, walking back to the others. Yuri blinked dumbly for a split second before following again.

"Fifteen minutes 'till curtain," one of the stage hands called.

"Gather close, everyone," Lilia clapped her hands sharply and the dancers came flocking to her like sheep. Her two assistants appeared on either side of her. "I know none of us need reminders why we're here, but if you don't already know the house is full and will be for the first three performances."

There were murmurs around him. Jelena elbowed him softly and he turned to see her grinning widely. He returned it, taking a deep breath. No, this couldn't be real. He was barely listening to Lilia as his stomach twisted and flopped. Right on the other side of that curtain were probably hundreds of people, reporters, photographers, critics, and probably other fucking dancers. He took a deep breath to calm the buzzing that was rising from his chest to his ears. Okay, this was just like another competition the only difference was it was ballet not skating. He'd done this before, nerves weren't a big deal. Plus his grandpa was out there, sitting in his stuffy, old suit probably sandwiched between Yakov and Viktor. He was waiting on him, counting on him to do well. Okay. Okay. He let his arms fall to his sides and breathed in deeply through his nose. He'd done this before; he could do it again.

The anxiety slowly ebbed away as he walked to his position on the left wing with measured steps and a straight back, waiting for the music. The first scene was a dance with all the fairies, and he went through his first steps in his mind. Once on stage he would take his position, crossing his legs at the ankles and raising his arms to a high fifth, Dani would kneel to his left, Jelena would stand to his right. He gave them both a wide grin before taking a deep breath and pulling his face into a smirk – what Lilia had liked best for Puck. The music started, he counted the beats, then the curtains rose.

Okay, Plisetsky, this is it.

The lights came on and everyone sprang into motion. Just like that, it started. He rose, en pointe, as the four fairies surrounding him actually flitted into their won choreography. There was a few gasps from the audience over the orchestra. Yuri couldn't help but throw in an exaggerated wink as he spun away in a fouetté turn. It was still moderately rare, Dani had told him, that danseurs would perform en pointe, and, well, the audience had clearly not been expecting it. He dipped into a deep bow as Prokher strode on stage, then passed Stella, who was actually perfection incarnate, as he made his exit. He ended his part in the first dance almost breathless with exhilaration, allowing Jelena to hug him, squealing, before he was whisked away to prepare for his next dance – the duet with Prokher.

Prokher squeezed his shoulder as they waited to go back onstage, admittedly looking very regal in his structured, dark costume.

"Just like in rehearsal, Yuri," he said with a wink before flipping his cape over his shoulder and striding powerfully to centre stage.

Yuri waited for the music, bouncing on his feet, and then entered with the grand jeté, pulling his face into exaggerated annoyance, while trying to battle the butterflies in his stomach and pounding heart.

Originally, the dance didn't have any lifts, but Lilia had decided to push it a bit and added one near the end. Yuri had nearly shit himself when she had walked in one morning and told them that they were going to practice lifts that day. Prokher had never dropped him during practice, but it had been a challenge to get his body into the right position and keep balance while someone was holding him up in midair. Prokher squared up with the music and Yuri took a series of quick steps towards him and leaped. He didn't pair skate, apart from when Mila used to pick him up to be annoying; jumping into someone's arm had been terrifying. Prokher caught his hips and hoisted him high, his arms didn't even look like they were straining. The audience applauded loudly and Yuri arched his back and waved, wiggling his fingers and smirking. They were both almost panting when they got back to the wings but Prokher pulled him into a side hug.

"The reporters are going to be talking about that for weeks."

It all passed in seconds, even his solo, which had taken months to carve perfection out of. The audience had gone wild – probably not the best term to describe anything in the fucking Mariinsky – but he couldn't help but to jump quickly back on stage and wave, before prancing off again. He saw Lilia shake her head from the opposite wing, but the audience clapped louder and he realised that she was laughing at him.

"That was bold, Plisetsky." Jelena had poked him harshly in the side. He just shrugged in response; he hadn't ruined the flow or anything; there was actually a few minutes for the stage crew to rearrange some things before the next dance began. "That could have gotten you killed."

"I've nearly gotten myself killed many times before." He stuck out his tongue at her.

Dani snuck up behind him. "You really were the right choice for Puck."

He jumped in surprise, but grinned at her.

The only hiccup for him that night was his ripped toenail tearing again and starting to bleed heavily. It had hurt like a fucking bitch and he had felt the moment it had happened, a fucking pirouette was the culprit, but he was more concerned with staining his shoes. One of the first-aid hands had laughed at him and assured him that there were spares, but had put an extra layer of bandages around his toe before sending him back out.

The show was a little over an hour and a half, so much longer than any of his figure skating routines, but he barely felt exhausted when the time came for curtain call. It was mostly just adrenaline, and he knew that he was going to crash as soon as it wore off. Since Puck was one of the main characters, and he was technically a lead dancer, he was one of the last to bow. He leapt on stage starting off with a grand jeté, and then winked and smirked, before bowing low and stepping backwards while waving excitedly with both hands. He didn't expect the applause to rise in volume with his entrance, and honestly had to try his hardest not to let the astonishment show on his face as fuzzy heart rose up to his chest from his stomach. He almost forgot, so caught up in it all, that he was supposed to jump in surprise and bow again when Prokher came on stage hand-in-hand with Stella. Prokher gave him the scripted exasperated look and head shake, before he winced exaggeratedly and leapt away to stand in line with the rest of the dancers.

"Oh my god, we did it!" Jelena squealed, running up to him and bouncing on her bare feet. Yuri didn't blame her, his pointe shoes were going to be the first things to go. He grinned, feeling the adrenaline slowly fading.

"Yeah, night one of what?"

Dani snuck up on him again shoving his shoulder. "Don't say it like that, the first night is always the toughest; so much anxiety to work through, but now we know that the rest is going to be great."

They all cheered as Lilia gave a short congratulatory speech and told everyone to get a good night's rest. Then there was the obligatory round of professional pictures and some selfies, before they could all change and go home.

"That was incredible, Yurochka!" Viktor was the first thing he saw when he exited into the main lobby. He had expected Lilia to wait on him, but not the fucking greeting committee. Viktor and Katsudon, Yakov, Mila, Georgi and Inessa, and, of course, his grandpa were there too. The lobby was basically empty, just the theatre staff and a few stragglers, but he still felt self-conscious being in just a pullover hoodie, his tights, and flip-flops. He was accosted by incredibly expensive smelling cologne and a silky suit jacket before he realised that Viktor was hugging him.

"Uh, thanks," Yuri mumbled into his shoulder.

"No really, you were amazing! I don't think I breathed during your solo, and that expression – why don't you bring that into your skating-"

"Vitya," Katsudon admonished quietly and Viktor took a small step back.

"Who would have thought our little Yurochka was such a talented dancer as well as a skater. The press is going to be all over you!"

Katsudon batted his shoulder as he wiped a fake tear from his eye. "Seriously though, Yuri, you were incredible tonight." He handed Yuri a bouquet of purple flowers and hugged him lightly so he wouldn't crush them, then forcibly pulled Viktor to the side so Yuri could get to his grandpa.

His grandpa smiled down at him, standing tall even though he was leaning heavily on his cane then pulled him into a tight hug – nearly squashing his bouquet between them. His suit smelt a bit like mothballs, but there was an underlying scent of home; their small apartment in Moscow that always smelled like Nelya's cooking and ashes from the old fireplace that they never used, and the sharp, warm tinge of his natural alpha scent. He buried his face into his coat, breathing deeply and wrapping his arms around his waist.

"Very good, Yurochka." He patted the top of his head. "Babulya would have loved to see you tonight; there would have been no one prouder than her." Yuri grinned, pulling away slightly. His grandfather's eyes twinkled as he squeezed him one last time before letting go. "She had hoped that your mother would take up ballet, you know. I'm glad you turned out so much like her."

"Babulya used to be a ballerina?" Yuri asked. Lilia's head tilted towards them and she raised an eyebrow, before starting to guide the group to the exit.

"Before we married. She was a member of a small troupe back in Moscow. Watching you on that stage was like watching her dance again." Yuri swore he wasn't crying, but he wiped his eyes just in case. "You used to try on her shoes when you were little, don't you remember?" He shook his head. "I might still have some pictures."

Viktor gasped loudly. "We have to see them, Nikolai! Little Yurochka in ballet slippers, that must be so precious." Yuri rolled his eyes again. "Can I see them?"

Yuri shoved his hands into his pockets. Great.

"I have a few albums back in Moscow, but-"

"Can you mail them? Oh, or scan them-"

"Don't mind him, Nikolai." Katsudon hooked his arm around Viktor's elbow and patted his shoulder. "No need to feed his obsession with babies." He guided Viktor a few steps ahead.

Mila was snickering behind him. "Baby Yurochka must have been so adorable."

Yuri grumbled, shoving her away. "Shut up, all babies are adorable."

Lilia gave him a vase for his flowers when they got home and he set it on his nightstand, finally clearing away his old tea mugs. He felt dead on his feet and his toe was throbbing under the bandage. He took a long, hot shower to wash away all the makeup and soothe his sore muscles before literally crawling into bed and looking at his phone for the first time in hours. He had updated his Snapchat story after the show, but only now posted a picture of him, Jelena, and Dani in their costumes to his Instagram. It took Camran less than three seconds to comment with a row of hearts then DM him to ask how the show had gone.

Nearly half an hour later Camran had gone to bed and Yuri had Otabek's chat open, debating on whether or not he should call. The show had ended at nine thirty and they'd taken almost another hour to wrap up backstage. It was nearly two am in Almaty. Although, Otabek was going on that movie date, and it was Friday night, maybe he was still out. He huffed and typed out a quick message just to be safe. He bit his tongue; he would have never done that in the past, they always just called. God, he hated whatever this was between them. Nothing was worse than not knowing how to act around his own best friend.

Me:
Hey, you up?
Idk if you still wanted me to call

He rolled onto his stomach causing his damp hair to fall around his face. Otabek began to type a few seconds later.

Beka:
Yeah, one second

The Facetime call came in actually a second later. Yuri's stomach jumped to his throat.

"How was it?" Otabek asked he was sitting up in bed, propped up by a stack of pillows. So he hadn't gone out after all. Well, movies didn't last that long anyway, besides he still would have had plenty of time to do something else with Klara afterwards. There was that bitter again. He clenched his jaw, suddenly wanting to punch something. They'd been going out for what, weeks now? Fuck, what if they were comfortable enough to – he snarled at himself, all the satisfaction and that light feeling from the show evaporated and he was left with the acid in his stomach churning like a viscous volcano.

"I think it went well." Yuri shrugged, fighting to keep his voice calm. "Lilia didn't seem to hate me afterwards so..."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you feeling okay? Where is this modesty coming from?"

"I'm fucking exhausted," he snapped. "I nearly ripped off half of my toenail, and I'm pretty sure it's going to fall off anyway, and I was dancing – en pointe – for an hour and a half straight. Sorry, if I'm not in the mood to entertain you." Otabek fell silent and blinked slowly. Yuri winced, biting his bottom lip. Okay, he hadn't done anything but ask one question. Yuri sighed through his teeth and gathered his hair into one of his hands then threw it over his shoulder. "Sorry, I didn't mean..."

Otabek sighed. "No, I get it; you're tired. I'll let you-"

"No, I'm just being an ass." He took another breath, kicking himself for snapping so easily. "Honestly, it was amazing. Like remember the first time you ever competed? Like how nervous you were then how good it felt afterwards?" Otabek hummed and nodded. "It was like that. God, I don't even know what to do with myself now."

"Hmm, maybe you should go to sleep."

"I can't. I mean I'm tired, but I can't." He dropped onto his stomach and propped his phone against the headboard. "So, you know how I had to do a lift with Prokher?"

"Wait, what?"

"Didn't I tell you?"

Otabek narrowed his eyes. "No. I would have remembered something like that. Who's Prokher?"

"Oberon, uh, the fairy king. Yeah, so we had to do a lift."

"Were you scared?"

Yuri snorted and shook his head. "Maybe the first time we tried in practice. But he's been professional for like eight years; he knows his shit. Anyway people like actually yelled 'bravo', like they actually do that." Otabek huffed in amusement, and Yuri grinned as the bitterness on his tongue disappeared. "Yeah, and my grandpa came for the show and Viktor and Katsudon actually bought me flowers – the saps."

"Would there be any clips on Youtube?"

"Uh, maybe, I don't know. They're really strict about photography in the Mariinsky, but people always do it anyway. Oh, wait, they did record one of our dress rehearsals for a bunch of promotional shit, so maybe there are some clips up."

He nodded. "I'll take a look. My mom was asking me if you had any pictures yet. I had to show her your Instagram to get her to leave me alone. Cute costume by the way."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "I was the hottest fairy on stage thank you very much."

Otabek scoffed through his nose. "I don't know, Stella looked pretty good-"

"Excluding her, of course."

"Of course."

They fell into silence and Yuri yawned widely.

"Uh, I should let you go to bed," Otabek mumbled.

Yuri bit the inside of his cheek. He wanted to stay up and talk, they usually had no problem doing that, but now his stomach twisted again.

"How did your date go?" He sunk his chin into his pillow and folded his arms around the bottom half of his face.

"Uh." Otabek tilted his head to the side. "It went well, actually." Yuri swallowed thickly. What had he fucking expected, though? "The movie wasn't that bad, a bit cheesy, but Klara really liked it. We went for dinner afterwards and then she came over for a bit."

Yuri's stomach dropped even though he was lying flat. Why had he asked? He knew how it was going to make him feel, like his heart was shredded into bits and used to make pirozhki filling. He squeezed out a scoff managing to make it sound like he wasn't actually wilting.

Otabek raised a hand to scratch the side of his neck and looked away from the camera. "It's not like that, Yura. We didn't do anything."

Yuri raised an eyebrow, moving to wrap an arm around his stomach. "I don't believe you."

Otabek blushed slightly. "We didn't. She's very... uh. She's kinda religious. And my mom was breathing down my neck the entire time she was here. So... yeah. We stayed in the sitting room talking. I brought her home like ten minutes before you texted me."

That honestly didn't make him feel any better, though. God, of all the questions Katsudon had had the answer to, why couldn't have this been one of them?

"You should take a look at this," Lilia said, smirking as she handed Yuri her iPad when he shuffled into the kitchen for a late breakfast.

Yuri frowned at the article scanning for anything important. It was a review of last night's show and apparently Lilia had delivered a masterpiece that lived up to her name. 'Baranovskaya's Midsummer Night's Dream was, in fact, a dream'. He rolled his eyes at the first sentence, but then zeroed in on his name a near the end of the second paragraph.

"It was definitely a risk," he read aloud, pulling out one of the stools to sit on. "To choose someone who is not only not a professional ballet dancer or even training to be one, but who has never before performed on stage. Yet, nineteen-year-old figure skater, Yuri Plisetsky, nearly managed to pull the rug out from under a cast of seasoned dancers." He blinked, looking up at Lilia. "What?"

She nodded. "I am still impressed, Yurochka, I told you, you managed to settle into the character very nicely. Maybe that's what you've been lacking on the ice. Anyway continue."

Yuri looked back to the iPad, tapping the screen to keep it from going dark. "Puck – a loveable, mischievous character of ages – was given a refreshing, sassy persona which surprisingly worked. When I first heard that Plisetsky was cast as Puck I was a bit sceptical that he would have the skill to pull it off. This is one of the few times where I've been happy to be wrong. There were times where it was easy to see how new he is to the world of ballet, namely during his solo where his movements came off as rehearsed and his expression was poorly exaggerated, but in contrast he shone during the pas de duex with Oberon (Prokher Levin, 27) – what do they mean poorly exaggerated?"

"Don't focus on that," Lilia snapped as she slipped from her stool. "Tea?"

"Yes, please. But what does that mean? I thought you said I was good." He scanned the rest of the article but that was the only time he was mentioned the rest talked about Prokher, of course Stella, and the other main dancers, praising them for near flawless performances. "I've been to all four of the Baranovskaya charity shows and this one by far bursts at the seams with exciting choreography, refreshed music scores, and dancers that will rope you in and enchant you from the minute the curtains rise."

Lilia gave a short chuckle. "That's Luiza Potyomkina, one of the Mariinsky's critics. You can say it's a bit of advertising, but her writing is always unbiased and informative. So, yes, Yurochka, you were very good."

He forwarded the article to his grandpa, Viktor and Katsudon, Yakov, and lastly Otabek. Dani sent him a link to another article later that day and Yuri was still surprised to see that he wasn't as harshly critiqued as he thought he would be. He was so going to rub this in Viktor's face; he couldn't do ballet for shit.

The rest of the week passed in the same way opening night did. They did shows Friday through Sunday night, then Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and ended with a matinee on Saturday. But then Yuri realised that on the days they weren't performing were booked with interviews and other promotional crap. He had done one interview with a radio station before opening night, but Lilia and her assistants had handled most of the others before. So, by the time Saturday rolled around Yuri was basically walking on nubs instead of actual feet, and had practically lost feeling in all of his limbs. They had a cast party Saturday night, but everyone was so exhausted that they had just eaten and sat around talking lazily, relieved that the show was over and had been a huge success. The show had raised more than last year and there would be another huge event in a few months time when the Children's City Hospital of St. Olga was given the money.

It was kind of bittersweet in a way. Yuri had worked his ass off for this show and now it was all over. He was used to the feeling because of all his competitions – spending months training for like seven minutes of competing. But this show stung especially hard because he honestly didn't know if he was going to get the chance to be in another one. He found himself opening Otabek's chat during the party, ready to rant to him, but closed it after a few seconds and turned to Dani, who was taking pictures with Jelena. They pulled him into the shot and he couldn't help the grin that spread on his face.

"What do you mean there's another interview?" Yuri demanded, his heart jumping to his throat. "I'm  leaving for Almaty tomorrow, I can't miss my flight."

Lilia sighed heavily, rubbing her temples. She had cornered him before he had gone to bed and they stood facing each other in the hallway. "It's in the morning, and you can leave before it's done if you think the timing is too close. But Dance! Saint Petersburg asked to talk to the main cast and you need to be there. You can pack your suitcase tonight."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "I don't want to sit through an interview before I leave for a five hour flight." Lilia gave him a look that said arguing was pointless. Still, he had to try. "I'm travelling coach! Do you know how cramped that is? I'm not going to that interview!" He would have stomped his foot for emphasis, but Lilia's glare made his muscles freeze up.

"You will go to the interview. You are now a representative of my ballet troupe and you will act as such. If you are invited to speak with one of the most prestigious ballet magazines in Saint Petersburg, you will attend. Now, I suggest you finish packing your suitcase tonight; there will be no time tomorrow."

Yuri growled and stomped away to his bedroom, pulling his phone from his pocket and flopping onto his bed. Ugh, this was so fucking unfair. Just the main cast, that meant that Dani and Jelena wouldn't even be there.

Me:
What do I need to pack?

He texted Otabek, kicking his feet against the side of his bed. Otabek took a few minutes to respond.

Beka:
Uh clothes?

Me:
Asshole
I mean like anything special

Beka:
Not really
Uh, a swimming suit, maybe something nice if we go somewhere fancy.
It's up to you

Yuri sighed, biting the inside of his cheek. Was it just him or did Otabek seem like he didn't want to talk?

Me:
Are you okay?

There was a long pause, and Yuri honestly wasn't sure if Otabek was going to answer, so he pulled out his suitcase from his closet and kicked it open. He went over to his closet and pulled out all of his shorts. His phone vibrated when he was sorting through a stack of tank tops.

Beka:
Yeah, I'm okay, but uh...
Klara broke up with me
Well, not broke up since we weren't really dating yet
She ended things, I mean

Yuri stared at his phone, blinking and processing what he was reading at a snail's pace. Something roared in his chest and his mouth stretched into a smile. God, he was a terrible friend. He sat on the edge of his bed, ignoring Potya as she jumped into his suitcase and curled up on a pile of clothes. He covered his grin with his hand, swallowing the butterflies in his stomach.

Me:
Fuck, I'm sorry Beka
That sucks

It did not suck at all.

Beka:
Yeah, I mean...
Well, it's not like I knew her that well but I thought we had a chance

Me:
Did she say why?

Fuck, stop it, Plisetsky, stop smiling. He bit his knuckles on his free hand.

Beka:
Yeah, it was a pretty valid reason. I really couldn't argue
You know we travel a lot for competitions and when we're not travelling we're training and she said she didn't think she could be in a relationship with someone who had so little time to spare. 
I mean, yeah I get it, sometimes I'm at the rink before normal people even wake up and don't get back home until dark sometimes, and I barely have time for friends and family when the season starts

Yuri felt his smile waver slightly. Fuck, that really did suck. And that wasn't even something Otabek could control. He didn't deserve to be dumped like that.

Me:
Bitch

Beka:
No Yuri

Me:
She is if she didn't even want to even try working things out
Fuck, you deserve so much better than that
Fuck her
And her dog

Beka:
Yura

Me:
I'm serious

Beka:
It was a very valid reason for not wanting to be with someone

Yuri honestly couldn't see any valid reason for dumping Otabek. God, he was a fucking hypocrite.

Me:
I'm gonna punch her

Beka:
No you are not

Me:
I'm going to
When I get to Almaty the first thing I'm going to do is find her and punch her in the face

Beka:
Actually, you're going to sit your little ass down and let my mother feed you
Besides you'll never find out where she lives

Me:
>:(

Beka:
Behave

Yuri bit his lip; his instinct was to type out 'yes, dad' in response, but his thumbs froze and his stomach knotted itself tightly. Instead, he tossed his phone to the side and covered his face with his palms. Just, fuck. He picked it up after squeezing a palm into a tight fist and clenching his jaw. 

Me:
Fuck you, my ass isn't little 

Beka:
No, not at all. It's very perky, the rest of you is little

Yuri's breath hitched and he swallowed heavily, sliding to the floor reaching over to his suitcase for the cat. Fuck being just friends. This was absolute bullshit. But it was also so not the time to tell Otabek anything. 

Chapter Text

"Hey." Otabek waved as he got out of his father's car – a black fucking Aston Martin, God, this family – and shut the door.

Yuri honestly wasn't sure what he was going to do when he saw Otabek in person it was like a little volcano of dread, excitement, and anxiety was rearing up to explode; he had never had this dilemma before. And he'd been low-key freaking out the entire flight, sweating bullets and unable to concentrate any of the movies he had tried to watch. Things were definitely not back to normal, and what if seeing him in person was more awkward than some of their calls. He had imagined like a thousand ways their meeting could go and every single one made him want to go hide. But, well yeah, here he was. He wheeled his suitcase up to the car; his heart started to thud and the hand around his squishy, leopard-print handle cover was suddenly clammy. God, why was Almaty so hot? Sweat was actually dripping down his back under his shirt, and he had already taken off his hoodie while he was waiting at customs and pulled his hair up into a bun. There were actual fucking heat waves rising from the asphalt a few metres away from him and it was like eight thirty at night.

"Hey," Yuri mumbled and cocked his head. He bit his lip and stopped abruptly when Otabek stepped onto the pavement, hooking a thumb through his belt loop. He seemed unsure what to do as well, probably expecting Yuri to launch himself at him, like always, and frowning when he remained flat on the ground.

"Tired?" he asked, reaching to take Yuri's suitcase from him.

"Yeah." He took a step back as Otabek opened the trunk. And he really was; he nearly fell over as he watched the muscles in Otabek's back and arms move under his thin t-shirt when he lifted the nearly-overweight suitcase into the trunk. Keeping his balance while blood rushed to his face was a bit too much for him right now.

Otabek turned around to face him, holding out his arms. "So, I can't get a hug then?" One corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

Yuri swallowed, sagging forward. Thank God, he thought as Otabek's arms wrapped around him; at least they could still do this. He wanted to melt into his arms, his ridiculously muscular arms, and he actually just might in this heat. He sighed, resting his head against his shoulder, picking apart his smell in his mind. It was far too hot for leather, but he still smelt like it somehow, and his fresh aftershave, and just Otabek. He let his eyes fall shut, which turned out to be a mistake because opening them again was not happening. Otabek squeezed his waist before backing off and Yuri had to stop himself from audibly protesting.

"You look like you're going to drop dead." He gave Yuri a gentle smile, and guided him towards the car.

"I feel like it," Yuri grumbled, letting Otabek slide his bag down his shoulders then toss it into the backseat before opening the passenger door for him.

"Your flight wasn't that early."

Thank God for air conditioning; he rested the side of his face against the air vent. The baby hairs at his temples tickled as the air ruffled them. "Yeah, but I had that dumb interview right before. And I've been fucking dancing for an entire week, actually make that like three months, so fuck you."

He heard the driver's door close and Otabek scoffed. "Seatbelt."

Yuri grumbled, but sat back and pulled the seatbelt across his chest. The rear lights from the car in front of them and the periodic glow from the street lamps on the highway had his eyes dropping. The next thing he knew Otabek was gently shaking him awake.

"We're here, Yura." He had stopped the car in the driveway, right in front of the front door. Yuri blinked a few times trying to chase the groggy away. "You were knocked out cold; I nearly pulled over to check if you were still breathing."

Otabek's mother wrapped him in a tight hug as soon as he pulled off his sneakers at the front door. She smelt strongly of cooking spices, but she was also wearing a bright, yellow apron, so there was probably a reason for that. "Yuri," she greeted, squeezing his shoulders. "How are you? How was your flight?" She took a step back, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "You must be exhausted; how long was the flight? Six hours?"

Yuri grinned. "Five, but it felt so much longer with the time difference."

"You poor thing." She patted his cheek, before going in for another hug.

"Ma, you're blocking the way," Otabek grumbled, bringing Yuri's suitcase and bag from the car.

She narrowed her eyes at him, before letting go of Yuri and stepping to the side. "Well, go freshen up before dinner. I apologise; we're having leftovers tonight, the barbeque is tomorrow and I'm up to my ears in preparing." He turned to follow Otabek to one of the guest rooms. "Oh, and you left some clothes here from the last time; I put them on your bed."

After he had splashed cool water on his face, turned his lopsided and flattened bun into a braid, and replied to Lilia's and Katsudon's texts, he wandered into the kitchen. To say that there was a lot going on would be an understatement; pots and pans were banging, knives chopping against wooden boards, and metal spoons grazing the bottoms of pans as they were stirred. The kitchen was huge, but almost every available surface was covered with dishes of marinating meat – everything from wings and drumsticks, to ribs, sausages, and steaks – bowls of pasta, like ten pans of homemade bread set aside to rise, and other dishes that he didn't recognise. Otabek's mother was orchestrating everything from the stove. His grandmother sat at the kitchen table chopping a pile of seasonings that was roughly the size of a child or two. Both his sisters were at the island mixing ingredients and stirring a bowls of something spicy smelling, and even his father was up to his elbows in flour, kneading an enormous ball of dough. Yuri blinked, pausing in the doorway. There were so many delicious smells mixing in the thick kitchen air; all the heavy spices and fresh herbs had his stomach rumbling. This was going to be one hell of a barbeque.

Otabek pressed his palm against Yuri's waist, guiding him to the side as he brushed past carrying a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. Yuri jumped, eyes widening at the back of Otabek's head and the skin under his shirt tingled with heat where Otabek had touched.

"Should I start peeling these, Ma?" he asked, dumping the sack at the foot of one of the counters.

His mother looked up from a simmering pot on the stove. "No, we'll have to do that tomorrow; they'll dry out if we do them now – Oh Yuri, okay everyone, it's time to eat."

Otabek's father clasped his shoulder as he passed. "It's nice to see you again, Yuri. We're happy you could join us in time for the barbeque."

After dinner Yuri took a long, much needed shower. Otabek's mom had set the clothes he'd forgotten when he'd stayed with them last summer at the foot of his bed. He grinned when he picked up the tiger onesie Viktor had gotten him a few years ago – he'd also gotten himself and Katsudon matching poodle and piggy ones, so Yuri had pretended to hate it on principle. It was a bit short now and tight around the shoulders, but it was still as comfy as ever. Otabek scoffed at him when he barged into his room and made a beeline for his bed.

"I can't believe that still fits," he rumbled, standing from his computer desk and leaning against his bookshelf.

Yuri buried his face into one of the pillows, swallowing and trying to calm the war in his stomach. "Serves you right for holding it hostage." Otabek scoffed again and the mattress sunk as he sat down at the foot of the bed. "Are you guys done cooking?"

"For tonight," he hummed. The fabric of Yuri's onesie pulled as Otabek started to play with the tail. "She'll be up at it early tomorrow."

"God, that's so much food; how many people are even coming?"

Otabek made a choked sound at the back of his throat. "Like all of the Altins." Yuri grumbled. Otabek's family could populate a small island. "And some of my mom's family." Yuri groaned loudly and Otabek tugged his tail.

"Stop it!" He rolled onto his back, yanking it away.

A small grin was plastered across Otabek's face as he stood up and went back to his computer. "You should rest up."

Yuri rolled his eyes and grumbled, looking up at the ceiling. He was exhausted; his entire body was tired especially after eating so much at dinner. But there was also a small twisting in his chest telling him that he needed to talk to Otabek and he needed to do it now. He screwed his eyes shut, wondering why making words was suddenly so hard. He never had any trouble saying what he was thinking, whether or not it came out how he wanted it to was another matter, however. Now, though, when he opened his mouth it was like someone had pressed a mute button inside of him. And now his heart was pounding and his dinner sat like a block of ice in his stomach. Great. He tried to take a deep breath but it stuck in his throat. Come on, Plisetsky, he ground his teeth together. Otabek was literally sitting right there and here he was all the way in Almaty lying on his bed. Yuri's cheeks caught fire as he ran his hands along Otabek's white comforter.

Oh God, his bed.

Yuri rolled onto his side, facing the middle of the bed. Was it suddenly hot in here? God, it was stifling, hard to breathe even, like the oxygen itself was sticking to the inside of his throat. How did Otabek sleep here every night and not have, like, a mental breakdown. Like how, oh, right. He wasn't – sex wasn't that big of a deal for him. Yuri took a deep breath, forcing it down his throat with an audible gulp. He sat up, fisting the fabric of his onesie over his knees. Otabek was frowning in concentration at his desktop screen. Okay, he had to do this.

"B-Beka?" He tightened his fists.

"Hmmm?" he hummed, raising an eyebrow and rolling his chair to the side so he could see Yuri better.

The words died on his tongue again. Otabek's questioning look, the raised eyebrows, his head tilted upwards slightly, God, those deep, dark eyes, zeroed in on him. The brightest spotlight shone right on Yuri and Otabek was the only one in the audience. His throat seized. "I... uh..." What was he even supposed to say? Where the hell did he start?

"You okay?" Otabek asked, making to get out of his chair.

Yuri's stomach jumped to the back of his throat. For some reason Yuri didn't want that. He didn't need Otabek any closer than he already was.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he blurted; his voice was almost twice as high as it normally was and he frantically waved his hands. "I... uh, never mind." He shook his head, and coughed. "It's nothing."

Otabek frowned. "You sure? If you want to-"

He let his hands fall to his lap. "No. It's okay, you're busy and-"

"This is just the playlist for tomorrow. If you want to talk-"

"It's okay. Never mind, it's not important. I... actually, I'm going to head to bed now. I'm kinda tired." He scratched the back of his neck and stood up.

"Oh, okay." Something flashed across Otabek's face, but it was gone too soon for Yuri to figure out. "Yeah, sure. I, well, good night, I guess."

Yuri walked to the door with jelly legs and marshmallow knees. "Yeah, night." He shut the door behind him and deflated in a long exhale, leaning against the smooth wood. The back of his head hit the door with a soft thud. Idiot.  He was such a fucking idiot.

Yuri's fingers had never been so wrinkled before in his life. Otabek's mom had him washing and peeling potatoes for nearly two hours straight, then cutting up even more herbs for the potato dishes. The kitchen was even busier than last night; Otabek's eldest brother, Kerim, and his wife had come over at around eight am to help with the final preparations, while Yuri was put to work almost as soon as he had woken up. The large wooden deck behind the house was now set up with a long, folding table for food and a separate smaller one for drinks. A corner of the lawn had a bunch of tables and chairs under huge umbrellas. The Barbeque was already going thanks to Otabek, his brother, and his father; the smell of roasting meat and charcoal wafted back through the open doors of the kitchen. Everything was finished close to noon, and Yuri was sure that he was never going to get the smell of garlic off his fingers.

"Hey, Beka?" Yuri chewed his lip as he knocked on Otabek's door.

"Yeah?" Otabek answered as Yuri pushed the door open. Well last night had been a fail, and now wasn't really the best time to bring anything up – not right before a family barbeque. But he could still do this, right? "Which one?" He held up a pair of swimming trunks and pointed to the ones he already had on.

Otabek blinked then scoffed, looking down at his own black and green trunks under his polo shirt. "Let me see."

Yuri grinned. Okay, that wasn't so weird. It was exactly like normal. And okay, maybe he didn't really need help choosing which pair he wanted, but he hadn't really spoken to Otabek that morning and if their last conversation was the one they had last night then the entire day would be weird. They were okay, though. He pulled off the t-shirt he'd been wearing in the kitchen, and tossed it onto Otabek's bed. Mila had helped him pick these ones on-line a while back, they were a bit shorter than he'd normally go for and he'd been about to tell her no, but then she'd gone on a rant about how great his legs were and, well, they'd arrived at Lilia's two weeks later.

Otabek paused with his lips parted the slightest bit, and Yuri could actually feel the heat from his stare. He swallowed, cocking his hip and tilting his head to hide the fact that his heart was gearing up for a marathon.

"You're not going to walk around in that alone, are you?" Otabek asked at length, folding his arms across his chest.

"Uh..."

Otabek exhaled in amusement and shook his head. "I mean if you want to give my grandmother a heart attack, by all means."

"What, why? It's not like..." he tilted his head. "I don't have boobs or anything."

Otabek's cheeks grew just the tiniest bit red and he scratched the back of his neck. "Just trust me; you'll be saving yourself a lot of trouble."

"Okay..." he shrugged, but he wrinkled his nose when he picked up his t-shirt. The material was kind of thick and outside was so hot. He would have to get one of his tank tops from his room.

Otabek pulled one corner of his mouth upwards, knowing exactly what was going through Yuri's mind. "Here."

He went over to his closet and pulled out a white, loose-weave, cotton button up. Yuri's eyes widened when he set it over his shoulders instead of just handing it to him. Otabek's hands seemed to linger, brushing against his collar bones. His touch was searing against Yuri's skin, and the air was suddenly too hot to breathe and he was positive that he was going to die of oxygen deprivation before his vacation was over. Their eyes met and Yuri was afraid to blink, staring at how the afternoon sunlight turned Otabek's almost black eyes into warm brown and amber deep enough to dive right into. And what the fuck had gotten stuck in his throat this time?

"Thanks," he whispered, swallowing and bringing his hand to the collar of the shirt.

Otabek grinned. "It's probably going to be big on you, but it'll work as a cover-up, right?"

"Yeah." Yuri smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. His stomach was fluttering; he was almost sure that if he looked down he would see it moving.

The shirt was pretty much transparent; he could see his swimming suit with no effort at all even though the hem fell a few centimetres past it. He looked over his shoulder to see how the back looked against his butt in the full-length mirror in Otabek's bathroom. He had rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, but the shoulders hung off of him and the entire thing was so loose that it looked like a dress. He grinned, raking his hair back from his temples and tying it with an elastic band. His cheeks went hot as he imagined Otabek in this shirt; it was practically see-through, what would he even wear it with? Yeah, it would pull tightly against his chest and arm muscles, and he would leave more than a few of the top buttons undone. Yuri swallowed, plucking the collar and bringing it to his nose. It smelt more like laundry detergent than it did of Otabek, and Yuri couldn't help but feel the soft sting of disappointment. Especially when Otabek wasn't in his room when he came back out of the bathroom.

Otabek's mom yanked him back into the kitchen as soon as he went back downstairs. She shoved a tray of bread rolls into his arms and told him to take them out to the table. There was soft music playing outside and Yuri could hear voices speaking that familiar mix of Kazakh and Russian. He had met some of Otabek's family before, but definitely not all and he suddenly felt like he was intruding on like a family moment or something. He paused just outside the doorway, curling his toes against the smooth, warm wood of the deck. There were a couple children running around in the grass after a woman in a sunhat had yelled at them not to run around the pool, and a surly looking teenage boy was on his phone at one of the tables under the umbrellas. Kerim was standing a way off, talking to his father and a few older men, but Yuri didn't see Otabek anywhere.

"And who is this beauty?" another older man asked, pausing on his way into the kitchen with a glass of vodka in hand. He kind of resembled Otabek's father, except he was a bit shorter, and had a thick moustache and a slight potbelly. Otabek had two uncles on his father's side, so this must have been one of them. The fuck if he knew his name, though.

Yuri's entire face started to steam and he curled his fingers around the edge of the tray. "I'm Yuri."

He grinned under his moustache and his eyes crinkled at the corners, just like Otabek's did. "You must be one of the children's boyfriend."

Yuri's eyes widened and he scratched the back of his calf with the ankle on his other foot. "Uh, no I'm just Otabek's, uh, friend."

"Just friends?" He shook his head, scoffing softly. "What is that boy doing?" He muttered the last part under his breath, so Yuri wasn't too sure if he was supposed to have heard it or not. He couldn't keep his face from getting redder, though.

"Um..."

"It's nice meeting you, I'm Rachman; I don't know if you know Iskander, he and Otabek are pretty close."

"Oh yeah, I know Iska."

His smile widened. "I'm his father-"

"Rachman, what are you doing? I know that smile means trouble!" Otabek's mother came bustling up behind him, carrying a deep dish of sliced meat. "Yuri, was he teasing you?"

"Me? Alma, how could you think such a thing-"

She raised an eyebrow pretending annoyance, but Yuri could tell she was joking. "Go help Kemhebek with the barbeque, you lazy thing. Come, Yuri." Yuri nodded, following her to the food table. "Everyone should be here by one, so I hope you're not too hungry to wait a bit." Yuri shook his head, and swallowed again looking out at all the Altins scattered around the deck and lawn. Otabek's mom placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Nervous?" she asked with a small smile.

"A little," Yuri admitted.

"Don't worry, they're all nice." She guided him over to where Kerim and Otabek's father were talking. "I remember when Kemhebek first brought me to meet everyone. I never in a million years thought I'd ever marry an Altin, I thought they would all hate me."

Oh right, Otabek's mother would have married into the family. It really would have been stressful for her to meet such a well known and affluent family.

"You just met Rachman, he's Kemhebek's younger brother. That's his wife Shinar over there." He pointed to a woman in a white sundress and streaks of grey in her black hair. "Their daughter Aina," the woman she was talking to. "Iska is probably around with Beka, but here, you know Kerim, and this is Mensley, Kemhebek's youngest brother."

Yuri smiled in a way that he hoped was pleasant. There was no way he was going to remember all these names.

Kerim's eyebrows jumped slightly, and honestly if this was what Otabek was going to look like when he got older, Yuri was looking forward to it. He was a little taller than his father, but not as muscled as Otabek, and his eyes were a shockingly light shade of hazel, like a tiger's. God, he loved this family.

"Yuri," he said, excusing himself from the conversation with his father. "Have you met Cala yet, my daughter?" Yuri shook his head. "Ma, showed us that video of you dancing, and Cala started ballet a few years ago, she'd love to meet to you."

"Oh, uh, okay."

Kerim glanced quickly around the back yard. "Let me just find her first." He led Yuri over to the teenage boy who he had seen on his phone earlier, now sitting with a younger boy. "Jibek, Bayan, have you seen your sister?"

The younger one looked up from Kerim to Yuri. His eyes narrowed a bit and asked, "Who's that?" which caused the older boy to look up. Yuri bit his lip to keep from snickering at his blush.

"She was upstairs with Karima and Balym." He looked away instantly, picking up his phone again.

Kerim chuckled softly as he led Yuri back into the house. "He thinks you're cute."

"Huh?" Yuri blurted unintelligently.

"Jibek. He's thirteen now; he's around that age anyway. You should take it as a compliment."

Yuri blinked, wondering why the hell he was blushing over a thirteen-year-old's opinion. "Uh, thanks."

There was a playroom upstairs with a bunch of old toy's from Otabek and his siblings' younger days, but Yuri had never seen so many children in it at once and of course they were all crowded around an iPad. Kerim called Cala over and she came with two other girls who looked around the same age. They looked up at Yuri with wide eyes.

"Cala, do you remember the ballet video we showed you last week?"

She nodded, now glaring at Yuri with suspicion. "The one with Uncle Beka's friend."

Yuri had to bite his lip to stop from laughing. God, why was 'Uncle Beka' so funny?

Kerim nodded. "Well, this is Yuri; he's the one from the video."

Cala's gasp was so loud, that it nearly drowned out one of the other's confused, 'him?' She turned to Yuri. "Really?"

Yuri smiled and nodded. "Yup. Your dad told me you do ballet as well?"

Kerim patted him on the shoulder and took a step back as Cala grabbed his hand and began pulling him towards an empty corner. He shrugged and went with her.

Yuri honestly didn't think that he was that good with kids, but he barely knew any kids. He was still a bit shocked that he was now surrounded by four of them, with a three-year-old boy, Dastan, in his lap. All of this was mostly Cala's doing. She had found a clip from the Midsummer Night's Dream performance, spelling shockingly well for an eight-year-old and had shown a few of her cousins and they had spent the past ten minutes fawning over Yuri and asking him questions before getting bored and asking to play with his hair. The three-year-old didn't say much – did three-year-olds even know how to talk yet? – but he stared up at him with huge, brown eyes and the roundest, chubbiest cheeks Yuri had seen in his life. Two of the girls, Karima and Raisa ran a pink, plastic brush through his hair.

"My teacher won't let me dance on pointe yet," Cala said sadly.

"No," Yuri hummed. "You're too young, it's dangerous; the bones in your feet-"

"I know," she cut him off with a huff. Okay, then. "But it looks so pretty."

"You should pay attention to your teacher." Oh, would you listen to that, Plisetsky. "Or you'll end up with feet uglier than mine." He wiggled his toes, drawing her attention to all the bruises, corns, and the little toe sock Lilia had given him after his toenail had ended up falling off.

"Ewww," Raisa giggled, looking at his foot from over his shoulder.

"That's what you get from dancing en pointe."

Cala shrugged. "I still want to do it."

He reached out and lightly tugged at one of her pigtails. "Well, you have to wait."

She wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue bearing such a strong resemblance to Otabek that Yuri had to laugh.

"What's pointe?" Balym, the other eight-year-old, asked.

Yuri opened his mouth to explain, but Cala beat him to it. "It's when you dance on your tiptoes."

Balym stood up, going onto the balls of her feet and spun around. Yuri tried to pull out his phone from the waistband of his swimming trunks but he was too slow.

"No." Cala hopped onto her feet. "All the way on your toes. Like this."

Yuri thought that she was actually going to try to stand on her toes and surged forward, before he realised that she was only demonstrating with one foot. Dastan re-adjusted himself in Yuri's new position, while there was a tug at his hair and one of the girls squeaked a sorry. Cala didn't even notice.

Balym frowned, looking down at Cala's foot. "That looks hard. Wouldn't it hurt?"

"There are special shoes," she explained. "With wood in them."

"Oh," Balym turned to Yuri. "Can you show us?"

"Uh," Yuri bit his lip; they looked so eager, with their huge eyes and curly ponytails. "I don't have my shoes, sorry."

Balym pouted, but Cala didn't seem too disappointed. "Can you do a pirouette?"

"Uh, yeah." He sighed internally, knowing exactly where this was going. "But, I can't do it on carpet." He pointed at the shaggy rug they were sitting on. "I would need somewhere smooth." The Altin house had hardwood floors, but if he knocked over any of Otabek's mother's ornaments he would have to leave Almaty in shame. Hopefully the girls wouldn't realise that he could spin on the wood.

Balym wrinkled her nose in thought.

"What about the pool stones?" Karima asked, as she fluffed his hair, her little fingers grazing along his scalp. "Those are really slippery when they're wet."

Damnit. They dragged him downstairs. Thankfully, no one was in the pool yet and they were mostly still scattered around the lawn and under the umbrellas talking. Yuri spied Otabek with Iska at one of the tables; with Kerim's two sons- he honestly couldn't remember their names. Yuri scowled at Otabek; he'd left him stranded with the children while he and Iska did God alone knows what. The bastard. He caught Yuri's eye and smirked.

Cala and Balym pushed him to a clear spot near the pool and stood watching him expectantly. Raisa and Karima had followed as well, and Yuri just realised that he was still carrying Dastan – and he was fucking heavy. God, what a sight this must have been.

"Come on, Yuri, show us," Cala pleaded, pulling on the most impressive puppy-dog pout Yuri had seen. Balym agreed loudly and Yuri sighed, bending down to set Dastan on his feet. A few of the adults were looking on in interest and the bastard, Otabek, was making his way over.

"Okay, I need some room." They stepped back instantly. And more than a few adults were definitely looking his way, including Otabek's mom and grandparents; Yuri wrinkled his nose. "Do you know the difference between a pirouette and a fouetté?" Cala shook her head. "Okay, watch." He rolled his ankles, wincing as they cracked loudly. "This is a pirouette." He managed two spins before coming back down on both feet, wincing at how the stone pulled against his bare feet. Balym's mouth dropped and Cala clapped her hands excitedly. Yuri glanced to Otabek who was now carrying Dastan on his hip and grinning at him. He shook his head. "And this is a fouetté; tell me if you see the difference." He only managed three and nearly lost his balance, but the girls didn't seem to notice. There were a few short claps from the adults watching and he heard Otabek's mom start to boasting about how he was a professional ballerina.

Cala tilted her head to the side. "You kicked your leg on that one."

Yuri raised an eyebrow; he hadn't expected her to get it actually. "Yeah, uh, very good."

She grinned, tilting her chin up, pleased with herself as Otabek came close enough to pat the top of her head with his free hand.

"So it was you that stole Yuri from me," he joked.

Cala giggled, yanking on Balym's hand to go back inside. "He's my friend now."

"I see that." He grinned at Yuri and between the grin, the three-year-old on his hip, and him bending so slightly to talk to Cala, Yuri thought that he was going to fall over into the pool. "But do you think I can have him back now?"

She shrugged, already distracted by a game going on amongst the youngest of the children on a mat on the lawn. "Okay."

"Kerim has his hands full with her," Otabek shook his head as she dragged Balym, Karima, and Raisa over to the mat. Dastan began to wiggle so Otabek set him down and he waddled as he followed the girls. It was hard not to smile, watching him go.

Yuri scoffed. "Yeah. So, uh, thanks for abandoning me."

Otabek started back to the table where Iska was sitting. "You were with them for like half an hour. We got some good pictures."

"You did not!"

"Check your Instagram." Otabek chuckled, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes almost made Yuri forget to be mad. Almost.

"Otabek!" He had tagged him and Viktor had already commented on it. It was a picture of Yuri sitting on the floor, his mouth open mid-sentence with Dastan on his lap, Cala staring up at him with wide eyes, and Raisa pulling on his hair with her toy brush. Then the fucking bastard had captioned it 'tiger and cubs'. He punched Otabek's bicep and he had never been more thankful of Otabek's private account, because if his fans got wind that he was playing with children, the world would probably end. In high-pitched-teenage-girl squeals and fire.

"I didn't know you liked kids," Iska called as they neared the table. Yuri rolled his eyes, but bent down to hug him anyway when he waved him over. "Glad you could come; how long are you staying?"

"Uh, like a month," Yuri answered, yanking out a chair and eyeing the half empty glasses of vodka.

"That was my seat," Otabek protested.

Yuri stuck out his tongue, not expecting Otabek to scoff then fucking sit on him. "Beka!" He punched him again and again, until he got up.

Yuri settled down with his plate piled high with food. He was going to go back to Russia fat and he was going to be more than okay with it.

"You're going to eat all that?" One of Otabek's grandfathers said, eyeing Yuri's plate from the table over. "Where is it going to go?"

Otabek's mother shook her head. "He's an athlete, äke. Don't pay any attention to him, Yuri; eat as much as you like."

"Yeah I was going to," Yuri grumbled under his breath as Otabek nudged his shoulder with his.

"Athlete?" God, his voice really carried. "But he's just skin and bone."

"Not true," Otabek said softly, causing Kerim's two sons to snicker. "He's half blind, Yura, he can't see your legs."

Iska snorted softly. "Judgemental old air- bags, especially Lara," he mumbled. Yuri assumed that that was his and Otabek's paternal grandmother.

"Iska," Otabek's other brother, Maalik, warned as he sat down next to him with his own plate of food. Yuri tilted his head, he didn't resemble Otabek or Kerim too much, but he still had the Altin look. "Not so loud. If she hears you this barbeque is ruined." Yuri snorted around a mouthful of sausage. "Beka, did I tell you about the motorbike show Auto-Traders is having in September?"

Otabek shook his head and Yuri busied himself with his plate while the Altins talked about their strange obsession with bikes and cars.

"I don't understand it, Galsara, these children and all these, these body modifications." For some reason that line cut through the air. How the hell had the old people gotten to that topic?

Yuri narrowed his eyes, turning his head slightly as the conversation died on their table and they began to listen to what the elderly were saying.

'What?' Iska mouthed. Otabek just shrugged and Kerim's sons and Maalik gave each other exasperated looks.

"Earrings are nice, just a simple pair, but at the grocery store I saw a child with maybe ten in one ear. That's just too much."

Iska rolled his eyes and Yuri had to actually look over his shoulder at them. Otabek's mom didn't look to happy with the conversation that her fathers and her mother-in-law seemed to be knee deep in, but she was wise enough to keep quiet and talk softly to the woman next to her.

"Yes, and it's not just their ears, it's all over their face. Their nose, their mouths, even their eyelids. What next?"

"I don't even want to think. Doesn't it hurt them?"

"Don't you have a..." Kerim's older son gestured vaguely to his mouth.

Otabek nodded and exhaled sharply through his nose. He twisted in his chair. "You forgot about tongues." He stuck his tongue out, showing off the steel ball that sat perfectly in the middle.

"Otabek!" He was close enough for his mother to bat him on the side of the head, but he turned back around grinning.

Yuri did a quick scan to gauge everyone's reaction before he cracked up. Otabek's mom was trying her hardest to look annoyed, but was failing, while his father, on the other end of the table, was hiding a grin behind his hand. The grandparents looked scandalised.

"Otabek, when did you do that?" his grandfather asked, astonished.

His mother sighed loud enough for Yuri to hear. "Years ago, äke."

Iska was shaking his head, while Kerim's sons were red with laughter and Maalik was trying hard not to laugh as well. Yuri shot Otabek an amused glance, and his stomach danced when he saw how his eyes were sparkling.

For some reason or other Hadiya and her wife had come after everyone had eaten. The only reason he knew it was Hadiya was because he had heard someone calling Adil earlier on. God, he knew they were identical twins, but fuck. She hugged her parents and kissed the grandparents on each cheek before making a beeline for Otabek.

"Beka," she said, hugging him briefly. "Mama said I needed to talk to you about meeting someone."

Otabek pulled his lips into a thin line and mumbled something quickly in Kazakh. Hadiya tilted her head to the side, raising a perfectly shaped, thick eyebrow and then waved her wife over to ask her something. She pulled out her phone and showed Otabek something that had him pursing his lips.

Yuri was curious, but he also didn't think it was his place to ask. If Otabek had wanted to include him, he wouldn't have spoken in Kazakh, and spoken so fast that Yuri couldn't even pick out any words. His stomach started to twist again, and he focused on Iska's conversation with Jibek and Bayan – yes, Kerim's sons had names. But then Hadiya started to laugh and shake her head, then patted Otabek's shoulder. Yuri bit the inside of his cheek; they were talking about their mother; he knew 'anam'. But either way they were finished with that and Hadiya's wife put her phone back into her straw bag and Hadiya turned to see who else was around.

"Oh, that's Yuri." She covered her mouth with her fingertips as she came over to hug him. He stood up from his chair to return the greeting and hugged her lightly, rising up on his toes to get his chin over her shoulder; even Otabek's sisters were taller than him. "I'm so sorry I didn't even recognise you, I was about to ask Beka who that strange girl was. Sorry."

Yuri waved her off. "It's okay; I don't mind, really."

"Your hair's gotten longer since last time; do you normally have it down like this?"

Yuri shrugged, looking away. "Sometimes. Uh, Karima and, uh... the girls wanted to play with it, so..." He just then noticed that Hadiya's daughter was staring at him unblinkingly from behind her leg, so he waved not expecting her to hide.

"You remember Yuri, Maeena," Hadiya said, patting the top of her head.

Yuri stooped down to her level. "I came here in January, with Yakov, the old man who gave you sweets, remember?"

Maeena titled her head to the side, stepping out from behind her mother's leg. "You talk like an old man." Yuri frowned, taken aback, as Hadiya scolded her. "What? He does! He talks like my teacher."

Otabek chuckled, setting a heavy hand on Yuri's shoulder as he stood back up. "He talks like a Russian."

Maeena turned back to him. "You're from Russia? What's it like there? Is it always snowing like in my story books?"

Hadiya gave her an exasperated look. "Go play with Oraz an Arman, you little qubıjıq."

Yuri snickered softly; she was a little monster.

"Hey, Yuri, can I see your phone for a second?" Jibek asked, blushing up to his ears and down his chest.

"Sure," Yuri held out his phone, shrugging and trying not to chuckle at his embarrassment. God, had he been like that around Stella? He hadn't been that bad, had he? Jelena and Dani would have told him. Actually, he wasn't too sure.

Jibek cleared his throat. "My friend has a case exactly like this-"

An arm was hooked around Yuri's waist and everything slowed down to a millimetre per minute. He saw the nervous grin on Jibek's face, a few paces away Kerim and Maalik paused their conversation, mouths agape. Otabek's mother's eyes widened, and he turned his head around to see Iska's grinning face as he hoisted him off the ground. He realised all too late what was happening and let out an ear-splitting screech. The difference between the hot, humid air and the cold pool water had his entire body trying to implode and he probably swallowed like a third of the pool water. He resurfaced to a chorus of laughter and he had to swallow a string of curses because everyone here spoke Russian. He paddled to the edge of the pool, raking his hair away from his face and glaring death at Iska.

"Sorry," Jibek winced, scratching the back of his neck. "Uncle Beka, made us do it."

Iska shrugged. "Yeah, it was his idea."

"He said you wouldn't be mad." Oh fuck, the kid actually looked nervous now.

"I'm not," Yuri said shaking his head and flicking water from his fingers at him. "Not at you; where is your bastard uncle?"

He narrowed his eyes, looking around for Otabek and spied him with Bayan, chuckling at the video he'd just recorded. If Yuri was a better person he would have warned Otabek that Maalik and Kerim were sneaking up behind him. Revenge came swift and sweet. Between the two of them, they managed to lift Otabek clear off the ground and Yuri didn't even know that his voice could go so high. Bayan was cackling, holding up his phone to record the entire thing. Otabek flailed, yelling 'no' repeatedly as they swung him over the pool edge and he landed somewhere in the middle with a splash that went over Yuri's head. He came up, seconds later, spluttering with his hair hanging down his forehead.

Yuri laughed as he swam over to him, and splashed water into his face. "You should have seen your face," he grinned.

Otabek rolled his eyes. "You should have seen yours." He hoisted himself onto the ledge and sat down, kicking his feet in the water as he glared at his brothers. Maalik, the taller of the two, hand his arm slung across Kerim's shoulder as they both grinned in triumph.

"You're really heavy for someone so short, you know that," Maalik chortled.

"I hope you threw out your back, old man," Otabek retorted, ripping off his soaked shirt and throwing it at him. Yuri had to duck the bottom half of his face under water to keep from actually moaning. Fuck, was it really necessary for him to spend so much time at the gym? A drop of water trailed between his pecs then down the middle line of his abs; he would have followed it lower, but realised that Otabek was staring at him. Fuck. He forced his eyes back up to Otabek's face; his hair was dripping water down his nose and cheeks and some of it clung to those ridiculously long eyelashes. Yuri's whole body blushed despite the cold water.

Yuri opened his mouth, ready to shoot off a bullshit excuse when the pool rippled again and he inhaled a lungful of chlorine. Iska, Jibek, and Bayan had all jumped in and swam up to them.

"How much do you weigh, Uncle?" Bayan asked, folding his arms over the pool ledge just as Kerim and Maalik slipped into the water as well.

"Probably like ninety kilograms," Iska teased.

Bayan's eyes widened but Jibek nudged him. "He's joking."

Iska nodded, hoisting himself up to sit down next to Otabek. "Muscle weighs a lot, Bayan."

There were splashes as a couple more children jumped in and began playing loudly in the shallow end. Otabek's mother ran around for towels. Maalik's wife handed him one of their two-year-old twin sons, and slipped into the water, holding the other one.

"Yuri was pretty heavy too." Iska continued and Yuri's head whipped around.

"He's not that heavy," Otabek said, before Yuri could even open his mouth.

"Yeah, not all of us have telephone polls for arms, though."

"He can't be that heavy," Jibek mumbled.

"I bet you can't pick him up." Yuri rolled his eyes. Well, yeah, he was like thirteen. Jibek scowled. "I dare you."

"What?" both Yuri and Jibek shouted.

"No way, I'm not going to be responsible for anyone's injuries today," Yuri grumbled, then turned to Jibek who looked half intimidated and half eager to try. "I'm like sixty-one kilograms, there's no way you're picking me up."

Jibek's eyes widened and his face read disbelief.

"It's all in his legs, Beks," Otabek chuckled.

The cousins didn't start leaving long after sunset, or when the younger ones started to get cranky and sleepy. Yuri lay on Otabek's bed again; his hair wrapped up in a fluffy towel after he'd washed out all the chlorine and conditioned it twice. He scrolled through his pictures trying to decide if any of them were Instagram worthy. He paused, studying a decent one of him Otabek, Iska, and Kerim's sons looking up at his phone and grinning over their plates of food. He swiped through a few filters hoping to find one that didn't make him look so pale in comparison to Otabek's family. His cheeks and nose had gotten slightly burnt and he'd been in the sun for like five minutes. He had no idea what to caption the photo, though, and just decided on 'obligatory family selfie' he tagged Otabek, and Iska, and found Jibek's handle. He didn't think that Bayan had an account because he was like ten. He didn't realise that tagging three Altins in a row would open the floodgates for the entire family to follow. Jibek had followed back within seconds, and then a few of the ones old enough to be on Intsagram followed him as well.

"Am I going to have to censor my account now?" Yuri wondered aloud.

"What?" Otabek was propped up against the headboard surrounded by his pillows and  raised an eyebrow looking away from his phone.

"Like five of your cousins added me." Yuri rolled onto his stomach to look at him, ignoring his towel as it unravelled from his head and fell down his shoulders.

"Which ones?"

"Uh?" He opened up the activity page again. "Well, Jibek."

Otabek scoffed. "Yeah, he has a crush on you."

Yuri sighed. "Kerim said so."

"He asked me if you were a model when he saw you in one of my pictures." He chuckled, bending one of his knees and leaning forward against it. His arm muscles tensed and shifted, bared by the thin straps of his tank top. It took nearly all Yuri's will power to look away. He pulled the hood of his onesie over his head, nearly covering his eyes.

"Well, he has good taste."

"Right." Otabek teased. "Who else?"

"Someone called Ravil-"

"Sabria's son."

"Who?"

"They weren't here today."

Yuri shook his head. There were too many Altins. "Uh, Dilya Altin too-"

"Sabria's daughter."

"Saken."

"Iska's older brother."

"Okay, I give up." Yuri threw down his phone, watching as it bounced a few times on the mattress.

Otabek chuckled, going back to his phone. "You'll get it someday – you tagged me in something?"

"Yeah, like twenty minutes ago. God, do you live in a different time zone?"

Otabek nudged his elbow with his ankle. "No, Bal just commented-" he cut himself off, closing his mouth and clenching his jaw as a hard expression crossed his face. Yuri scrambled for his phone and unlocked it.

Baltabek_Li: Does this count as the wedding announcement?

Yuri drew in a breath through his teeth. And cue the unsteady stomach and sweaty armpits. What the actual fuck, Bal?

"You can delete it if you want to," Otabek said slowly. "I'm gonna kill him. I told him that – he knows we're not..." He growled, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry, Yura."

Yuri swallowed. "No, uh, it's fine." Oh fuck, he really really really needed to talk to Otabek. "It's just a joke. I'm not gonna get mad over a joke."

Otabek studied him for a while, his eyes hard and calculating. "Okay, but I'm going to make sure he doesn't say anything like that again."

Yuri bit his lip. "It's fine." He was already on the screen to reply to the comment.

Yuri_plisetsky: Shut the fuck up @Baltabek_Li

Otabek was grinding his teeth now and had sat up, crossing his legs over each other. It wasn't that big of a deal; why the hell was he getting so worked up? Yuri frowned. That was honestly just Bal being Bal. It wasn't even an insult to either one of them. Wait. Unless, Yuri swallowed thickly, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to give Otabek his back, unless Otabek really didn't, fuck. It was like he had an allergic reaction to the thought; his throat closed up and it was suddenly had to swallow and almost impossible to breathe.

He'd been meaning to talk to him soon. To sit him down and explain that he was probably demisexual and had a crush on him the size of the fucking moon. But now all of that didn't even matter, because if Otabek had gotten upset over that a comment that implied that they liked each other, then maybe he really didn't have feelings for him at all. Yuri's heart beat cold thuds and the corners of his eyes started to prickle. What was the fucking point of telling him how he felt when he knew now that he was going to get rejected anyway? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He clenched his hand around his phone and tightened his jaw. Just fuck everything. He couldn't do this. He took a shaky breath through his teeth.

"Shit, uh, Beka?" He stared at his feet as he stood up, using the curtain of his damp hair to shield his face. "I forgot I was supposed to call my grandpa like ten minutes ago."

"Oh, well go ahead; you don't have to ask."

"And I think I might just go to bed when I'm done."

"Oh. Well, good night then."

Yuri cursed himself for thinking that Otabek sounded disappointed as he shuffled downstairs to the guest room. God, what had he been thinking? Just talk to him, great advice Katsudon. Yeah, this was never going to work out.

Chapter Text

The roar of Otabek's motorbike woke Yuri up the next morning. He startled, sitting up and looking around the dark room. What the fuck, Otabek? It was like five am. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, well five forty-three, but it was close enough. Rolling his eyes, he tapped on the messaging app and ignored the notifications from Instagram – probably more Altins had found him. Otabek had texted him late last night, well, earlier this morning. 

Beka:
I have training today so I'll be gone early.
I'm having lunch with the group today if you want to join. Camran said he can pick you up.

Yuri groaned; he'd forgotten that Otabek had already started training. He was actually starting late this season; Yakov and Lilia had agreed that he needed at least three weeks rest before they started. Honestly, Yuri was a bit nervous to start his programs almost a month later than everyone, but he also knew that jumping right back into skating after barely taking time off would probably result in injury. Besides, Yakov had been hinting that he wanted Yuri to choose his own programs this season, and Yuri had no fucking clue what he wanted to do. He yawned widely, raking his tangled hair from his face. 

So, he more or less would have the whole morning to himself if Otabek was gone. It actually might be a good thing, especially after last night. Shortly after he had gotten back to his room Bal had messaged him to apologise for his comment.He had made jokes about Yuri and Otabek being together before and they'd just told him to shut up and not really minded. But now, now Yuri couldn't laugh it off, and it seemed that Otabek didn't like them any more. Yuri swung his legs over the side of the bed while his stomach quivered, and he leaned against one of the tall bed posts. Yeah, it probably was a good thing that Otabek was gone for now. Yeah.

Some best friends they were. He snorted.

Yuri took a deep breath that tasted bitter. He wouldn't be able to fall back asleep now and he wasn't too sure if everyone else would be awake yet. So, he flipped on the light and went over to his suitcase to pull out a pair of running shorts and a t-shirt. He was supposed to be resting, but he would feel like a lazy fuck if he didn't do something and, well, when he felt like shit working his body to a pulp usually helped. He changed quickly, pulling his hair into a high ponytail and picked up his sneakers. Otabek's mom had given him a spare key, saying that there were no prisoners in her house so he could come and go as he pleased, so getting locked out wouldn't be a problem, plus the security guard could always let him in. Minutes later he was jogging down the driveway, earbuds drowning out all external sound.

The neighbourhood the Altins lived in was neatly kept; all the sidewalks were clean and even, with fucking flower baskets hanging from each light post. The streets all ran at right angles to each other, so getting lost wouldn't be a problem for him and he made a mental note of the house numbers as he passed each driveway. Summers in Almaty were usually hot and humid, but this early in the morning there was still dew on the neatly cut grass and the air was sharp. A few cars passed him as he ran, but this was nowhere close to the traffic density of Saint Petersburg. He passed a pair of hijabi women power-walking and chatting animatedly in Kazakh and jumped over a storm drain, dashing across the street. As he ran his mind cleared, like fucking magic, each beat of his sneakers hitting the pavement had the knot in his chest loosening. He turned down a street with a high, green gate.

Okay, so maybe he'd been a little unfair last night, just up and leaving Otabek like that. Maybe he should have asked him why he'd gotten so mad at Bal's comment, since he'd easily brushed them off before. Either way, they really needed to talk, or this vacation would end up sucking big time. Almaty was supposed to be fun; he was supposed to basically have the best summer of his life with Otabek and his friends, they were supposed to go clubbing, get piss ass drunk, go camping and hiking. He was supposed to ride on the back of Otabek's motorbike and eat every bit of street food he could get his hands on; he couldn't do that if he and Otabek were fighting. He kicked a loose stone on the pavement and it rustled a few leaves as it flew through a shrub. Were they fighting? Well, it wasn't really a fight, but it still fucking sucked. Otabek was his best friend, and feeling so uncomfortable around his best friend should be fucking illegal. The song that came up next on his shuffle kinda sucked so he slowed down to skip to the next one. Okay, when Otabek got back this afternoon, he would talk to him. He had to. Even if he didn't like him back, or if he thought he was lying about being ace, he needed to get it out. He sped back up after he tapped through to a song he actually liked. Fucking Katsudon would be proud.

Otabek's mom had buttered him up with a delicious breakfast before asking him to run a few errands with her that morning. Yuri had learnt very quickly that saying no to her was a very difficult thing so, he found himself in the passenger seat of the Range Rover. It wasn't as if he didn't want to go; he honestly liked Otabek's mother, but Otabek's grandmother was in the back seat, fussing with the cuffs of her dress and mumbling under her breath after having a heated argument with Otabek's mom. Yuri sat on the edge of his seat, his side pressed into the door, as she had glared at her mother-in-law through the rear-view mirror for nearly the entire time it took them to get to the mosque.

"I understand where you're coming from, Ma," she had said loudly, gesturing wildly with one hand. "But it's my choice. Nobody's but my own."

"Yes, Alma, but it's common decency and respect."

"I'm just dropping you off; it doesn't matter if I wear a hijab or not. If I was going inside, of course I would wear it."

Otabek's grandmother huffed and mumbled something about people losing respect for religion and the chaos the world was in. Yuri chewed the inside of his cheek and looked out the window feeling the air in inside the car start to thicken. He hoped that she wouldn't start eyeing his ripped jeans and tank top. He breathed an involuntary sigh of relief once they had arrived at the mosque and Otabek's mom helped his grandmother out of the car.

"She goes to two places, Yuri," she said as they watched a man hurry from inside to help Otabek's grandmother up the wheelchair ramp with her rollator. "To her embroidery club and to the mosque. And you see how many things I do, and she expects me to go out in an abaya and hijab for all of them? It's the same argument every single time. No." She took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring, as she drove off. "It's at times like this I just have to remind myself how much I love my husband."

Yuri forced a chuckle. He didn't know much about Islam apart from what Otabek had told him, but the Altins didn't seem to be all that strict about religion. He knew they went to the mosque regularly and that Otabek knew all the prayers in Arabic and that Ramadan and Eid were huge things. This was actually the first time he'd seen any arguments about it.

Otabek's mother took another calming breath. "So, we just need to stop at the ATM, then I need to drop of some revisions for some clients, and pick up some eggs."

Yuri raised an eyebrow. "Clients?" Weren't Otabek's parents retired? He actually wasn't sure what she had done, did, for a living.

"Yes, they're a nice young couple; they want to build a new house over in Boralday."

"Uh... what do you do?"

She raised an eyebrow as she glanced at him. “Beka never told you? I'm an architect, but I only do commissions now; running the firm was just getting too tiring, and I have more freedom this way, to do what I want, when I want."

"That's cool, so you like designing buildings and stuff?"

She chuckled. "Well, I did that for over forty years so, yes. Mainly residential buildings, I designed our house."

Yuri's eyebrows shot upwards. "Really? That's so cool."

"Thank you."

Yuri hated himself for wearing jeans that day, because Otabek's mom had him running in an out of the SUV for ten more things than what he had originally said and the summer heat could have killed a horse. On their way back home she stopped at a food stall and after a quick conversation in Kazakh, slid back into the driver's seat with a bag of fresh baursak.

"Kemhebek, loves these." She handed the bag to Yuri. "He would sit down and eat the entire bag if I don't stop him. He really shouldn't be eating them, you know, with his cholesterol, but I let him have a treat occasionally."

Yuri looked down at the balls of fried dough dusted with powdered sugar. They were really good; he couldn't blame Otabek's dad if he ate them all. "You give him treats?" Yuri snorted, for some reason that was hilarious.

She smiled. "Only when he deserves them."

"Go like my pic on Istagram." Roza nudged Yuri's arm with her elbow. Yuri rolled his eyes, but searched her handle anyway. Her most recent picture was of her and Saida smiling in front of a flowery shrub. He tapped the like button.

"Happy?"

"Yes, thank you." She grinned, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and exposing one of the most perfectly contoured cheekbones Yuri had seen in his life. The part of him that was still really into makeup wanted to cry then hire her as his makeup artist.

He, Roza, Camran, Iska, and Bal sat around a long table on the patio of a restaurant right in the middle of downtown – Otabek was running late. Yuri had picked the spot with the most shade, the head of the table, but could still feel the heat rising up from the stone pavement. The soles of his sneakers were going to melt. And his glass of water had already formed a puddle of water from condensation dripping down the sides.

"That's cute," Camran said, tilting Yuri's phone towards him.

Roza beamed, twirling her straw around in her drink.

"I already liked it," Iska grumbled, tapping away at his own phone, before tilting the screen to show Bal.

"Yeah, I saw. Thanks-"

"Awwww!" Bal grabbed Iska's phone and gave a loud, exaggerated coo that had Camran rolling his eyes.

"Shut the fuck up," he hissed, looking around to see if anyone was staring. "This is why we can't take you anywhere."

Bal just gave an innocent grin and pulled Camran into a side hug, resting the side of his head to his shoulder. Yuri chuckled into his water, as Camran lightly slapped Bal's cheek.

"Children, behave," Roza warned jokingly.

Camran stuck his tongue out at her and Bal grinned while Yuri wondered why the hell he hadn't been born in Kazakhstan instead of Russia. Camran managed to shove Bal off of him and groaned in discomfort, working his shoulder and rubbing the muscle with his palm.

"You okay?" Yuri asked watching him, and even after all these years he couldn't believe that his skin was naturally that tanned and golden.

"Yeah, just a hard morning at work, was scheduled from maintenance today." He clasped his hands together and stretched his arms out in front of him. Bal tilted his head to the side, watching him as Iska raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

 "What did they make you do this time?" Iska asked.

Camran took a deep breath, playing with the napkin already on his lap. "Well, there was a tree that fell across one of the trails and yours truly was the one who had to go deal with it."

Roza winced. "At eight am? That's kinda brutal."

"That wasn't even the worse part. Someone didn't charge the batteries for the small chainsaw I normally use, so I had to use one of the giant gas ones. The blade is about as long as my entire arm and I swear it weighs like twenty-five kilograms."

Yuri had to hide a laugh; the image of Camran, brandishing a chainsaw and sawing through a tree was hilarious. He was pretty willowy, and his arms were only slightly more defined than Yuri's. When he had first found out that he worked at a small wilderness tour company, guiding tours in safari jeeps, ATVs, and on horseback, he had thought he was lying. But then he realised that he didn't really have to talk to people when he was surrounded by nature all day and that he stayed quiet and let one of his co-workers do all the mandatory entertaining and educating.

"Let's see the guns, then," Bal cackled, grabbing Camran's arm and holding it up. "Fuck, you're still skinny." Yuri snorted when his palm nearly circled Camran's bicep. Camran rolled his eyes, but was fighting off a smile.

"Well, I got help after a while, and the battery for my chainsaw was done charging by then."

"I've been meaning to buy a chainsaw," Roza said wistfully.

“Why?" both Iska and Camran asked.

She shrugged. "It's badass." And that's why Yuri loved her.

A loud egine roar echoed down the street and they heard Otabek's motorbike before he could see it.

"And there's Beka," Iska drawled, looking over his shoulder at the street.

Yuri's stomach began to roll, so he busied himself with one of the thick slices of bread in the basket in the middle of the table. Otabek drove down the street like he was on a fucking movie set, and swerved into a parking spot right across from the restaurant. Yuri's eyes were glued to him as he cut the engine and straightened, rolling his shoulders, then removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair to shake out any helmet hair. The fucking bread turned to ash in his mouth, and he blindly reached for his water, nearly knocking it over. He would have, if Camran didn't have the reflexes of a ninja.

"Nice ass, Altin," Bal yelled, as Otabek jogged across the street and hopped the low fence that separated the patio from the sidewalk.

Otabek flipped him off. But Yuri had to agree; Otabek was still in his training clothes: a Nike, dri-fit t-shirt under his bike jacket, and – Yuri had to bite his lip – tights. He knew that was standard athletic wear, and Otabek wore tights all the time, he wore fucking bodysuits for competitions sometimes. But right then, on that day, Otabek's ass had his brain firing all kinds of signals, including the one that stopped him from breathing. He took a way too big gulp of water and nearly choked while swallowing, causing Camran to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You guys already ordered?" Otabek asked, sitting down between Roza and Iska and shrugging off his jacket.

"No, waiting on you," Iska replied. "Took you long enough."

"I texted you."

"Yeah, but still."

Otabek rolled his eyes as he grabbed a menu from the centre of the table. Yuri, glad that he was wearing mirrored sunglasses, stared at Otabek's arms as he folded his forearms across the tabletop, his biceps pulling at his shirt sleeves.

"You're drooling," Camran muttered, leaning in close and grinning. His eyes flickered from him to Otabek, like he fucking knew where he was staring.

“I am not. Shut up," he hissed, but wiped at his mouth anyway. Oh fuck, he actually was. He hoped to dear God that it was just water.

"What's everyone getting?" Otabek asked, scanning the menu. He wrinkled his nose before setting it back down and looking around. His eyes landed on Yuri for a brief moment as Roza called him out on his picky eating habits and the others called out their selections. Camran and Bal were sharing a bowl of lagman soup. Iska was getting a doner and Roza wanted the kuyrdak. Otabek gagged at her choice, saying how liver was the worst food ever even if they tried to hide it in a stir-fry.

"Yuri?" He nearly jumped when Otabek called his name. "You've been quiet, what are you getting?"

Yuri licked his lips then pressed them together. "Borscht."

Otabek gave a short laugh through his nose. Yuri's stomach clenched.

"You come all the way from Russia to eat borscht?" Bal asked, wincing.

Yuri shrugged. "I want borscht."

He didn't miss the way Otabek's eyes narrowed in amusement. His stomach flopped, as he thought of their inevitable conversation that night. How was he even supposed to start it? He bit his bottom lip, trying not to squirm in his seat, and reached up to tug at a clump of the shorter hairs at the back of his neck that hadn't quite made it into his bun.

Camran nudged him softly with his elbow. "I need to go to the bathroom, come with me?" Yuri followed him back inside the restaurant. "Are you okay?" Camran asked, pushing the bathroom door open.

"Huh?"

He sighed heavily, leaning against the sink counter and crossing his legs at the ankle. "You've been acting weird. Since Beka arrived."

Yuri blinked, reaching up to take off his shades. Fuck, was he that obvious? "What are you talking about?" Camran gave him an unamused stare. Yuri sighed, leaning against the wall next to the door. "Ugh, I don't even know where to start."

"So you and Beka had an argument?"

“Uh, not really, well," he shook his head, and folded his arms across his chest. "It's just... It's just my fucking problem."

Camran's eyebrows shot upwards and he folded his arms across his chest as well. "Okay, I was just being considerate-"

"No, I didn't mean it like that," he grumbled, huffing in frustration. "I mean, well... you know how I'm ace right?"

"Right." Camran hoisted himself up to sit on the counter.

Yuri scratched the back on his neck and rocked on to the balls of his feet. "Well that's the fucking problem."

"How?"

Yuri grumbled. Fuck. Should he... was this even the right time? Camran was staring at him, concern deep in his dark eyes. Yuri let out a deep breath. Okay, fine, he'd tell him. "I... I think I like Beka." He held his breath as his cheeks caught aflame.

"Oh, finally," Camran chuckled.

"What?"

"You're finally admitting it. It's been so obvious." Yuri swallowed. Obvious to whom? "Soooo, you're not sure how to tell him?"

"Well that's part of the problem." Also, his mom was setting him up with other people and he seemed happy with it. "And I'm ace."

Camran pulled one corner of his mouth tight, giving him an exasperated look. "And? That didn't stop you from banging him."

Yuri coughed, his face managing to drain of all blood and heat up to the temperature of the sidewalk outside at the same time. "What?" he squeaked.

Camran laughed. "You thought we didn't know?" We? Oh, fucking hell. "I mean, when we were at the club the last time you were here it was kind of obvious what was going to happen when you two went home. And well Beka was low-key freaking out that he had ruined your friendship. It didn't take a detective to figure it out." Yuri pressed his palms hard against his eyes and groaned. "So, the problem is, you're ace and you and Beka fucked?"

Yuri took a deep breath. Okay, he could talk about this, he wasn't twelve anymore. "Uh, sorta. Have you ever heard of demisexuality?"

Camran shook his head.

Yuri swayed back and forth, bumping into the wall. "It's like a... type of asexuality, I guess, when you don't form sexual attraction until you, like, know someone really well-"

"Oh, so you and Beka – that's not a problem at all. Isn't that what you want?"

Yuri shrugged. "It feels like a free pass." Camran narrowed his eyes. "Like, I don't know. If I'm ace, I'm not supposed to, like, like sex, but then I, uh, like it with Otabek? Doesn't that seem too convenient?"

Camran shook his head. "Is there like a rule book? Did one arrive in the mail when you realised you were ace?" Yuri rolled his eyes. "Anyway, isn't it more like trust? Like you trust him enough to let him see that side of you? It's not convenient at all, I mean, not like. Sorry, I'm just trying to put this into words. It's not like it's random or anything, right? Like you would have sexual feelings for every one in, um, twenty people. It's like you feel this way because it's Beka, not because a light switch suddenly turned on?"

Yuri paused. "Y-yeah. Like that."

Camran bit his lip. "So like if you saw a naked picture of Beka, you'd get hard or something?" Oh God. Yuri covered his face with his palms. "But not if I shoved a sexy fireman calendar at you."

"...Yeah."

“Huh,” he nodded smiling. "So, I still don't see what your problem is."

Yuri sighed, fanning his face to chase away some of the heat. "I don't know how to tell him." And it still felt like he was cheating. 

"Oh," Camran hopped off of the counter and pulled Yuri into a hug. "Yeah, that can be a bit hard." He squeezed Yuri's shoulders before he let go. "Hey, why don't you spend the night at my place and we can come up with a game plan?"

Yuri blinked. That might help actually, rather than just blurting it out. Everyone was always on his case to think things out before he did them. And Camran was a bit better with putting together words than he was. Yuri needed all the help he could get in that department. Okay yeah, Otabek could wait a day or two. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Camran grinned. "Cool, I have tomorrow off anyway, so I can pick you up after I finish today. Ugh, my apartment is a mess though."

"That's alright," Yuri found himself smiling. "You've seen my room over Facetime."

Camran winced. "Right. It's hard to look at you and realise how much of a slob you are."

Yuri stuck out his tongue and turned to pull the door open. "They better have ordered; I'm starving."

But even though talking with Camran had lifted a bit of weight off his shoulders, Yuri froze in the doorway when he saw Otabek standing a short way from their table, as one of the waiters took a few pictures of him and a couple of girls. They hung off either one of his shoulders giggling, causing Yuri to grind his teeth. Camran grumbled softly, pulling Yuri back to his seat. Otabek was straight-backed and stone-faced, with his hands around the girls' waists like he fucking did this every day. And he actually probably did. 

He shook his head, and turned to Iska and Bal. "Forgot we were out with a celebrity. Did you guys already order?"  

"Check your Instagram now!"

Viktor's voice was too loud and cheery for this early in the morning. He glared at his face, taking up his entire laptop screen and picked up his phone.

He had just come back from a gruellingly slow-paced jog. Otabek's mom had found out he went jogging in the mornings and insisted that she went with him. She kept a strict fitness regimen herself, with yoga, pilates, and power-walking. But the routines of a professional athlete and a woman in her sixties were vastly different. He had snuck back out to do a set of sprints, just to feel like he had actually exercised.

Opening his Instagram had Yuri grumbling at the amount of notifications; likes, comments, new followers, and DMs. Fuck, why were there so many? He hadn't even posted anything since the picture from the barbeque. And they were all tags or comments, what the fuck. He read the first one.

Icefilmbe mentioned you in a comment: this is @Yuri_plisetsky a Russian figure skater.

Yuri raised an eyebrow. Okay, why had they needed to tag him, though? He tapped on the notification, biting the inside of his cheek.

It was a picture of him, of course, taken during one of the ballet rehearsals. He was stretching out in a front split on the floor. The picture was taken from the front; an out of focus shoulder took up a bit of the right corner. Proker stood near him with his back to the camera; he was bent at the waist, holding Yuri's wrist lightly and had probably said something stupid. Yuri couldn't remember when it had been exactly, but his glare said that he'd probably made some dumb joke. He'd made that exact face at many cameras before, but somehow this one had become popular. 'This ballerina is 10000% done with your shit' was the caption. Yuri shrugged, accurate. What was kind of crazy, though, was the 21k comments and 46.3k likes.

"What?"

"You're a meme!" Viktor sang.

"What?"

"Apparently it started on Reddit," Viktor pressed his index finger to his bottom lip. "I looked it up myself last night! At first most people were just wondering what that guy had said to you, then it morphed into something about ridiculous expectations, hold on letmefindacomment-ah, 'When your parents say you don't try hard enough'."

"That's not funny, though." Yuri grumbled.

"Welllll, no. But then the question was whether you were a boy or girl." Yuri rolled his eyes, now going through the comments on another post he'd been tagged in. Honestly who gave a fuck? "And then it made it to Instagram and Twitter and apparently people think you're really pretty."

"Apparently? Fuck off, Viktor."

Viktor grinned. "And some of your fans saw it and well, tagged you." Yuri sighed, watching his phone as a couple new notifications rolled in. A volcano was beginning to bubble in his chest. "So?"

"So what?"

"You're internet famous; you're a meme!"

Yuri wrinkled his nose. "I really don't care." Which was a lie, he could feel his stomach quivering and his entire body was suddenly light, his hands felt clumsy like they didn't really belong to him. Viktor pouted. "It's kinda weird; I'm reading some of the comments."

Was it really that important that people knew what his gender was? It wasn't as if, well okay, he could see it. It was kind of hard to tell. He was wearing a loose cropped top over his leotard, and his hair didn't really give any clues either. God, he knew he looked like a girl, he knew he was androgynous, but fuck if the internet could get worked up over nothing. Half the comments insisted he was a girl then the other half was like fuck no. And his fans had tried to be helpful by tagging him. That would explain the surge in new followers and DMs. He was not opening a single DM. Mila was going to have a lot of work to do. He'd have to buy her a coffee or something.

"There's already a news article about you too. Here, look!"

Viktor sent him a link through iMessage from one of those websites that reported on pop-culture and trends. He normally didn't pay attention to memes, other than the ones that went so viral that he couldn't help but see them everywhere. He skimmed the article that talked about where the picture came from and gave a short time-line of how it had become 'famous', pulling examples from Instagram, Twitter, and a few personal blogs. That had all happened within the last two weeks, Yuri blinked. God, didn't people have anything else to do with their lives? He bit his lip, ignoring the sudden light headedness. Then the article took it a step further and he actually snorted. They were fucking analysing his face. They had gotten one of his headshots from the ISU website and they were fucking analysing it.

"Are they serious?" he scoffed. "The fuck is the golden ratio?"

Viktor grinned. "Congratulations on the near perfect facial symmetry."

Yuri rolled his eyes, his face and chest heating. He skimmed through to the end of the article only reading the shortest paragraphs and photo captions. Still, his ears were hot enough that they could have melted off his head. Oh, they had reached out to him on Instagram too.

"These guys want to talk to me."

"Yeah, probably. It would make good news." Yuri tilted his head; but should he answer? "You should talk to Yakov and Lilia before you decide anything."

Right. He nodded, his stomach was gurgling in excitement. He needed to tell Beka and the others, he needed to show Mila, and -

"Where's Katsudon?"

"He's still sleeping. I thought I'd give you a heads up before you opened your Instagram today, but you were up early."

"I went jogging."

"Annnd, more importantly, I haven't heard your voice since you left Saint Petersburg! Don't you miss your batya?"

Yuri hung up and Viktor messaged him a few seconds later.

Viktor:
:(
I'll tell Yuuri to call you when he gets up

Yuri had been just about to go up to Otabek's room, when Katsudon Facetimed him. He sat back down on his bed.

"Call me back so I can get it on my laptop."

Katsudon sighed heavily, but ended the call and called back. His face filled the computer screen and he looked like he had actually just woken up, his hair sticking up in all directions and his eyes were still heavy with sleep.

"God, what time did you get to bed last night?" Yuri asked.

Katsudon sighed. "Pretty late. Anyway, what's up? Viktor said you wanted to talk."

Yuri tilted his head to the side. "Well not really talk; I was just asking where you were."

Katsudon yawned and stretched before laying flat on his back on the couch and holding his phone over his head. "Okay, so how's Almaty?"

Yuri shrugged, okay he could come back to the meme later. deep breaths. "It's cool. Beka's family had a huge barbeque the day after I arrived. But he's at training for most of the day, so we haven't really done much yet."

"Oh, and Yakov told me to make sure you're thinking about your programs," Viktor called from the background.

Yuri huffed, rolling his eyes.

"You're doing your own programs this year?" Katsudon asked.

Yuri shrugged again. "He wants me to pick them out, but... I don't know."

"Just start listening to some music," Viktor suggested.

"Yeah, I guess. Let me guess your programs are already good to go."

Katsudon chuckled. "I've only been training for a week. I know you think I'm a god, but-" Yuri flipped him off. "Even if the rink is much quieter without you, that's just an unreasonable expectation for you to have."

"I fucking hate you. Just retire already."

Katsudon hummed as if considering the question. "Hmmm, nope. So, how's Otabek doing?"

"He's still working on choreography."

Katsudon paused for a short while. "And did you talk to him yet?"

Yuri bit his bottom lip. "I, uh, no. Not yet."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"It's hard! I don't know what to say!"

Camran had tried, he really did, but everything he had suggested seemed forced and awkward. Some had involved asking Otabek out on a romantic date, or sending him a love song, or leaving cute messages on fucking sticky-notes around his room. Yuri liked Camran, he was a really good friend, but he had never really realised before how much of a cheesy romantic he was. God, he probably liked romantic-comedies. Anyway, none of the plans had really felt like something he would do, so unless he came up with something else himself, it was looking to be just a very awkward conversation. See, this was why he didn't try to plan things out.

"Nothing seems... right, or it's never the right time, or like when I try to speak nothing comes out." He roughly combed his fingers through the hair that hung over his face.

Katsudon nodded and his expression softened. "Missed you at yoga this weekend; I had to bring Viktor. The instructor asked for you too."

Yuri scoffed, taking a deep breath internally. He was always thankful that Katsudon knew when he had pushed enough. "Seems like you guys are the ones who's missing me more."

"Yeah... He didn't want to go for coffee right after, so we ended up walking around the shopping centre."

"Must have been fun"

Katsudon grinned, his eyes went even softer. "We haven't done something like that in ages." His eyes flickered to the side. "But I kept on having to drag him away from all the baby stores-"

"But their little shoes are so cute, love!" Yuri watched silently as Viktor leaned over the back of the couch to press a kiss to Katsudon's lips. "Alright, I'm going for a run," he announced, straightening.

"Are you taking Makkachin?" Katsudon asked.

"Mmmmhmmm, won't be gone for too long."

"Okay," Katsudon sat up, and his camera pointed at his chest. "Be safe, I love you."

Yuri rolled his eyes and gagged, Katsudon looked back at his phone just in time to catch the end of it. "I can't with you right now."

When he finally made it up to Otabek's room, he was working on putting together a set for a gig he had a few nights from now. Iska had announced that he had gotten him something at a club called The Summit. He flopped onto his bed without a word, his stomach and chest so tight that it was actually kind of hard to breathe. Otabek glanced from his desktop screen to him, before pulling one side of his bulky headphone from his ear.

"You okay?" he asked.

Yuri cleared his throat. "Yeah, kinda."

Otabek hooked the headphones around his neck. "Kinda?"

He sighed, fighting down the spark of excitement in his stomach as he sat up and crossed his legs over one another. "Just search my Instagram."

Otabek raised an eyebrow as he turned back to his computer. It took maybe two minutes before he started to laugh. Yuri grinned as well as he chewed off a hangnail from his thumb. The corners of Otabek's eyes were crinkled so badly they were nearly shut. God, and his teeth were so perfect too, and those lines around his mouth that formed when he actually smiled made Yuri's heart quake.

"Well, looks like your angels have gained a few members. You've got – seriously – 103 new followers?"

Yuri scoffed.

Otabek shook his head, and he got up from his computer to join Yuri on the bed. Yuri would have been lying if he said that he didn't start to sweat. "Do you know how long I've been telling you you're pretty?"

Yuri blushed so hard he felt it in the ends of his hair. "Shut up." He shoved Otabek's shoulder. It's not like he really cared about that stuff; he cared about being pretty while he skated or danced, that kind of beauty was way more important.

"So," he picked up his phone and looked up Yuri's Instagram again. "No one can tell if you're a boy or girl."

"Yeah, it's weird how much people care about that, you would think that with so many male omegas who like dressing up no one would give a fuck anymore."

Otabek tilted his head. "Yeah, but you still can usually tell with most male omegas."

"You're so sexist sometimes."

Otabek frowned. "What? How was that sexist? Male omegas are usually a bit taller than females, and you guys do have broader shoulders and more muscle mass." Yuri rolled his eyes and Otabek shrugged. "All I'm saying is people are usually curious about what they don't know. I thought you liked being androgynous?"

Yuri shrugged. Well, yeah, he liked having the choice of dressing like either a boy or girl, but that honestly wasn't special – most male omegas did, fuck so did female alphas. "It's still weird that so many people are commenting on it, though."

"Well, yeah," Otabek inclined his head, blinking slowly with those fucking ridiculously long lashes, and Yuri suddenly had the image of him in a dress and heels. He could fucking rock it, of course, and he had actually worn heels out once. Well it had been at the end of the night and Roza's feet had been killing her. She and Otabek were the same shoe size because Roza was so much taller than him, so he offered to switch with her for the rest of the night. He had impeccable balance, so walking wasn't a problem, but after a few experimental steps he had looked down and scoffed.

"I get it," he had said, nodding. "They hurt, but they really do make you feel powerful."

Yuri snickered at the memory. "Hey remember that time you wore Roza's heels?"

Otabek raised an eyebrow, turning his head to give him his full attention. It took a split second for his smile to drop and an expression crossed his face like someone had kicked a cat right in front of him. Yuri frowned as well, and followed his gaze down to his shirt.

"Wha-"

"Get the fuck off my bed." His voice was low and steely.

Oh. Yuri cackled, flopping backwards and Otabek made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, before nudging Yuri away with his foot. He was still in his sweaty shirt and running shorts. He grinned and rolled over, sliding gracefully off the side of the bed. Otabek looked beautifully grumpy with a small pout on his full lips and his eyes narrowed slightly. Yuri's chest clenched.

"What is wrong with you, you nasty, little person? And on my bed? Yura."

Still cackling, Yuri flounced to the door.

"Go shower!" Otabek yelled after him, but Yuri could hear the smile in his voice.

Yuri was still grinned as he made his way back to his room, but there was also a little bit of cold anxiety in his gut. He should have spoken to Otabek then, they had both been in good moods, but – he shrugged – he could always talk to him later. Or tonight. It wasn't like Otabek was going to let him back into his room before he showered anyway.

But Otabek had plans to go to the gym when Yuri had gotten out from the shower and then that night Iska and Roza came over. He would talk to him tomorrow. But then tomorrow came and the only people he talk to about anything important was Yakov and Lilia about responding to, now, a few news sites that wanted to talk to him. He had a phone interview with freaking BuzzFeed next week and was torn between wanting to bounce around his room and bang his head against the wall.

Okay, he had to had to talk to him tonight. Yuri was pacing around his bedroom, raking his hands through his hair as he waited for Otabek to come back from training. He was due back any minute now and Yuri felt as though his heart was in his throat. Otabek was like clockwork, Yuri had no idea how he did it, since there was no way he could predict traffic or anything like that, but he had told Yuri that he would be home by seven fifteen. The number had literally gone from fourteen to fifteen when he heard his motorbike coming up the driveway. He knew once he was inside he would first find his mom to tell her he was home, then make a beeline for the shower. He heard the garage door open, since his room was directly above it, then a silence so consuming, if he listened hard enough he could hear his own heart beat. Yuri took a deep breath, curling his toes against the floor and yanking at the hem of his t-shirt. Okay. Okay, he was doing this; he wasn't going to let himself chicken out again. Fuck, it was hot in here. He fanned himself with his shirt then wiped his hand across his forehead. It came back covered in grease and Yuri stared at his shiny fingers in horror. And actually maybe he should change or something; he didn't want to give Otabek another reason to reject him. He washed his face, and brushed his hair into a top-knot. He switched his t-shirt for a loose, kind of see-through tank top and pulled on a pair of denim cut-off shorts. And then, he sort of couldn't believe himself, did a quick pass with his eyeliner and smudged it a bit so it looked like he'd been wearing it for a while. He gave himself a once-over in the mirror then puffed out his cheeks and sighed deeply. Okay, he was doing this.

He sat down at Otabek's desk chair, kicking his toes against one of the desk legs. He could hear the shower running from the adjoining bathroom. Otabek could be in there anywhere from five minutes to twenty. His stomach had actually hurt on the way upstairs. He leaned back against the padded backrest, with fucking lumbar support and ground his teeth.

So, he was just going to go right out and say it. 'Otabek, I like you. I like you and I'm demisexual'. The ball would be in his court after that. Fuck, he was going to throw up. He was lucky that Otabek had agreed to still be his friend after what happened at Worlds. And he really should have been okay with that, but then his stupid feelings had to get in the way. And being friends was good and all, but it was fucking safe. And even if he didn't really completely understand the shift from being ace to grey-ace, he'd tell Otabek anyway and let him do whatever. And if it hurt, well, that was nobody's but his decision. And if Otabek rejected him, well – he swallowed, feeling his throat spasm. Well, he'd gone fifteen years without a friend; he probably could do it again.

God, Otabek's room was even hotter than the rest of the house. It was so hard to breathe in here, fuck. He tumbled against the desk, folding his arms and cradling his head in them. Ugh, why did he even have to do this? Why couldn't things just have continued on how they were before? Fucking, stupid feelings.

The shower cut off and Yuri shot upright; his heart started to hammer like he'd been injected with adrenaline. Otabek's computer had woken up; he must have bumped the mouse or something. Yuri glanced to the screen, his eyes going anywhere but the bathroom door. He had left his Facebook open and Yuri glanced up and down his newsfeed. There were posts from bands he followed, and a video clip from some Kazakhstani media house. Otabek probably had like ten friends on Facebook and it looked like the same five people kept on posting. Yuri scoffed, but a there was a soft ding and a chat popped up at the bottom of the screen. Assyl Nazerov, he didn't know that friend. Or was it family?

He shrugged and clicked on the chat, what did a chat with a family member even look like, was it all just inside jokes? He quickly scanned the chat, newest messaged first.

Assyl:
You're DJ'ing at The Summit? That's pretty cool.
So I'm guessing you're actually –

And there were a few Kazakh words that he didn't know. Yuri tilted his head, scrolling to the top of the chat. The scroll bar bumped against the top, signalling that it wasn't a very long chat, or that he and Assyl weren't even friends. Who the hell was he then? A fan? His skin started to prickle as he began to read.

Assyl had started it:
Hi, so this is kind of weird, but my – another Kazakh phrase Yuri didn't know - is playing –

Yuri gave up on that bubble and looked at Otabek's response.

Yeah, my sister mentioned you a few times. Sorry, I didn't message sooner.

No, that's okay. I was actually a bit nervous to talk to you. I thought they were playing a joke on me.

Why would I be a joke?

Not you, but the situation...

Oh, that's fair enough.

Yuri scowled; what fucking situation?

So, Assyl, Otabek had continued, It's nice to talk to you at last. That's a beautiful name by the way. 

Thanks
and you too :)
Hey, can I be upfront with something?

Otabek's response might have been Kazakh for go ahead or something, because Assyl continued.

I'm sure you get hundreds of people throwing themselves at you. Why talk to me?

Yuri drew in a sharp breath. The floor felt like it was tilting but his eyes were glued to the computer screen.

You came with high recommendations from my apay. And you look like a nice person. I mean, that's a gorgeous profile pic.

Yuri's stomach sank and his fingertips went cold. He swallowed thickly, and clicked on Assyl's name. Fuck, he was gorgeous, with full, pouty lips and wide, honey-coloured, almond eyes. He had shiny black hair styled into a short bob and he was small and slim and his makeup was perfect and he was Kazakh and Otabek was flirting with him. Fuck, his eyes were prickling. He bit his bottom lip, not daring to breathe, because he knew what would happen if he did. There was already a vice-grip on his throat.

He hit the back button, trying to control his shaking fingers and now he didn't even care; he scrolled through the rest of the chat.

Assyl had asked if he wanted to meet in person. Otabek had offered to pick him up. He closed the chat and hit the 'x' button with enough force that the mouse shuddered in his grip. He wiped roughly at his eyes, pushing the chair back from the desk a bit.

Fuck. Well screw this entire plan. What the hell was he doing freaking out about talking to Otabek when he had already made plans to meet with someone else? He breathed in, fucking sniffling to make things better. He growled at himself. Why should he even bother when it was so fucking obvious that Otabek didn't like him back? The hand around his throat was now clawing down his chest spreading a cold buzzing. Just fuck everything. Fuck this dumb –ass unwanted crush, fuck Otabek, fuck Almaty, and fuck Assyl. He clenched his jaw, swearing internally when he felt the tremor.

God, he was so stupid. It obviously would never work between him and Otabek. He'd screwed things up between them with his stupid sexuality and, fuck, why couldn't he have just been normal? Why did this have to be so hard? Any why did Otabek have to want to date other people? He stared at his lap, still holding his breath and trying to will these stupid feelings away. How the fuck was he supposed to enjoy the summer now? Everything was ruined.

"Oh, hey."

Yuri jumped as Otabek calmly walked out of the bathroom. The heat in his chest turned into a raging  fire and he had to hold back a snarl. Of course the fucker would come out looking perfect with slicked back hair and his dumb-ass glasses, with his fucking arms on display.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Yuri spat.

"What happened?" Otabek took a few steps towards him.

"Nothing." His skin was itching like he'd been stung by a thousand wasps.

Otabek's eyes flickered to his computer. "Why were you on my Facebook?"

"I wasn't," Yuri snarled. jumping up from the chair. "I accidentally hit it mouse."

Otabek raised an eyebrow and shrugged one shoulder. "Okay. So what's the matter? Did something happen on Instagram?"

Yuri clenched his jaw. "I said it was nothing. Fuck why are you always so nosey? It might not even be your fucking business!"

Otabek's jaw dropped slightly, but he turned it into a stretch. "Okay." He brushed past Yuri to his computer. "Well I'm going to do a bit of work before bed. You can come back up when you're ready to talk." He sat down and pulled his headphones out of a drawer.

Yuri stared at the back of his head, as something broke in his chest and his vision went blurry. He turned on his heel and slammed the door on his way out. Just fuck everything.

Chapter Text

Yuri wasn't too sure how he had ended up on the stage, but the back of his skull was buzzing and the taste of cherry syrup and vodka was still thick on his tongue. He'd been dancing for what felt like hours; his feet were numb in his black, stiletto booties, and wearing a leather jacket had been a mistake. But, he would dance for as long as Otabek was Dj'ing. It was an unwritten rule. He grabbed Camran's arms, trying to get him to dance, but he didn't look too happy. Yuri pouted, moving behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist, still bouncing to the music. He could see Otabek glancing in their direction every so often and he smirked, ducking his head behind Camran's shoulder and fighting down a giggle. He glanced back to the DJ booth just in time to see Otabek's steely gaze lock onto him. Yuri grinned back at him, raising an eyebrow and swivelling his hips against Camran's behind. Camran pulled away, shaking his head and wrapping an arm around his waist.

"Let's go find the others," he shouted, pulling Yuri over to the stairs to the dance floor.

"But," He glanced back to Otabek, who had turned back to the sound board. "I thought the plan..."

"I'm not drunk enough for the stage." He grabbed Yuri's hand as he weaved through the crowd on the dance floor. "And trust me, he saw you."

The Summit was packed, even for a Friday night, sweaty bodies pressed against them as they tried to move through the dance floor. It didn't help that he'd already had a pretty strong cocktail that Iska had recommended and had downed a row of shots after Bal had dared him to. The strobe lights reflected against the mirrored walls in mesmerising patterns and he didn't even realise when Camran's hand slipped from his. He turned back to the stage, throwing his hands into the air and bouncing on the balls of his feet as the song began to build and the crowd screamed. Otabek was the best DJ in Kazakhstan, and he probably could make a career out of it, but Yuri would rather die than let him stop skating.

He was still grinning when two palms were suddenly on his hips and a chest was pressed against his back. He glanced over his shoulder and the guy holding him yelled something in Kazakh. He just managed to catch the words pretty and dance. Why the hell not?

"Iä," he shouted back, shrugging.

The guy's hands tightened on his hips and he pulled Yuri tightly against his torso, almost too tightly for him to move much. He wiggled away, pulling the guys hands from his hips by his thumbs, and sent a warning glare before he turned back around and began to sway to the music. The hands came back to his waist, but were much looser. Good. He craned his neck to see over the crowd, squinting to make out Otabek bobbing his head as he focused on the controller. He had worn his glasses tonight – the dancing spotlights reflected off the lenses – and in a tight, black sweater with mesh sleeves, he had never looked hotter. The sound of the base had his entire chest beating, but there was also a hot swirl of excitement. He bit his bottom lip, wishing that he was back on the stage. There was nothing better than Otabek's smouldering, dark gaze on him as he danced.  

A fingernail caught on his nylons as the guy behind him toyed with the hem of his shorts. Yuri startled; he had actually forgotten about him. He grabbed the hands, pulling them away from his thighs, just then noticing how close they were to his crotch. For fuck's sake, really? He pulled away, but the guy's hands still lingered and he shouted an apology. Yuri rolled his eyes, glancing back to the stage and ignoring the palms that pressed the fabric of his thin t-shirt against his sweaty waist.

The transition from one song to the next was flawless, and Yuri bobbed his head as the new song started to speed up. He reached back to rake his hair over one of his shoulders and give his neck a chance to breathe and, holy shit, was that a fucking tongue licking the side of his neck? He jerked away, sneering only to have the hands on his waist come around to wrap around his stomach. God, why couldn't people just dance? Why did it always have to turn into some fucking dry-humping show?

Growling low in his throat, he dug his nails into the guy's wrists as he pulled his hands away. They guy jolted in surprise and let go, but then Yuri was grabbed by someone else. He spun around, stumbling because fucking heels. He fell back against a solid chest that somehow still smelt strongly of expensive cologne.

"Stop fucking grabbing me like that," he yelled as Iska's arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

"Can't leave you alone for two seconds," Iska mumbled into his ear, and Yuri could just imagine the glare he was sending the grabby-guy's way. Yuri stuck out his tongue as he slunk away into the crowd.

"Where's Camran?"

Iska held him tightly against his side as he shouldered through the crowd. "He asked us to help him look for you."

He led him back up to their booth in the corded off VIP area. The music was muted somewhat by heavy curtains that separated each booth from one another. Camran gave a sigh of relief when Yuri sat down next to him. Yuri rolled his eyes, reaching for a clean shot glass on the tray in the centre of the low, square table.

"I can take care of myself, you know." He poured out a shot of vodka. "I punched a guy in the face once."

Iska sat down on his other side. "Yeah, I believe that, but this is the third time in two hours where some stranger was groping you."

Yuri knocked back the shot, grimacing at the burn. Well dancing and groping were pretty much synonymous. He hadn't ever danced with someone in a club who hadn't tried to grab him somewhere. "Not my fault."

Camran chuckled. "Maybe that outfit is just a bit too sexy."

Yuri flipped him off; he was the one who had chosen it. Leopard-print shorts, black nylons, black stilettos, a loose, black, v-neck shirt, and a structured, leather jacket. He'd picked out a few spiked bracelets, and a black, velvet choker himself. "Maybe it's not the outfit."

Iska scoffed. "Then it's absolutely your fault."

Yuri rounded on him; the loose part of his braided faux-hawk slapped him in the cheek.  "How is it my fault that you fucking Kazakhstanis can't keep your hands to yourself?"

"What's got the Russian riled up this time?" Bal asked, slipping into the booth next to Camran. "Good, you found him. Beka would have killed us."

Yuri snorted, pressing his back against the smooth, wooden backrest. "Again, I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, but you're still a foreigner and our guest; you shouldn't be wandering around by yourself."

Yuri glared at him, but couldn't think of anything to counter. "Whatever. You guys are making me miss Beka's performance."  He stood up and stomped over to the railing that separated the VIP from the rest of the club and looked over to the stage. The VIP area was level with the stage, giving Yuri an unhindered view of the DJ booth and Otabek moving around all the equipment like he was on the ice. He adjusted some knob or slider or whatever then threw a hand into the air, pumping it in time with the base. Yuri ran his tongue along the edges of his teeth. Fuck, he needed to be on that stage right now.

So far, the plan seemed to be working; Yuri hadn't been imagining those heated looks Otabek had been sending him all night. He'd put on his highest heels, and it wasn't a coincidence that the leopard-print shorts happened to be his shortest shorts. Roza, although she couldn't come out with them that night, had done Yuri's hair and makeup and had contoured and highlighted the shit out of his face and then finished off with a dark smoky eye, dramatic winged liner, and deep brown matte lipstick. He was hot. He knew he was hot, and Otabek had noticed it too. If everything went according to plan he wouldn't even remember Assyl's name by the end of the night.

Grinning and tapping the toe of his shoe against one of the balusters, he looked over his shoulder ready to tell the others he was going back onto the dance floor. But then Otabek stopped dancing and moved to lean over the front of the booth to look into the crowd. Yuri's head snapped back around. Hold the fuck up. He narrowed his eyes watching as Otabek removed his headphones, hung them around his neck, and cupped a hand around his ear to listen to a girl yelling something up to him. Yuri clenched his jaw; Otabek flashed her a grin, a small grin but a grin nonetheless, and nodded. She blew a kiss at him, and Otabek pretended to catch it. Something roared in his chest, drawing his entire body hot and tight. He curled his fingers tightly around the railing.

"Okay guys, listen up," Otabek's voice sounded across the speakers. "Seems like we're celebrating a special occasion tonight. Raya Aniyarev, enjoy your last night of being single; this song is for you."

There were a few high, girly screams from the crowd. A bachelorette party maybe?

Yuri exhaled deeply through his nose. Okay, fine. That was a false alarm. He shook his head almost ashamed at how quickly he had jumped to straight to jealous. Well, to be fair, he wasn't going to take any chances after reading the conversation with Assyl. It had been an actual slap in the face to realise just how easy it was for Otabek to find a date, even without his family doing most of the work for him. He was hot, he was rich, and he was famous. He was like one of the most desirable men in Almaty. Probably. He could be. He worked his jaw, unable to stop himself from glaring at the DJ booth. Fuck, he needed a drink.

He turned around to eye the bottle of Moskovskaya on the table. That wasn't going to cut it.

"Is the tab still open?" he asked Iska.

"Yeah? Yuri, wait; it's almost time to-"

He ignored him, stomping out of VIP and over to the bar. He got the bartender's attention by banging his fist on the bar top.

"Give me your strongest drink."

The bartender eyed him up and down, and Yuri glared back, daring him to say anything. He eventually shrugged and went about mixing the drink. He set a brown-orange drink in front of Yuri a short while later, and quirked his eyebrow.

"Sazerac," he said shortly. "Make sure your friends get you home safely."

Yuri huffed, picking up the half-filled tumbler and took a gulp. His eyes started to water immediately, and his entire mouth and throat caught fucking fire, but the bartender was still looking at him, so he swallowed and forced his face into another steely glare. Fuck, he hated whiskey. The bartender was taken aback for a second then grinned before taking someone else's order. Holy shit, Yuri stared down at the glass; he had not been lying. His tongue was both on fire and numb, and his stomach was threatening to revolt; he could feel that first sip coming back up. He took a few breaths before taking a much smaller sip, then said 'fuck it' and knocked back the entire glass, not wanting to lengthen the process. He actually had to close his eyes and lean against the edge of the bar while willing himself not to vomit.

He couldn't feel his feet as he stomped over to the stage, throwing back his shoulders and raising his chin. Otabek wasn't going to know what hit him. Except, right as Yuri was heading his way, he announced that that was his final song and thanked the crowd for coming out.

Fuck.

He stood at the base of the stage with his hands folded across his chest. "Beka!" he yelled over the generic club music that was now playing.

Otabek looked over the edge of the booth. The crowd on the dance floor was already dispersing, so Otabek saw him immediately. He motioned Yuri onto the stage. "Hey, come help me pack up."

Oh, okay, this was even better. He had to hold onto the railing as he went up the staircase, but didn't bother trying to hide his grin.

"Had fun?" Otabek asked, unplugging and wrapping a cord around his palm as a few staff members came over to pack up the larger pieces of equipment.

"Yeah," Yuri grinned as he handed him his laptop and headphones. "You were great."

"Thanks." A corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "So, I just got to get my bag from backstage and we can head home. Unless the guys wanted to do something else."

Yuri tilted his head. "I think Camran was getting tired. They didn't mention wanting to do anything..."

Otabek shrugged, jerking his head for Yuri to follow. He led him backstage then down a narrow hallway to a door marked dressing room. No sooner had the door clicked shut and Yuri had put Otabek's laptop back into his bag there was a prickling feeling at the back of his neck, like someone was staring at him. He slowly turned around, rubbing his tingling fingertips against his palms. Otabek was leaning against the door, his head cocked to the side, his hands shoved into the pockets of his tight, ripped jeans, and his bottom lip tucked under his teeth. Yuri's heart thudded slowly, and there was a crack in his chest before his entire body ignited.

"You look amazing," Otabek breathed.

Yuri smirked, his lungs expanding with fuzzy heat. "I know."

Otabek scoffed, shifting away from the door and taking a few confident strides to stand right in front of him. Yuri rarely wore heels this high anymore, so it was a bit jarring to be looking down on him that much.

"What's the occasion?" Otabek's eyebrow quirked upwards.

Yuri scoffed. Playful tonight? Or had he been drinking while he was on stage? He shrugged one shoulder. "There was a pretty cool DJ playing tonight. I thought I'd try something... different."

Otabek's eyes narrowed playfully and he untucked his hands from his pockets to rest his palms against Yuri's hips, pulling him closer. "Looks like you wanted to get his attention."

Yuri swallowed and the buzzing at the back of his head was now mixing with the palpitations in his chest. "Looks like I got it."

Otabek's grasp tightened, his fingers pressed the material of his shorts into his skin. "Yeah, you did."

There was suddenly and hand cupping the back of his head, guiding him downwards. Yuri didn't dare breathe; his chest was so hot that he was sure his shirt was soaked through by now. His eyes fluttered shut when their mouths met and, as if on instinct, his hand came up to massage the soft velvet of Otabek's undercut. Otabek's other hand trailed up under his jack to splay across his shoulder blades, pulling him flush against his chest.

Yuri wasn't sure if he was tasting the alcohol from his own drink of if Otabek had really been drinking, but the heat of his mouth was enough to make his dismiss the thought, especially when he nipped at his bottom lip, his breath ghosting across Yuri's cheeks and chin. He kissed the corner of his mouth lightly, before joining their lips again, hurried and needy. Yuri was almost hyperventilating, forgetting how to breathe properly, as their mouths moved together. Every so often Otabek would give a low groan that caused a swirling ball of fire to form in Yuri's gut. He tugged at Otabek's sweater, while he ran his free hand up and down Yuri's thigh, the other tangled in the hair at the back of his head. His hands were rough and hot as they climbed up the bottom of his shorts, pinching the crease of his thigh and ass. Yuri's breath hitched and his hips jolted, bumping into Otabek's stomach. The bastard smirked into the kiss, and Yuri yanked his sweater warningly, before shoving both his hands up under the hem and dragging his nails across the bare skin of his back. Otabek shuddered, breathing heavily and pulling away slightly.

"We need to get out of here, now," he mumbled in between short, but deep kisses. 

Yuri grinned, hot excitement running up his spine. The taxi ride back to Otabek's house was excruciatingly slow, when all he could do was nuzzle against his side, place chaste kisses against his neck and jaw, and nose the side of his neck, breathing in his scent. Otabek would react every now and then, squeezing his hand, running a palm up his thigh, or leaning down to kiss him. But the taxi driver would clear his throat if they kissed for too long. Yuri would have ignored him, but even when he was tipsy, Otabek was far too polite.

Yuri only realised how drunk he was when he bent over to unzip his shoes and the world upended. Otabek caught him, pressing soft kisses all over his face.

"You okay?" he mumbled, laying Yuri down on the bed, and crawling over him. He knew he should feel ridiculous lying on Otabek's bed in only a pair of nylons and his underwear with his pants around his ankles, but his head was humming and his skin tingling, while his tongue and lips felt dry and too big for his mouth. And it all felt so fucking right.

He tugged at the bottom of Otabek's sweater, pulling it up over his chest, pressing his palms against his muscled pecs, and brushing his fingers against dark nipples. "I'm fine," he smirked.

Otabek exhaled heavily, ducking his head to nip the side of Yuri's neck before sitting back on his knees, straddling his thighs. He then pulled his sweater over his head, messing up his hair further. His glasses had come off as soon as they had entered his room, after all their kissing had nearly knocked them from his face. But he still stared down with fiery, dark eyes all the same. Yuri could feel his mouth drying out, and he rose up on his elbows with his mouth hanging open and heart pounding. He was literally golden in the yellow light from the lamp on his nightstand.

"You have lipstick on your face," his voice was raspy, barely more than a whisper.

Otabek dragged his thumb across his bottom lip. "I don't care." He leaned over, bracing his arms on either side of Yuri's head, forcing him to lie back flat against the mattress. He joined their mouths together once more kissing fierce and hard.

Yuri was floating, his entire body tingling from his hair follicles down to his toenails. The bed had disappeared from underneath them – he was actually floating. And even though the buzzing in his head had strengthened, and he felt it in his eyeballs, all he was focusing on was Otabek's teeth grazing his neck, and his long, deep thrusts. He had probably bitten his lip bloody, moaning through his teeth each time their hips crashed together. Otabek was breathing heavily through his nose, his face buried against the side of Yuri's neck as he grunted softly with each thrust. Tugging at the long hair at the top of Otabek's head, Yuri let out a breathy gasp and threw his head back against the pillows. Otabek's lips pulled against his neck in a smirk and he adjusted the angle of his hips. Yuri screwed his eyes shut and let out a long breath through his nose, crossing his ankles and tightening his thighs around Otabek's hips.

God, he felt like he was going to melt. Already a hot pressure was building in his groin, multiplying with each thrust in and drag out. But –

"More," he groaned, digging his fingers into Otabek's thick shoulder muscles. "Harder." He didn't know where that came from, just that he needed more of him; he wanted to be fucking consumed.

Otabek sunk his teeth into the crook of Yuri's neck before running his tongue along what Yuri was sure were indents. He gave a full body shudder, squeezing Otabek's biceps, and digging his heels into the small of his back.

"Harder?" Otabek mumbled, now kissing up the centre of his neck and along his jaw. He punctuated the question with a sharp jerk of his hips.

Yuri hissed, his mouth falling open and Otabek's thumb toyed with his bottom lip.

"Turn over."

"Wha?" he asked, lazily blinking.

"Come on, hands and knees." He pulled out completely, leaving Yuri quivering at the emptiness.

Somehow Yuri managed to roll over onto his stomach. His limbs felt like they didn't belong to him and his neck didn't have the strength to keep his head up straight. Otabek hooked an arm around his waist, yanking his ass up into the air. Yuri pressed the side of his face into the pillow, looking over his shoulder as Otabek got behind him. Oh. This.

He licked his dried out lips with an equally dry tongue, shivering as Otabek ran his palms up and down his sides, his calluses tickling and leaving blazing trails on his tingling skin. He settled his knees on either side of Yuri's, and Yuri took a second just admire the prominent bulge of muscle under brown skin speckled with wiry, black hair. Otabek then leaned over him and pressed a few kisses to his shoulder blade, and Yuri shut his eyes, humming at the hot tickle.

One of Otabek's arms was wrapped around his stomach, his thumb smoothing over his navel and the skin beneath in slow strokes. Yuri's chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath while struggling to overcome the new excitement. His entire body was trembling. 

"Ready?" His voice was low and thick in Yuri's ear.

Yuri gave a soft moan in response, rising up onto his palms and arching his back to press against Otabek's chest; he could feel it expand with each breath, so big and solid behind him, nearly burning to the touch. A hot tongue was pressed against the back of his neck, followed by the sharp sting of teeth. Yuri's gasp caught in his throat and Otabek chose that moment to wrap a hand around his cock, pumping it slowly. Yuri saw white for a second and his hips canted up of their own accord chasing Otabek's hand.

"Beka," he moaned, not believing how soft and needy he sounded.

"Ready?" he asked again, this time breathlessly.

"Fuck," Yuri swore, pushing back against Otabek's groin. He could feel him, hard against the crease of his ass. The heated flesh slid against his slicked entrance. He eyes rolled back into his head as he ground his ass into Otabek's hips. "Yes, fuck."

Otabek nipped the back of his neck again, before pulling away. Yuri nearly whined at the loss of contact, but then felt the wide, blunt head of his cock against his entrance. He sighed in relief as he slid in; his face scrunched up and he inhaled a mouthful of his own hair.

It felt like he was pushing in forever. Deep, was all Yuri could think. He was so fucking deep inside of him that he could feel the pressure all the way up to his stomach. He fought to relax, not to tense up, curling his fingers into the bed sheets and letting out a long, breathless moan. Otabek was panting, Yuri could hear his breaths echoing in the air above him, and when he was finally, finally, all the way in, he leaned over him again, sweaty chest to back, and took Yuri's earlobe between his teeth.

Yuri swore, his hips jerking against Otabek's pelvis, the scratchy ends of trimmed pubic hair tickled his ass cheeks. And they both groaned.

Otabek's first thrust made Yuri fall onto his elbows. His arms were shaking and his head snapped forward, chin to chest. He keened so loudly that he had to bite one of his fists to quieten himself.

"You said harder." Otabek's voice was punctuated with breathy pants.

Yuri pushed his hips back harshly, reaching up to rake his damp hair from his face. He glanced over his shoulder again, not surprised to see that everything was blurry in the dim lamplight and nothing would focus no matter how much he blinked.

"Harder." His voice cracked, but he heard Otabek exhale forcefully anyway. He pulled away again, before smoothing his palm down Yuri's back starting at his shoulders then down to his ass.

Anticipation built in Yuri's gut as Otabek's hips drew away, the bottoms of his feet were tingling, there were pinpricks at the back of his neck and everywhere Otabek's hands were. Without any warning, Otabek crashed into him, wrenching a cry from his throat. Fuck. Yes. His mouth dropped open and he buried his face into a pillow. Otabek picked up a brutal rhythm, hands on either one of Yuri's hips, digging bruises into his skin.

Yuri bit a corner of the pillow, screwing his eyes shut. It was a miracle that Otabek's bed wasn't creaking, and the only sound was the sound of skin against skin and their grunts, moans, and gasps. Otabek hunched over him again, mouthing the side of his neck. Yuri reached up to rake his hair over the opposite shoulder, tilting his head to bare his neck further and then reached up to cup the back of Otabek's skull.

"I'm so close." His words were soft, hurried, strained, and caused a hot shiver to shoot down Yuri's spine to his stomach. "I'm gonna," he ended in a soft, raspy gasp.

Yuri trailed his hand down his body, reluctant to leave the soft hair at the back of Otabek's head, but trailed his palm down his stomach and grasped his own dick, pumping it recklessly. Otabek's teeth sunk into the spot where his neck met his shoulder, and he pressed further in. Hips flush against Yuri's ass, he gave a few frantic, shallow jerks before stilling completely. Yuri could barely make out the added heat and wetness as he came. But, with sudden urgency, he tugged at his own cock, breathing like he was about to die. Otabek's hand covered his a moment later and together they pumped him until he spilled on the sheets beneath them.

If his head had been buzzing before, it was nothing compared to now. His brain was all swishy, and nothing would stay in focus. He knew he was lying down, but the bed was dissolving into vibrating air. His limbs felt miles away from his body, but were humming all the same. Far away Otabek was rolling him over and kissing every inch of his body, bundling him up in the sheets and cleaning up. His eyelids were impossibly heavy, but he could barely see anyway so he didn't even notice when they closed.

Yuri woke with a throbbing behind his eyes, stale alcohol in his mouth, and a queasy stomach. Okay, well this wasn't one of the worst hangovers he'd ever had. It was worth it, even if that was quite possibly the strongest mixed drink he had had in his life. He could still smell Otabek's spicy scent as he nuzzled against the pillows. And of course the soreness between his legs was almost pleasant in a weird way. He rolled onto his stomach, relishing the feeling of smooth, silky sheets against his bare skin.

"We need to stop getting drunk like this," he muttered, his voice was raspy and his throat dry.

He heard Otabek scoff, much closer than he had thought, and cracked open an eye, preparing to be assaulted by morning light. The blinds were mercifully shut, and Otabek was sitting up, propped against his headboard, his phone loosely in hand, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose, in a fucking t-shirt.

It was the t-shirt that had Yuri awake fully. He had blacked out last night, but Otabek had been fucking naked. So, he had gotten up to put on clothes. Apparently this was unlike the time at Worlds, and the first time they'd done this, where he'd been content to snuggle next to him in nothing at all. Something about that wasn't right. Yuri licked his lips sitting up slowly and pulling the sheets up to his chin. Swallowing to ease his rolling stomach and ignoring his painfully dry throat, he looked to Otabek's face. His stomach sank.

Otabek's jaw was tight, but other than that his expression was blank. Yuri swallowed again; okay, not what he'd been expecting after a night of mind-blowing sex.

"B-beka-"

"Okay, first," he held up his hand to silence Yuri. The words died in his throat anyway. "Are you on birth control?"

Yuri's eyes widened and his face heated up. "Uh, I... yeah." Fuck, he hadn't even thought about that. His stomach clenched. God, if Lilia hadn't thought it had been a good idea all those years ago, they would have been fucked. He shuddered, closing his eyes briefly and rubbing his temples.

Otabek blinked slowly and his shoulders seemed to sag in relief for a second before he rolled them and set his jaw once more. "Okay." He exhaled heavily. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Wha-"

"Because I have no clue." He dragged a hand through his hair. "You told me that you wanted to stay friends, and okay I get that, but what the hell was that last night? I'm okay with us being friends, but then you suddenly come onto me like that?"

Yuri narrowed his eyes. "Um, you came on to me." He didn't like his tone and he hoped that his headache wasn't taking away from his glare.

Otabek rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine that's on us both." Yuri made a soft noise of disgust. "But still, where did that come from all of a sudden?"

Yuri bit the inside of his cheek. Well, the thing was he fucking liked him. Yuri exhaled through his teeth. Otabek wasn't supposed to be mad, though. "I... uh..." Okay, he should come right out and say it. Just blurt it out. But Otabek went on before he could convince the words to form.

"You've been sending mixed signals the whole time you've been here, and maybe even before that. I don't know what to think."

Yuri frowned, allowing the sheet to fall to his lap. "Mixed signals?"

Otabek raised an eyebrow. "The way you look at me, sometimes the way you smile, or how we'd just stare at each other," he swallowed. "I'm not blind. And then sometimes you look like you have something really important to say, but then you just shut down and leave." He-he'd noticed that? "I know something's going on. Just tell me, please."

Yuri's stomach gurgled, the queasiness he had woken up with doubled. "I..." The words wouldn't come. All that left his throat was a woosh of air. He shook his head. Fuck, what was wrong with him?

Otabek grunted softly then sighed. "Okay, this is the third time we've woken up like this. The first time, I get it; it was just a heat of the moment thing. At Worlds we had just finished the biggest competition of the year; everyone's emotions were everywhere, I get that too, but I asked you then, and the question still stands, what are we doing? I mean, the sex stuff we can figure out later, but this, what is this? What's going on?"

Yuri's shoulders bunched up to his ears. The muscles in his throat were contracting so hard he didn't think he would be able to speak. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his shins, and closed his eyes.

"I... I don't know." He could have punched himself, but for some reason those were the only words that he could force out. Nothing about how he felt for him, much less anything about him being demisexual. Just 'I don't know'. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Otabek sighed softly, and Yuri heard the sheets rustle as he moved. When he opened his eyes, Otabek was sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to him. "You don't know?" He swallowed loudly. "I'll make this easy for you, then. I... I like you."

Everything screeched to a halt, the gurgling in his stomach, the throbbing in his head, and his pounding heart. He liked him? Yuri's mouth dropped slightly. Well, the fuck hadn't he come right out and said it? Yeah, he knew; he was a fucking hypocrite. But Otabek had no problem saying what he meant; he didn't have that part of his brain that fucked everything up when he spoke. Whereas a simple compliment could end up with Yuri cussing out someone's grandma.

"I should have told you at Worlds." Otabek picked at a loose thread at the hem of his shirt. "I was going to, but then you said you wanted to stay friends and I didn't want to push you into anything. And now I still like you."

A loud ringing started up in Yuri's ears, and, no matter how many breaths he took, he felt like no oxygen was flowing. It was that simple. It was fucking that simple. He couldn't believe it.

"You... you like me?" He couldn't muster up more than a whisper.

"Is that so hard to believe?" He looked at him from over his shoulder. His eyes were soft, eyebrows slightly raised.

Yuri frowned, playing the question back in his mind. He hadn't noticed it before, that was one of the fucking reasons why he was so unsure about admitting that he liked him in the first place. And then he'd gone on all those dates, happily might he add, and after all these months of Yuri stressing, he just went and blurted that? What the hell was he supposed to think?

"Yes." His frown deepened.

Otabek's eyebrows dipped. "Yes?"

Oh my fucking God, how could he sit there and think he'd been clear as day? "Yes, it's hard to believe. After I asked if we were still friends you said okay then you didn't talk to me for weeks. Then all of a sudden you have all these blind dates, you don't complain about a single one like you actually wanted to go out on them, and then you date this girl for like a month and talk like the sun shines out of her ass."

"Uh," Otabek tilted his head to the side. "I think you're missing the point."

"What point? Nothing you did made me think that you liked me back!" Yuri fisted the sheets in his palms, the queasiness in his stomach giving way to dancing flames. He glared up at Otabek who was looking back with his mouth hanging open.

He didn't fucking know. How was he supposed to have known? His chest was tightening, but it wasn't out of anxiety anymore. He didn't fucking know that Otabek had liked him all this fucking time. It could have been so easy; it could have been so fucking simple. He had been panicking; all the while Otabek had this big secret ready to unleash on him like it was no big fucking deal. Hell, up until last night he'd been sure that he had to fight for his attention –

"So then why the hell are you flirting with another guy?"

Otabek jerked, looking like he had nearly given himself whiplash. "What?"

Yuri narrowed his eyes. "Don't play stupid! Assyl Nazerov, ring any bells?"

He frowned, his mouth still agape. "How do you know-"

"If you fucking liked me all this time, then how come you're still out there looking, huh, talking to people on Facebook, asking them out on dates, and agreeing to pick them up for fuck's sake-"

"You read my messages?" Otabek shot to his feet, spinning around to face Yuri straight on.

Yuri paused for a split second to acknowledge that maybe he shouldn't have done that, but he was too fired up to give it any more thought than that. "That's not the fucking point-"

"I don't give a damn what the point is anymore!" His eyes flashed with anger, and every muscle in Yuri's body locked into place. "You went through my messages! What the hell were you – Why would you do that?"

Yuri stared wide-eyed, a cold ball forming in his chest and another in his stomach. Fuck.

Otabek clenched his jaw, snarling. "I can't believe you! I doesn't matter who I'm talking to or what I said, that's private information. You have no right to go through my stuff like that!"

Okay, his eyes were prickling in earnest now. Fuck, he'd messed up big time. He crossed an arm in front of his chest, clutching at his shoulder. This was not how things were supposed to have gone.

"That's an invasion of privacy, I can't believe you!"

"But you were fucking flirting-"

"I could have been sexting him and you would still have no right to read the conversation!"

Yuri's jaw dropped. He couldn't –

"You just – I can't," he ended in an enraged yell, turning around and stamping over to his book case, where he spun back around, growled loudly, then stalked over to his bathroom and slammed the door.

Yuri stared after him, eyes glued to the door even as his vision grew watery. So yeah, he liked Otabek and Otabek liked him back and he had still managed to fuck it up.

Ignoring the way his stomach protested and the taste of bile mixed with the stale alcohol that coated the back of his throat, he slipped out of the bed. Now the soreness at between his legs and in his lower back felt like a shameful mistake. He braced his forearms on the mattress, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. What was he supposed to do now? How did he fix this? He clenched his jaw tightly, tasting salt as he looked around the floor for his clothes. His T-shirt was balled up at the base of the night stand, he bent over fishing it up with his index finger and grunting as his lower back twinged. It smelled of sweat, cherry syrup, and Otabek. He ground his teeth as he pulled it on; it was barely long enough to cover the bruises on his hips and thighs. He yanked the hem down to cover himself, and stumbled over to the bathroom door.

"Beka?" He knocked on the door.

There was no sound from the other side, and Yuri felt himself deflate and his gut tie itself into a tight knot. But he had to fix this.

Biting his bottom lip hard enough for the pain to cut through his headache, he knocked again. "Beka!" Nothing. "Beka, please!" He tried the knob, but of course it was locked. He sniffled as fresh tears fell down his face. He rested his forehead against the cool wood, banging weakly with the side of his palm. "Beka-"

The door swung open and Yuri stumbled forward a few steps before he caught himself. He was taller than Otabek, but somehow Otabek managed to stare down at him. He stood in the doorway, jaw clenched and hair rumpled from running his hands through it. He crossed his arms over his chest and his eyes were so cold and hard, like polished obsidian, that Yuri felt his heart crumble.

"B-beka-"

A muscle in his jaw twitched and his nose flared the slightest bit. "I... I don't think I can talk to you right now."

Yuri swallowed, straining his ears for the sound of a gun because he felt like he'd just been shot. He  couldn't stop his bottom lip from trembling, but he reached up to scrub at his eyes and nose. "Beka... I-I – please-"

He sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose then readjusted his glasses. "I just... I honestly can't believe you would do that."

Yuri shook his head, his hair hung limp against his shoulders. "No, I'm... I," his voice cracked. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.  

Otabek exhaled forcefully. "You..."

Yuri opened his mouth and Otabek's room door flew open. Both he and Otabek flinched.

"Uncle Beka! Yuri! It's time for breakfast!"

All the blood drained from Yuri's face, and he curled around his stomach, yanking the hem of his shirt down further as Maeena barged in, pigtails bouncing with each step. He quickly scrubbed at his face again, only imagining what he looked like right now; he'd always been an ugly crier. His messed up makeup from last night, probably with black tear tracks down his cheeks, and tangled hair, coupled with the fact that he was only wearing a t-shirt made him think that she would have run away screaming.

"Okay, we'll be down in a minute," Otabek answered gruffly.

She paused, a frown crossing her little face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, we'll be right down. Go tell Apa."

Her eyes flickered from Yuri to Otabek. "Are you hurt?"

Yuri wiped his face with the crook of his elbow, and tired to smile at her. It didn't work. "No, I'm fine." His voice cracked at the end. She didn't look convinced.

"You have a bruise there," she noted, pointing a tiny finger to Yuri's face.

Yuri's eyes widened and he clasped his hand against the side of his neck. The skin did feel a little tender there. Otabek's eyes flickered to his face and Yuri could hear his teeth grind together.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, looking upwards, hoping that that there were no more fucking tears waiting to fall. "It's nothing, I'm fine-"

"But you're crying. Does it hurt?"

"No, I promise I'm fine." He tugged harder at the hem of his shirt.

"But you're crying."

Otabek huffed, clearly starting to get annoyed. Or more annoyed. "Maeena, that's enough. Go back downstairs."

She scowled at him. "Did someone hurt him?"

Yuri winced, wanting to melt through the floor.

Otabek gave a long-suffering sigh. "I said that's enough-"

"I'm going to get Apa!" She pouted and scrambled from the room.

"No!" Otabek jumped after her only pausing to give Yuri the briefest of glances.

Yuri closed his eyes collapsing against the doorframe and bringing a hand to his face.

"Apaaa!" Maeena's voice echoed down the hallway followed by Otabek's heavy footsteps.

Yuri found most of his clothes and snuck down to his room without bumping into anyone. He knew they must have all been in the kitchen, if Otabek hadn't managed to catch his niece. He sat down in the middle of the bed, knees pulled to his chest and fingers threaded in his tangled hair. His throat was painfully tight, and his stomach was rolling with both nausea and anxiety. Otabek was pissed, and Yuri knew that he wouldn't hear anything from him for the rest of the day. A day if he was lucky.

Yeah, Plisetsky, go through the guy who has a private fucking Instagram's messages, that sounds like a good idea. Otabek was a private person, but Yuri had thought that they were past that; he shared almost everything with Otabek. But well, maybe they actually weren't as close as he had thought. It stung. But what stung more was knowing that he was wrong. He should have just ignored the message; he didn't even know what he'd been thinking when he had opened it. And now Otabek... well, there went Camran's fucking genius plan. It had blown up in his face all because he'd been an idiot and couldn't control his mouth. Now there was probably no way in hell Otabek would still like him.

The first tear that escaped burned all the way down his cheek to his chin. He'd fucked up. He'd fucked up so badly. And, God, it hurt.

Chapter Text

Yuri should have known that ignoring Camran's messages was an invitation for him to come over. He had sent Yuri a series of messages asking how the night had gone, but when Yuri didn't answer he showed up at the house that evening.

"What the fuck?" he demanded as soon as Otabek's mom had left them alone after giving Yuri a deeply concerned look.  

Yuri pretended not to notice, angling his body so she couldn't see his neck. He'd taken a long shower after he had convinced himself to get out of bed and when he came back out into his room there was a breakfast tray on his desk with a bottle of painkillers. He ignored the food, took the pills and tried to fall back asleep. But he couldn't stop thinking. He had fucked everything up between him and Otabek. There was no way he was going to be able to fix this. God, if he could just go back in time, and stop himself from just blurting out everything like that. Or, better yet, stop himself from reading the fucking messages.

And the thing was, he clenched his jaw until his teeth started to hurt, Otabek had liked him back. Had. God, he'd been so mad. Yuri had never seen him that mad before, annoyed or irritated, yes; he'd seen him get testy with people and occasionally snap at someone. He had heard him get into rapid-fire Kazakh arguments with his siblings, or snarl and cuss out his friends. But Yuri had never seen him angry to the point of shouting. Yuri bit his lip, trying to hold his breath so he would stop fucking sniffling.

His eyes still felt a bit swollen and he knew he looked pastier than normal from lack of sleep. Carman folded his legs over each other and planted himself at the foot of Yuri's bed.

"Well? I need to hear it from your side, Plisetsky." He leaned against one of the bedposts, staring at Yuri with dark, calculating eyes.

Yuri sighed, reaching up to rub at his temple even though his headache had all but disappeared. Of course Otabek would have already told them. Camran had tried to call him four times, so he must have spoken to Otabek as well.

"I fucked up," he mumbled, tracing the embossed, floral pattern of the bead spread with his fingertip.

Camran sighed softly. "Yeah, I know that much."

Yuri shook his head; he didn't even know where to start. "He liked me... he said he liked me." Camran made a soft confused noise in his throat. "I didn't know. And then it was confusing, like, if he liked me then why was he dating other people and-"

"You're really dense, you know that, right? He was dating other people because he liked you."

"What?"

Camran rolled his eyes so hard that his head followed. "I don't know who started with that 'just being friends' crap," Yuri bit his bottom lip, "But he has liked you for a while and maybe dating other people was his way of trying to get over you."

Yuri blinked. "What?" God, he felt so stupid. He swallowed as his throat tightened yet again. "Why didn't anyone say anything?"

Camran grabbed his hand and slotted their fingers together. "It wasn't our place to."

Yuri shook his head and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear with his free hand. God, if only he'd known then everything would have been so different. His eyes started to prickle again. Fuck. "Well, it doesn't matter anymore. He hates me now."

Squeezing his hand, Camran sighed softly. "No. He doesn't hate you; he's just mad at you." What was the difference? "And, honestly Yuri, that was a pretty shitty thing for you to do. We're all kind of mad at you."

Yuri felt like he'd been slapped in the face and kicked in the stomach. He couldn't stop his lip from trembling or the tears from leaking out. God, he knew. He knew he was an actually piece of shit. Camran switched tactics immediately, pulling him into a tight hug and stroking his hair.

"I don't know why I did it," Yuri blubbered. "It was just there and I... and Otabek's never going to forgive me."

Camran smoothed a lock of hair from his cheek. "He will. I've known him since I was like eight; he will. Just give him a few days or so to think things through."

Somehow, that wasn't very comforting. It should have been, but it wasn't.

It was like a wet blanket had been thrown over the Altin household. There was a sudden silence around Yuri's room, that after all the children running and screaming, and bustle of aunts and uncles and the cleaning staff felt like a black hole. Otabek stayed at Iska's house that night, and Yuri ate dinner alone in his room. He wasn't sure what Otabek had told his family what happened of if he had told them anything at all, but his mom was quick to tell him to tell her if he needed anything.

Then the messages started rolling in from Katsudon. Yuri sighed, rolling over onto his side and picking up his phone when it buzzed from the nightstand. He had ignored the message from him earlier that day, but Katsudon was nothing if not persistent.

Katsudon:
Hey, how's Almaty? Still having fun or are you ready to come home yet?
Viktor tried making omurice last night. Makkachin won't go anywhere near him now.

He had attached pictures of a very burnt frying pan and Viktor crying in a corner. Yuri closed the app and locked his phone before trying to fall asleep. He really didn't feel like talking to anyone. Instead, he spent most of the night alternating between staring at the wall and the ceiling, holding his stomach as it clenched and rolled, and ignoring the wet, salty trails on his cheeks.

He woke up pretty late the next morning, rolling onto his back feeling disoriented when he stared up at the ceiling. His arms and legs felt like there were sandbags tied to them and his eyes were sore and crusty. He groaned as he stretched out an arm to pick up his phone, unplugged the charger, and checked the time. It was almost eleven, but he had a few unread messages to go through. One was Yakov reminding him about his interview the next day. Lila had sent him a few YouTube links to ballet solos in the hope that he would be inspired for his programs. And the last one was from Katsudon. None from Otabek. Not that he'd been expecting anything, but still. He tried to ignore the grey cold that had started to settle in his chest. He tapped on Katsudon's message, unsurprised to see that he was starting to panic.

Katsudon:
Hey, is everything okay? Haven't heard from you in a couple of days.

He started typing out a response, but after the first letter he deleted it and locked his phone. Nothing he could say would make him feel any better. He shut his eyes, resting his phone face-down on his chest. He should get up and at least show his face to the household, but it wasn't like Otabek was going to be there anyway. What was the point? He took a deep breath through his nose, and he almost jumped when his phone vibrated again.

Katsudon:
Yuri, is everything alright? We're starting to get worried.

Okay maybe he should answer before Katsudon booked the next flight to Almaty. A new message came in while he was typing a response.

Katsudon:
Hi, I messaged Otabek. He says you're fine, so I guess I'll have to be okay with that. You know you can call whenever you need to.

There was a sudden tightness in his throat and he had to close his eyes briefly. Yeah, fine. He let out a harsh breath through his teeth and tapped his nail against the phone screen before gritting his teeth and answering Katsudon.

Me:
Why do you even have his number, Piggy?
Delete it.

Katsudon:
Are you really okay?

Me:
I'm fine.

He ground his teeth together. God, why did he even care so much? It wasn't as Yuri was in Saint Petersburg for him to get annoyed with all this fucking moping.

Katsuson:
Wow, punctuation.
I'm calling.

Yuri grumbled, wanting to press the decline button, but decided against it. Might as well get it over with now.

"What?" he ground out as soon as the call connected.

Katsudon was sitting down at the desk in their fucking home office; he recognised the giant portrait of him, Viktor, and Makkachin in matching outfits hanging on the wall behind him. God, they were so fucking lame. "What happened? Why aren't you answering my messages?"

"Maybe because I don't want to fucking talk to you! I don't have to speak to you every day; I'm not in some fucking weird co-dependent relationship like you and that fucking old man!"

Katsudon frowned. "Okay, rude. And we don't speak every day, but that still doesn't mean I wouldn't like to hear your voice every now and then. So, is there a reason why you're yelling at me and insulting my husband?"

"I..." he swallowed as his throat closed up instantly.

"Yuri..."

"I fucked up. I fucked up big time." He picked at the edge of his toe sock, already feeling everything inside of him crumble. He wasn't going to survive this conversation.

"What do you mean?"

"With Otabek. He hates me now."

"What did you – What happened?"

Yuri bit the inside of his cheek. "No, it was my fault." He took a deep, shaky breath through his mouth. "I was going to tell him I liked him and he... he beat me to it." Katsudon inhaled sharply, but Yuri continued before he could say anything. "And instead of reacting like a normal fucking person I started yelling at him and I did everything wrong."

"Okay, you were taken off guard," Katsudon suggested. "Weren't you convinced that he didn't have feelings for you? It was kind of obvious that he did, but," he shrugged. "He won't hate you for that-"

Yuri shook his head and dug his palms into his eyes. "Yeah, it was fucking obvious to everyone! Everyone but me, cause I'm a fucking dumbass-"

"No, you aren't! You are very intelligent, Yuri. Don't you dare say that."

He sniffled. "So then why do I always mess things up?"

"You..." he sighed softly and adjusted his glasses before he leaned back into the chair making it bounce a few times. "Okay, tell me exactly what happened and let's see how we can fix this."

Yuri blinked. Okay yeah, he did need a way to fix it. He took a deep breath before telling him about Camran's plan to get Otabek's attention. He left out the sex bit, but Katsudon wasn't dumb and he probably knew that's how it had ended. He tried to explain their argument as best as he could, but the more he spoke the more he realised how stupid he had been. And then the worst part was:

"I read his fucking messages. The night before, I was actually going to tell him, and he left his computer on, and his Facebook was open, and the chat just popped up, and then he was flirting with someone and I, It all just came out when... I – I, God. This is all just so fucked up!"

Katsudon was silent for a few beats, a small frown forming on his face. "Why did you read his messages?"

"I don't know!" He raked his hair back from his forehead and growled.

Katsudon sighed heavily. "Okay that was wrong of you."

Yuri hung his head, clenching his jaw as his throat and chest practically seized. "I know, and now he hates me. This was my one chance and now it's gone."

"Did you apologise?" Yuri was silent apart from a few sniffles. "You need to apologise."

Yeah, but how was he supposed to do that when Otabek refused to be around him?

"As long as you say you're sorry, and he understands that you are it will get better." Yuri scoffed. "It will, trust me. Viktor and I have had fights over bigger things and we're still okay."

Yuri scrubbed at his face and raised an eyebrow. "You fight?"

Katsudon sighed softly. "Of course we fight. Every couple fights."

"Doesn't seem so."

Katsudon shrugged. "Well when we first got married the biggest ones were about him making important decisions on his own, and okay, I wasn't forthcoming with how I felt about everything all the time, so he didn't really know taking charge like that was... wasn't the right thing. But the key to any relationship is communication. And it seems you and Otabek aren't so good at that yet."

Yuri shook his head again, his stomach clenched in cold. "You know I'm shit at talking."

"And I think Otabek understands that as well, but that's no reason to keep secrets and betray trust. And it's the only way you two will figure this out."

Yuri swallowed, but it got stuck in his throat. "Yeah."

"Hey, I know this is hard-"

"I get it."

Katsudon perched his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, resting his chin on his fingertips. "And if you ever need-"

"I know, call you."

"Yeah, you know, but I haven't seen you actually do it-"

"Sorry."

"No, I... that was supposed to be..." he sighed again, shaking his head slowly. Yuri bit the inside of his cheek as they fell into silence for a moment. "And also, I understand why you don't want to talk about Otabek, but you didn't tell me that you had an interview with BuzzFeed. I had to find out from Viktor."

"Oh..." He scratched the back of his neck. "It's not anything important; it's just about that dumb meme."

"That's still pretty important." He grinned, eyes sparkling with mischievousness, and Yuri was honestly thankful for his playfulness after such a heavy topic. "My son, one of the most attractive people in the world. I am so proud."

He pushed Otabek as far as he could from his mind, and wiped his eyes one last time. "I'm not your son. And I'm not... shut up. God, it's so weird when people say that."

He smiled. "You have to know that you're good looking, though. I mean you and Viktor both; it's honestly quite intimidating being next to you two sometimes."

"Yeah, but to get a news article about it? That's so superficial. It's just like, my face."

"Your symmetrical face."

"What does that even mean?"

Katsudon chuckled. "It means you have good genetics, you're welcome by the way."

"Again, not related"

"Details." He flapped his hand.

"My real parents were assholes; they don't deserve any credit."

Something flashed across Katsudon's face, but he didn't ask any questions. "Well, then I'm taking all of it."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "I'll mention that in the interview."

"Yes, please."

A soft chuckle came out of nowhere, and he was shocked that his eyes were starting to water again. Sometimes, he honestly didn't know what would happen without Katsudon.

He should have been more excited for his interview with BuzzFeed the next day, but as he waited for the call to come in, he felt nothing but a distant bubbling in his stomach. He was lucky that it wasn't a video call; they would probably hang up right way. He'd rolled out of bed like five minutes ago, his eyes still felt swollen, and he knew his face was oily enough for the nearest KFC to come knocking on the front door. At least he had brushed his teeth. His contact with BuzzFeed had been a girl named Monique, who seemed to be using Google Translate or something, because he had to read everything twice before he understood what she meant. Yakov had just as much trouble talking to her and had muttered a quick 'good luck' sounding like he was trying not to laugh. The Bastard.

Leaning against one of the bedposts, he stretched his legs out on the floor; the wood was cool against his thighs and calves. Honestly, he just wished that the interview would be short because he really didn't feel like talking to anyone right now. And even though he was expecting the call, he still jumped when his phone started to ring. He took a deep breath, looking down at the caller ID, let it ring a few more times the hit the answer button and reluctantly brought the phone to his ear.

"Uh,-"

"Zdravstvuy!"

He blinked and then mumbled the greeting back.

"Eto, uh, Yuri Plisetsky?"

"...Da?" Okay so either this person was reading a translation, or knew very basic Russian. He sighed heavily. "I can speak English, you know."

"Oh..." There was an awkward pause. Yuri narrowed his eyes. He was positive he'd done enough interviews in English for that to have been obvious. But, he guessed, that she was trying to be courteous by speaking his native language. Whatever. "That makes this much easier."

He scoffed.

"Sorry to disturb you on your vacation, but thanks for agreeing to chat with us."

"Yeah."

"Okay great, so I just want this interview to be like a regular conversation, you don't have to be formal or like censor anything."

"Uh, okay?" He picked at the hem of his fuzzy, sleeping-shorts.

"So, Yuri, tell me a bit about yourself. We hear you're a figure skater as well as a ballet dancer."

"Yeah. I'm a professional skater; the ballet is just part of my training program. But my instructor thought it would be a good experience to try out for her charity show."

"Oh, so you're not a professional ballerina? Wow, I never would have guessed that."

"Well, I've done ballet since I was like ten, so..." He tugged at a lock of hair. Ugh, he needed to wash it soon.

"Oh, that's cool, but you do more skating, right?"

Yuri blinked then squinted. "Yes. I'm professional; I get paid to skate."

"Of course." There was brief pause where Yuri wondered if he had ruined the interview already. "So, the question of the day is what was said to you in the famous picture."

Oh, okay. He racked his hair back from his face. "Uh, I actually don't remember. He, uh Prokher Levin, used to say lots of dumb things in passing. I don't remember them all."

"Oh, guess that's one mystery that won't be solved."

"Uh-"

"So, since the picture made its way to various social media sites, how does it feel to see your face everywhere?"

Yuri shrugged. "I mean, it's kinda weird, but I'm kinda used to it already. I've had articles published on me before, but this is a bit more, I don't know, intense."

"I'll say, you gained over 150 followers on Instagram alone."

"Yeah, I had to turn off the notifications."

"Wow, that overwhelming?"

He shrugged again. "Just a lot of tags and comments and DMs."

"DMs? From fans, or other companies, or?"

"Yeah, some of that, but mainly just a lot of dick pics..."

"Oh, yeah. I would have turned off notifications too. But aside from that how does it feel to be called out for being so attractive?"

"Uh, kinda weird. It's, like, it's just my face. I don't see what's the big deal?" He felt his cheeks heat more with each word.

"Not gonna milk it for any brand or model deals?"

Yuri rolled his eyes so hard they hurt. "Why would I? I already have a career."

She glossed over the rude comment. "Also, I have to ask, you weren't wearing any makeup in the picture right?"

Yuri sighed internally. "No. I was about to dance. I don't wear makeup at rehearsal or practice. What's the point when I'm just going to sweat it off?"

"What's your secret? You looked flawless."

If she only could see him now. "I don't know. It was just a good angle?"

"So good that the entire internet was up in arms about not being able to tell your gender for a few days. How did you feel about that?"

"Uh," Yuri bit his lip. How did he say that it was none of their damn business without sounding like a complete bitch? "Well I don't see why they cared that much."

"Well the internet loves arguments. Like, look at the whole pineapple on pizza thing."

"Yeah, I guess, but it was still weird. Like a bunch of people I don't even know discussing what I have in my pants – uh," had that been too brash?

She started to chuckle. Okay, maybe not. "You're an omega, right?"

"Yeah." What did that have to do with anything? "And I know lots of other male omegas who are much girlier than me."

"And we found some old tweets where you said you were asexual." He narrowed his eyes, and tucked his feet under himself. Where was she going with this? "So having your sex questioned so publicly must have been very uncomfortable, right?"

He tilted his head to the side. "Well, yeah, I just-" he cut himself off and inhaled deeply. Okay, what would Katsudon do? "I'm not sex repulsed, I just, uh, I just don't really think about it, and yeah okay, some of the comments made me a bit, uh, squeamish." Well, on most occasions, but he didn't need to open that can of worms during an international interview. He was ace, and that's all they needed. "And regardless if I'm ace or not, it's still uncomfortable. Or if I'm an omega-"

"Oh, I meant that it's just usually common for male omegas to be misgendered. It can be a very sensitive subject."

Yuri shrugged. "I know some people who get annoyed, but I don't really care. I get mistaken for a girl all the time and I don't mind." Wait, did he just contradict himself? "I mean, except when people are openly speculating about it."

"Yeah, then it gets super awkward. So, it seems like you're not a fan of the meme."

Okay, thank God she was changing the subject. "I mean it would have been cooler if all this attention was because of my skating or dancing, or something I actually worked for."

"But all the publicity must be good for you career either way, right?"

Yuri sighed internally.

She didn't ask too many more questions after that, but the time she ended the call Yuri was exhausted. He didn't think he could do many more of these interviews. All of this just because the internet had randomly selected one of his pictures to go crazy about. He didn't know what to say to that. He could only hope that they weren't all going to be like that. God, interviews about skating or ballet were so much easier. He let his head fall back and it hit the bedpost with a dull thunk.

"Yuri, are you feeling better?" Otabek's mom asked, turning around as Yuri slunk into the kitchen. She gave him a warm smile, brushing away a lock of hair that had escaped from her hair clip.

"Oh, uh," Yuri froze; he had thought that the kitchen was empty. He'd been hiding out in his room for almost four days now, but he really needed a glass of water. "Yeah, I guess." He shrugged shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Wonderful, you can help me with dinner then. I had some extra time, so I told the girls I would cook. I think they were happy to go home early today."

Yuri held back a sigh, and nodded. It was kind of rude of him to be hiding in his room like that. His grandpa would be disappointed. He rolled his eyes internally, just another person to add to the list of people who were disappointed in him.

"What are you making?" He wandered further into the kitchen, eyeing the various ingredients she had set out on the counter.

"Plov. Go wash your hands, dear, then grate these carrots for me."

After he wiped his hands on a dishtowel, she handed him a knife and set him in front of a cutting board with a bunch of fresh carrots with the green stems still attached. He watched her expertly cut strips of seasoned mutton. They were silent for a while; Yuri concentrating on cutting off all the green before he brought them over to the sink to rinse.

"Do you cook much at home?" She asked, pausing her slicing to watch Yuri.

He shrugged, dumping the carrots back onto the counter and picking up a large grater. "Sometimes with Lilia, but she usually just has me make salads or, like, stir things."

She chuckled softly. "So what's a typical dinner like?"

Yuri tilted his head, focusing on grating the carrots into a large bowl.  "Uh, really healthy. She'd do things like grilled chicken or fish, quinoa, wild rice, or uh, lentils. High protein stuff and a lot of vegetables."

"I wish I could get this family to eat that healthily. Kemhebek was raised on meat, flour, and oil. Of course his mother insisted feeding her boys a good Kazakh diet to grow up big and strong. I had to fight long and hard to get him to eat a single vegetable."

A grin came out of nowhere and Yuri gave a short, soft laugh, surprising himself. She looked over at him, smiling.

"My dedushka would only eat potatoes and beef if I didn't get the neighbour to cook for him. And pirozhki, he likes making those."

"How is your grandfather doing?"

Yuri sighed through his nose. "He's okay; he's still having problems with his back, but the doctor gave him new medication."

"He'll have to come visit us when he's better."

"He'd like that." He nodded, picking up the last carrot.

"When you're done with the carrots, sauté these onions for me." She pointed to a large, iron kazan sitting in the middle of the industrial, six-burner stove. "I already measured out the oil and seasonings."

He nodded, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt and crossing to the opposite side of the counter. He lit the burner and waited for the oil to heat up.

"How are your programs coming along for this season?"

Yuri shrugged, watching the oil start to sizzle. "Yakov wants me to choose my own programs this year, but I have no clue what I want to do. I mean I'll probably do something classical as usual; that's what Lilia usually choreographs for anyway."

"You don't normally choose your programs?"

"Well, kinda. I tell Yakov and Lilia if I don't like something and we work together to, like, pick the music and come up with a theme and style. But they both know what they're doing when they put together the final routines, so I just let them do their thing usually."

"Oh, Beka does his own programs, from start to finish. I thought that's how it normally went."

Yuri's stomach clenched at the mention of Otabek. "Yeah, he's an overachiever."

She laughed through her nose. "My boy. He's always been so particular; everything has to be perfect for him." Yuri bit the inside of his cheek. "And I mean everything, Yuri. I'm sure you already know this, but he started to date again. I know how overwhelming and confusing all that can be, so I introduced him to some of my friends children." His spoon scrapped along the metal of the kazan as he stirred the crackling onions. He felt like they did, limp and soggy. "He only agreed to meet the fifth one I showed him. The fifth, Yuri. Anyway she was a nice girl, but they didn't click. Such a pity." Yeah a pity. "And then there was this other girl, one of the prettiest girls I've seen; you should have seen her, long brown hair, beautiful eyes, and she came from a good family too." She sighed dramatically. "But it didn't work out either – here add the meat now." He watched the lamb strips sizzle and pop. Actually, that was how he felt right now. "I'm glad he has high standards, but at this rate he's going to end up all alone."

Yuri bit the inside of his cheek, not trusting himself to say anything that wouldn't be rude, offensive, or make him cry. Already his eyes were starting to prickle. He sniffed; fucking onions.

"But I think he mentioned that he was seeing someone else now."

Yuri dropped his spoon, splattering oil over the rim of the kazan and onto his hand. He swore in Russian, pulling his arm away from the pot. Otabek's mom dashed forward, grabbing his hand and rubbing it between her palms. Yuri swallowed thickly, biting his lip as she inspected his skin. Lilia would have just scolded him for being careless.

"There, that's not too bad. I'll take over now, open those cans of chickpeas for me and drain out the water."

He gathered the cans and brought them to the sink. Watching the water splash against the top of the can, he bit the inside of his cheek. There was something dizzying and dark growing in his chest, and he was suddenly light-headed. He leaned against the edge of the sink, hanging his head and just breathing deeply for a short while.

"H-he's seeing someone else?" His throat was dry and he wanted to vomit.

"Yes, I think he met him for lunch today. He's Hadiya's wife's cousin I believe, or a friend of the family, either way she assured me he was a nice boy." Yuri was actually going to vomit now; his stomach was gurgling and rolling. "I'm glad Beka gave him a chance; Hadiya said he didn't seem interested at first." Yuri's chest clenched. "He really needs someone to take care of him, a wholesome, Kazakh-Muslim girl, or omega in this case. Oh, what was his name? I can't believe I forgot; they both told me..."

"Assyl." Yuri's voice cracked and the cans blurred in front of him and he fought not to let any tears form. Yeah, he was only one of those things.

"Oh yes, Assyl! Has Beka told you about him?"

Yuri shook his head. "Not a lot."

She clicked her tongue. "Always so secretive, that boy. Put those in, and stir it for me. I need to check on the rice."

He wiped his eyes with his shoulder. Well, fuck. Fuck everything. Camran had been talking out of his ass; Otabek didn't like him. He couldn't; it was like not even a week and he was already seeing someone else.

Otabek's mom took the spoon from his hand. "I can finish up here; you go freshen up for dinner. Hadiya should be coming over soon."

Yuri held his breath as he stumbled back to his room; his legs were clumsy, refusing to listen to his brain. Closing his door with a lock click, he leaned against the wood, staring into the room as cold lead coated his chest and throat, and it got harder to breathe. His mind was screaming at him to get angry, to punch something, to throw himself down on the bed and kick and scream, rip apart the pillows and tear the sheets to shreds. But he didn't; he just felt hollow, like a tiny hole had opened up at the bottom of his stomach, and everything was starting to drain out.

Hopeless, that was the word.

He stayed in his room, picking at his cuticles, until there was a soft knock on his door.

"Yuri? Are you in there?"

He sighed through his nose. Of course they would send the kid to get him. He hopped off the bed and opened the door. Maeena looked a bit uncertain with a small frown, but when she saw him, a wide smile broke out across her face.

"It's time for dinner! Apa said to come get you."

He nodded. "Okay, I'm coming."

She skipped down the hallway. "Apa said you were sick. Are you all better now?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." He walked slowly behind her.

"You look all better." Her eyes zeroed in on his neck. The collar of his shirt was high enough that it covered most of the bite mark. And the rest he'd covered with foundation and his hair.

"Yeah." He tucked his hand into his pocket to stop himself from touching it.

"Was it a cold?"

"Not exactly."

"Did your tummy hurt?" She doubled back and grabbed his free hand. Well, his fingers, her hand was only big enough to hold three of them. God, that was the cutest thing he had seen in a while. "Sometimes my anam's tummy hurts really bad too."

He shook his head. "No, it wasn't that either."

"Oh." She paused, looking up at him. "Then what was it?"

"Uh..."

"Why did you get sick?"

Yuri sighed. She was cute as hell but also annoying as hell. "You... it's complicated. You wouldn't understand."

She pouted. "I would too. I'm five, you know. I'm not a baby; I'm the best reader in my class!"

"Oh really? What's your favourite story?" He pounced on the distraction, but was even more thankful that they had arrived at the dining room and Maeena lost interest in him and bounded over to the table, jumping into Otabek's father's lap. He stood, hiding partially behind a wall, before Hadiya waved him over to the table.

"Sit next to me!" Maeena demanded, scrambling into her booster seat next to her mother – Hadiya's wife, Yuri didn't know her name.

He sighed softly sitting down next to her, but then he nearly jumped back up when he saw that Otabek was sitting right across from him. He looked down at his lap, picking a loose thread at the hem of his blue, button-up shirt. What the hell? How was he supposed to even eat with Otabek sitting right in front of him? He was pretty sure that Maeena and Hadiya's wife would hear his heart beating.  He wiggled to the edge of his chair praying that he would make it through the meal.

It was hard to swallow with Otabek sitting so close. Every so often he would look up and was met with a hard expression or dark, steely eyes. He couldn't even taste the food, it felt like sand in his mouth while his insides felt like someone was chipping away at them with a chisel. He barely managed to eat half the rice on his plate before his stomach decided that it had enough and started to send out waves of nausea. Then everyone looked at him like he had sprouted a second head, and Yuri's eyes had never welled up so quickly before. At least Otabek's father was kind enough to suggest that if he was still unwell, he could go back to his room. Yuri pushed back his chair, avoiding Otabek's gaze, and left his plate when Hadiya told him to. He fled to his room, locking the door before he tumbled face first onto the bed.

That had been one of the worst things ever; his skin was still itching from the thought of Otabek staring at him like that. And the shitty part was that they were supposed to be friends. He was supposed to be enjoying this fucking vacation. Not hiding out in his room until who knows what even. He balled the edge of the comforter in his palm. He knew what he had to do to make things better, and he had to do it now. No more procrastinating, no more backing out. Both Camran and Katsudon was right, this was his mistake and he had to own up to it. Or – or he was going to lose his best friend for good.

Knocking on Otabek's door that night was the hardest thing Yuri had ever done. Each thud on the wood, made his head spin and his stomach drop a few centimetres lower. The door swung open a moment later and Otabek stood in the doorway with a small frown on his face. His arms were folded across his chest, and from the way his expression hardened once he saw Yuri, he knew how difficult this conversation was going to be.

"Can I come in?" He was honestly surprised that his voice wasn't shaking. Everything else was.

Otabek hesitated for a second then stepped aside. Yuri's entire body prickled as he perched himself uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, while Otabek sat in his desk chair. He sat hunched over, elbows to his knees and stared at Yuri with an unreadable expression and cold, dark eyes. Yuri felt like he was going to throw up if he opened his mouth. But he had to do it. He wasn't going to give himself a choice.

"Be... Otabek, I... uh-" he paused, and took a huge breath. "I'm sorry." Otabek straightened; his eyes widened a fraction before he pulled his expression back to neutral. Yuri picked at the last button on his shirt. "I... It was a shitty thing to do. Reading your messages like that. And... and if I regret one thing in my life it's that." He stared at his lap his face burning, while his stomach was still cold.

Otabek drew in a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, I feel better that you said that." Yuri's heart jumped and he slowly looked up. Okay, too soon. Otabek's face was still mostly blank, but now it was boarding on stormy. "But, I'm going to be completely honest with you. I still can't believe you would go behind my back and do that. As good of friends as we are, we still have boundaries and you crossed them. You read my messages and you lied about it." Yuri frowned, when – oh right. He had nearly been caught after all. "And that hurts."

Yuri took a deep breath. Fuck, his eyes were prickling again. God, how much could he cry in a week? "I know and I'm so fucking sorry-"

"I know you are-"

"I won't do it again."

Otabek inhaled deeply. "Yeah. But this has me thinking, maybe we're not... maybe this isn't right for us."

"What?" Yuri's heart stopped. Like actually stopped, and suddenly the air in the room was too thick to breathe.

"This... a relationship." He scratched the back of his neck and shook his head slowly.

Yuri shot up from the bed. He stood, balling his fists at his sides. "And what, you just decided this for the both of us? Don't I get a say?"

"You got your say. You said a lot the other night. I told you how I felt and you threw it in my face."

"I... I didn't!" Okay, forget feeling so awkward. Why wasn't Otabek just accepting his apology? This was how they were supposed to fix everything. This was supposed to make things better. His heart was pounding in his ears and his shoulders were trembling. 

Otabek narrowed his eyes. "You were yelling at me, you got mad at me. You-"

"I wasn't mad at you."

He scoffed. "Right. Anyway, that just proves that you clearly have to think some things over." Well if that wasn't a fucking slap to the face. Yuri bit his lip. "I know what I want, but it seems you need time to figure out what you do."

You know what, fuck this. He turned on his heel, and stomped over to the door. He had apologised, he had felt like shit for almost an entire week, and now Otabek was telling him this? He knew what he had to do, but it still didn't make any fucking sense. "Well, I guess I'll just go pack my bags then. I'll be out of your fucking hair-"

"Yuri, no."

He didn't know why he stopped and looked over his shoulder. But one look at Otabek and he knew he didn't really have to think anything over. There was a flash of softness on his face, something so tender and open that Yuri nearly spun around and jumped into his arms.

"I'm not sending you away," he continued softly. "I'm just saying maybe we went about this the wrong way, maybe we rushed into it-"

Okay what? So everything had been a mistake? Yuri's head spun and his chest started to tighten and send heat up to his ears. "We rushed? You're fucking dating someone else and it hasn't even been a week!"

Otabek clenched his jaw. "I wasn't going to stand him up when we had already made plans. And we're not even dating yet."

"Yet?"

There was an angry spark in Otabek's eyes. "I don't know, we might. He doesn't seem like the type to yell at me for no reason."

Yuri's mouth dropped, but he couldn't argue. He knew his temper was out of hand sometimes, but Otabek had never seemed like it had bothered him that much. God, what else had he been hiding? He clenched his jaw.

Otabek sighed softly, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe it really is a good idea that we just remain friends."

Yuri scrubbed at his watery eyes. "I fucked us up didn't I?"

"What? No."

"You're going to date someone else." His voice cracked.

Otabek paused, working his jaw for a few moments. "I... well. I'm ready for a relationship."

"Just not with me." The fight let him just like that. His shoulders drooped and his stomach quivered and he just felt so weak.

Otabek sighed, sinking back into his chair. "I don't know what to tell you. Just, let me know when you figure out what you want."

Chapter Text

Yuri was a hair's breadth from packing his suitcase when Katsudon called, well, considering that he hadn't actually unpacked and his suitcase was just a mess of rumpled clothes, he just had to zip it up and haul it the fuck out of there. Why the fuck did Otabek still want him around anyway? God, this was so messed up. Figure out what he wanted? Like what the hell did that even mean? He knew what he wanted, and who the fuck was Otabek to decide that he didn't? He kicked the side of his suitcase, ignoring the jolt is sent up his big toe. Yeah, fuck that he was out of here. His phone started to ring in his hand and he jumped, looking down at the incoming Facetime call from Katsudon. His damn timing. Well, it wasn't the first time he had thought Katsudon was psychic.

"What do you want?" he growled, flopping onto the bed, and pulling a pillow over to prop up his chin.

Katsudon blinked a few times before breathing out in a soft, low whistle. "I was going to congratulate you on the BuzzFeed article, but seems like now's not the time." He looked off screen. "One moment, Vitya, can you start dinner please?"

"Sure, thing love," Viktor answered from wherever. "Come on, Makkachin."

Katsudon waited a short while, still looking off screen, before turning back to Yuri. "What's the matter?"

Yuri ground his teeth. "I'm coming home."

"What?" He lurched forward, displacing one of the throw pillows on the couch. "What do you mean?"

Yuri balled the edge of the pillow in his free hand. "I mean I'm fucking coming home, there's nothing-"

"What happened?"

He looked away from his phone, biting his lip. "I... I apologised to Otabek."

Katsudon was quiet for a few moments. "So, it didn't go well?"

"He said some bullshit excuse about me not knowing what I want, and said that maybe we shouldn't be in a relationship after all." Yuri's stomach gurgled, churning an angry heat up to his chest.

Katsudon sighed, rubbing his temples. "Why are you two making this so difficult?"

"I'm not! I know what I fucking want!"

"But does he know that?"

Yuri fell silent; a sudden cold chased away the heat. "I dunno," he mumbled.

"Okay, well what else did he say?"

"He... he's dating someone else now. It doesn't even matter."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, the same guy that he was flirting with before. They went out for lunch today, and well his mom seems to be in love with him. What's the point in me staying here? Otabek made it clear that he doesn't want me." His voice cracked and he looked at the ceiling, cursing everything in his head.

"I'm still finding that hard to believe-"

"Well it fucking happened! He told me I need time to sort myself out or whatever, and he said that he wants a fucking relationship, but apparently I'm not good enough. So what, I have to sit around waiting? I'm coming home."

"I... don't... think that's a good idea."

He sat upright, letting his phone fall backwards onto the mattress, and punched the pillow he'd been lying on. "What do you fucking know? You never even had a boyfriend before Viktor and you guys got engaged within a year of meeting each other! You don't know shit!"

Katsudon clenched his jaw, pursing his lips slightly. "Well I think I know how to tell when two people love each other. And well... Otabek looks at you like how... how I catch Viktor looking at me-"

"Oh, shut the fuck up with your soul mate crap-"

"Okay fine. If you want to come home then come home. But first tell me that you would be absolutely fine with leaving. Even after what he said, tell me that you're okay with coming home and letting him go on dates with who knows how many other people. Tell me that you'll be okay with letting him go on thinking that you don't have feelings for him. Because I know you, and that doesn't sound anything like you."

Yuri sighed, picking up his phone and flopping onto his side. He chewed at his thumbnail, feeling exactly like how his leggings did right before they ripped in the wash. "But-"

"He thinks you have some thinking to do; show him that you don't."

"Yeah, but how?"

"Well, it might involve talking more, sharing feelings..."

He groaned.

"And stop him from dating other people. It's not fair to either of you or the others involved."

Yeah, easier said than done. Otabek attracted dates like flies to a rotting carcass. Yet,  he was the one who came to Yuri a day later ready to talk.

"You're leaving in a week." Otabek stated, poking his head into Yuri's room. He had just showered, smelling strongly of soap with his damp hair hanging down his forehead, brushing the top of his glasses.  It was so unfair that he could be so hot and so frustrating.

Yuri blinked, picking up his phone and opening the calendar. "Oh," his stomach clenched, yeah, some vacation this had been.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah," Yuri shrugged, snapping his laptop closed and sitting up with his knees pressed to his chest.  

Otabek sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping his hand around the bedpost. He was wearing a dark grey tank top; Yuri watched his biceps contract while he adjusted his grip. "I don't want you to go while things are so awkward between us."

Yuri raised an eyebrow. Yeah? And whose fault was that? He shook his head, God, he really needed to stop being so spiteful. Forgive and move on, keep his mind clear and his heart open and he could fucking kill Katsudon sometimes. "Yeah, that would suck," he mumbled.

"So, I want us to talk." Yuri heaved a giant sigh. Always with the fucking talking. "And I don't want either of us to get mad."

"I'll try." Fuck, he was already mad.

"Yeah, a lot to ask," Otabek attempted a small smile, but it came out looking like a grimace. Yuri's chest tightened. "So..." he trailed off, smoothing his thumb over a strip of bright pink kinesio tape above his knee. Yuri was silent as he waited for him to continue. "I really want to try to make friends work. If you don't want a relationship or... or can't handle one right now, then I'm okay with being friends. I would much rather that, than just watching you leave."

Yuri held his breath. Except he kind of did want a relationship. Actually, scratch kind of, he absolutely did want a relationship. "W-what makes you think I'm not ready for a relationship?"

Otabek raised an eyebrow and Yuri could practically hear the dry 'really' that should have accompanied. "Well, uh, you didn't exactly react how I had hoped when I told you... my feelings. And," he swallowed, "I don't think I've been treating you all that fairly to be honest."

"Uh-"

The muscles in Otabek's neck and jaw clenched a few times. "I, uh, I've been taking advantage of you..."

"What?" Yuri's head snapped towards him, his ponytail slapping him in the face.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I should have stopped before we had sex. I knew how you feel about that, I know that even thinking about it makes you uncomfortable sometimes, and yet, on three separate times, I couldn't control myself."

Yuri frowned, biting his lip. "I... I didn't stop you either."

"You were drunk, that should have been enough for me to stop."

Yuri shook his head. "You're acting like I didn't have any say in this at all-"

"You're ace, Yuri-"

“That doesn't mean I'm fucking mute! Also, I know when I want something or not and I would have stopped you if I was uncomfortable. You know I would have!"

Otabek's mouth formed around the start of a silent sentence, before he shook his head and tried again. "Okay, yeah. Then why-"

Yuri glared at his lap. "I don't know. It just felt... right. All three times." He sighed heavily. Now just how the hell was he supposed to bring up that Otabek was the only person he wanted to have sex with? He felt his face heat. "There's this thing called grey-ace..."

"Yeah, I know asexuality isn't black and white. I just thought – I was scared that I'd crossed a line." He breathed in deeply. "It was... wrong of me to put the blame on you like that last night. It was my fault, I was confused and I forgot that your mind doesn't... that you don't work like I do, and I guess that I just assumed that after we... uh three times that it meant you..." he scratched the back of his neck, and stared at the door. "You liked me."

Yuri's tongue turned to ash. But it did. He wasn't going to have sex with someone he didn't like. The gears in his brain squealed trying to figure out what Otabek was thinking. He was, he felt guilty? "B-beka-"

"I'm sorry, Yura."

"You... you really don't have anything to be apologising for. I... uh..." God, how did he put this into words. He tugged the hair band from his hair, letting it fall down his back, then pulled the elastic around his wrist and snapped it a few times.

"I still feel like..." he sighed and cleared his throat. "We were both just caught up in the moment."

Yuri swallowed, his tongue crumbling and infecting his throat and chest turning them into ash as well. "Yeah, that's what happens right? People get drunk and fuck, and get high and fuck." His eyes were starting to prickle. That's what Otabek needed to hear, right? So he would know that he wasn't the one who was wrong.

"So, uh, I shouldn't have just – we should have talked about this before I told you... yeah."

Yuri swallowed thickly. "Yeah, we seem to be really bad at talking."

Otabek scoffed softly. "We'll get better. There's no pressure, right?" He tilted his head to the side, giving Yuri a small, nervous smile. "Not anymore. I'm not expecting anything of you, Yura. Friends don't expect anything of each other."

Yuri's throat was closing up, but he forced himself to nod and grin back. "Friends don't expect anything from each other," he repeated, but the words sounded hollow.

They fell into silence for a while, Yuri trying to keep his breath even as he snapped his hair band around his wrist. Okay, friends, they were back at that. He never would have thought that would have made him want to wretch.

"So, uh, do you want to watch a movie or something? We haven't done that in a while."

Yuri looked up, their gazes locked almost instantly, and Yuri felt like he had been ripped in half. There was Otabek and his brown eyes, that were either cold, hard, emotionless or deep, warm, tender, and full of little glinting light that Yuri actually felt his heart flutter. "Sure." He swallowed. "Let me just change." He fingered the hem of his baggy, jean shorts.

"Alright, I'll meet you upstairs."

He padded silently into Otabek's room, after changing into his tiger onesie and convincing himself that this was the right thing, the best thing for both of them. The overhead lights were off, but the TV gave the room a pale glow, reflecting off of Otabek's glasses. He was sitting in bed with the sheets pulled back, and patted the mattress beside him when he noticed Yuri. He climbed onto the bed, hoping that Otabek wouldn't be able to tell how tense he was; he was positive that he was going to pull a muscle some time that night. He sat uncomfortably on the opposite side of the bed, pulling his knees to his chest as Otabek pulled up the selection of movies and went through a couple. As soon as the movie started, though, Otabek hesitantly wrapped an arm around Yuri's shoulders, pulling him closer to the centre of the bed.  Yuri held his breath, willing his muscles to loosen, and forced himself to lean against his chest. They always did this, and if Otabek was willing to move past their argument and start afresh, then he should be too. And then things could go back to normal.

It was impossible to pay attention to the movie, and Yuri went to bed two hours later unsure what he had even watched.

"Ma?" Otabek called, as soon as he had gotten home from practice.

"In here, darling," Otabek's mom answered from the dining room. Yuri had been helping to set the table for dinner, and looked up as Otabek gave his mother a loose hug and stretched up to peck her on the cheek.  He looked away, hiding a smile. God, he was such a mama's boy.

"Do you mind going with Roza and Carman tonight?" he then asked, turning to Yuri.

Yuri narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Are you two going out?" Otabek's mom asked.

"Yeah."

"But it's a week night."

"It's summer, Ma."

She huffed, turning to head back into the kitchen. "Don't stay out too late; you have training tomorrow."

"I know." He turned back to Yuri, "I need to pick up Assyl-"

"Oh, he's going with you?" Otabek's mom asked, excitedly trotting back out with a dish of rice. Yuri suddenly felt sick, his stomach wretched at the smell of the food.

Otabek sighed heavily. "Yes, Ma. I want him to meet my friends."

Her smile was so bright and dazzling that Yuri had to look away a bite his cheek to stop from biting out something rude. There was no reason to kill her joy, just because he was bitter that Otabek was trying to be happy. "Oh, you're getting serious, Beka."

He rolled his eyes, but there was a telltale blush on his cheeks. Yuri balled up the napkins he was supposed to be laying down as angry heat sparked in his chest.

"I... not really," Otabek shrugged, peering into the bowl of stewed meat that sat in the middle of the table.

"But you've been going out with him a lot."

What? Yuri's head snapped up and his eyes zeroed in on Otabek, just in time to see him look away.

"Just for coffee or lunch." He shrugged again.

Oh, well he could understand why Otabek didn't tell him, but it still stung, like he'd stabbed himself with a needle or five. He swallowed past the thickness in his throat. "Still dates," he mumbled.

"Thank you, Yuri. You don't have to be embarrassed, dear, we're all so happy for you."

Yeah, happy. He swung hit foot and nearly broke his toe on the table leg. "I'll ask Roza if she and Camran want to get ready together, then."

The club was called Twenty-one and was apparently 'American' style or whatever that meant. It was relatively new, so Iska didn't know the management too well, but he had heard of the club and had told them that it was one of the pricier 'themed' clubs. Assyl had suggested it or whatever. Keep an open mind, Plisetsky, he warned himself as they waited near the entrance for Otabek. If Otabek liked him, then he had to be a decent person. Plus, the club looked okay, and the line to get in wasn't too long. Yuri shoved his hands into the pockets of his high-waist, leather pants, but they were too tight for him to get more than his fingers in.

They didn't have to wait too long for Otabek to show up, but as soon as Yuri saw him walking up the sidewalk his heart began to palpitate.

"Beka!" he called, trotting down the sidewalk to meet him.  He wanted to run up to him, hug him and bury his nose against his neck and breathe in the mix of cologne, after shave, and Otabek. He was wearing a v-neck shirt under a blazer that he had rolled up to his elbows, definitely dressed more classy than the last time, but Yuri's gut fluttered all the same. Grinning, he hooked an arm around Otabek's elbow. "Finally!"

The fuzzy feeling died when he realised how stiff Otabek was and then his stomach dropped to his knees, no actually, it dropped to the sidewalk and brought all the blood in his body with it. There was someone holding on to Otabek's other arm. And Fuck.

Assyl looked like his profile picture, which was probably a good thing overall, but made Yuri want to crawl into the sewers and die. He was wearing a short, red dress, really high pumps, and a gold statement necklace, so big that he shouldn't have been able to stand upright. Yuri looked down at his comparatively bare outfit, a black, spaghetti-strap shirt with a deep, lace v-neck, black leather pants, and very plain, black heels. Okay, he could have tried harder; he wasn't even wearing much makeup, and his hair, although curled at the ends, hung limp down his back. Assyl was the exact opposite of him, beautiful and tan with voluminous dark hair, and an air-brushed face. Well, fuck, no wonder Otabek had gone to him. Yuri bit the inside of his cheek, dropping Otabek's arm and scrambling backwards.

"Uh-"

"Assyl, this is Yuri," Otabek introduced them.

Assyl raised an eyebrow, not even pretending to hide how he was sizing Yuri up or the slight curl of his lip. "Your friend?" His accent was thick, rolling, and hypnotising, making Yuri feel smaller than he ever had in his life. But he wouldn't let that glare go just like that. He folded his arms across his chest and raised his chin.

"Best friend."

Okay, he was tinier in person, even shorter than Kenjirou Minami even in his heels. Assyl huffed and glared up at him. "Oh, best friend." He turned to glanced to Otabek. "You never mentioned him."

Otabek's throat bobbed as he swallowed. Yuri felt like he'd been doused with cold water; the chill went down to every single joint. Otabek glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. "I think I did."

He was lying; Yuri was going to vomit up his heart. He clenched his jaw and turned back around to head back to the others. "Probably saving the best for last then." He tossed his hair over his shoulder, trying to act like his eyes weren't starting to prickle or his stomach wasn't burning, or like the ground was swaying, or he couldn't breathe. The night was only going to get worse.

And it actually did.

"What do you mean he can't go in?" Iska demanded glaring at the bouncer, looking like he was ready to fight despite being nearly a foot shorter.

"We only let in people twenty-one and over." He sounded bored as he handed Yuri back his ID.

"But the drinking age is eighteen."

"This club is twenty-one."

Yuri swallowed; okay he wasn't going to cry. He bit his lip, balling his hands in to tight fists. Fuck. Camran wrapped an arm around his shoulders and he saw Otabek looking between him and the bouncer.

"Seriously?" Iska went on. "What kind of bullshit rule is that? Look, he's with us, and we're all over twenty-one -"

'The rest of you can go in; he can't."

Otabek stepped forward. "Can we just pay an extra fee or something?"

"Sorry, those are the rules."

"It's not like we're asking you to do anything illegal."

'He's not getting in. Please, move along; there are other people waiting behind you."

Otabek turned to Yuri as they stepped to the side. "Sorry, Yura..."

Yuri clenched his jaw, looking away and trying to ignore the sharp pang in his stomach and his heating cheeks. "It's okay..."

"How old are you?' Assyl asked, sounding to Yuri like he was trying to hide his glee.

"Nineteen.'

"Awww, you're still a baby."

"Fuck, I forgot how young you are, Plisetsky," Bal swore.

He snarled, rolling his eyes and turning away from them.

"Don't worry, Yuri," Roza pulled him into a side hug. "There are millions of other clubs you can get in to."

He really just wanted to go home now. And, fuck, with everyone staring at him like this his eyes were starting to prickle. Again.

"Yeah, we can literally walk a few blocks over and find one," Bal added helpfully.

Yuri swallowed, forcing himself to smile. "Yeah, let's go, I bet this place isn't even worth the hype-"

"It is." Yuri turned to see Assyl giving him a look so dirty that it was a borderline sneer. "That's why I chose it."

Otabek put a hand on his shoulder and Yuri had to hold his stomach to keep it in place. "Yeah, but Yuri can't get in." He tried to placate him.

"But the rest of us can."

"We're not going to ditch him," Roza narrowed her eyes, daring him to say something else.

Assyl shrugged, covering Otabek's hand with his own. "I'm just saying I really wanted to come here tonight."

There was an awkward pause before Otabek cleared his throat. "You guys can go somewhere else with Yuri; I'll stay here with Assyl."

Everything shattered after that. Yuri turned on his heel, stomping away from the club entrance, knowing that if he looked back at Otabek he was probably going to starting crying.

They ended up at Camran's apartment sharing a container of homemade weed brownies and a giant tub of strawberry morozhenoye. They were supposed to be watching a movie, but no one had thought to hit play and they had just sat around talking and throwing bits of brownies at each other, and licking spoons of melted ice cream. Yuri had stolen a pair of Camran's sweat pants and lay stretched across his futon with this head on Roza's lap and his feet slung over Iska's. Bal and Camran were sharing the beanbag chair next to the coffee table. Yuri had been on his phone, but when his fingers started multiplying and the screen had started to fucking bend time and space, he put it down and was staring at the ceiling as his skin stretched and shrunk, pulling across his bones. Roza was doing a set of tiny braids in his hair, her fingers were impossibly nimble and the scratch of her long nails against his scalp was divine.

"Who the fuck was that?" Bal shouted suddenly, rising from the beanbag like a meerkat. Yuri giggled.

"Who?" Iska humoured him.

"That guy with Beka."

Oh. Yuri rolled onto his side, and glared at the TV. He could actually feel the brownies sitting in his stomach, like little bits of rocks. Iska squeezed his ankle.

"They're dating now, I guess," Yuri huffed, his tongue was too big for his mouth and there was something stuck at the back of his throat.

"What?" Bal tilted his head to the side, he'd taken down his bun, so his hair fell over his face and undercut. "I thought.... huh. Well, he is hot.'

"Bal," both Roza and Iska growled. Camran slapped his shoulder, hissing at him to shut up and gave Yuri a frantic, wide-eyed glance.

"What?" Bal continued, catching Camran's wrists and holding them tightly in one hand. "He was. I know male omegas can be curvy too, but damn. Beka, knows how to choose them-" Camran kicked him and Iska's hand tightened around Yuri's ankle. "Ow! What was – oh." He rested the side of his head against Camran's chest. "I mean, Yuri's hot too, but like a supermodel."

Yuri snorted. "I would fucking own that runway."

"Are you okay with this, though?" Iska started to massage his ankles. "With Beka and Assyl?"

Yuri reached for the container of brownies on the coffee table, but Roza pushed it away with the side of her foot. He pouted, rolling back onto his back.

"Come on, I only had like a half."

"Yeah, and that was enough for you."

He grumbled trying not to get distracted by how his breath felt against his lips. "Yeah," he answered Iska, pressing his heels against his thigh. "Well, it's like... it's like Beka and I – me – I are better as friends." There was a loud groan from around the room. Yuri propped himself up on his elbows and slowly looked around. "What the fuck was that?"

"You can't be serious," Camran whined.

Bal agreed noisily. "I get you two are like playing hard to get, and the chase is like half the fun of a relationship." He squeezed Camran's thigh, and Yuri actually heard the eye-roll that followed. "But this is ridiculous."

Iska gave a huff of agreement. "It's frustrating to watch you two."

Yuri flopped back against Roza's lap. Wow, the room was spinning now. "Well sorry for frustrating you guys. But he's dating Assyl now and I'm not going to be a bitch and whine about it because friends don't do that."

And he didn't want to break them up, for what? For him and Otabek to just sit around and bask in the awkwardness of whatever the fuck their relationship was? No. It wasn't fair to Otabek, who was so clearly ready to move on and didn't need Yuri to hit him over the head with what he had thought was rejection because of his fucking sexuality. And, God, that sentence was so fucked up; he wanted to rip out his hair.

Roza scoffed, smoothing baby hairs from Yuri's forehead. "Yeah, but you don't want to be just friends."

Yuri bit his lip as a sharp pang cut through the haze. "But he does." He thought Otabek had explained everything to them.

Iska shook his head. "I assure you, he doesn't. He just needs some sense slapped into him."

Yuri giggled, at the mental image.

"Yeah, and we can't let him date Assyl," Bal added. "Did you see how short he was? Their kids would be like two feet tall. He needs your height, Yuri, if he wants normal-sized kids."

The thought was disturbing, but Yuri couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled up in his chest.

"I don't like him," Camran blurted. "He made fun of my shirt."

Bal raised an eyebrow, nuzzling his cheek against Camran's chest. "What the fuck is wrong with your shirt?"

There was nothing wrong with it; it was a green, sheer, sleeveless button-up with frayed edges. Yuri rolled his eyes. "Maybe because it wasn't sewn with twenty-four karat gold threads."

Camran snorted. "That necklace could have paid my rent for five months."

Yuri shuddered at the thought, nuzzling against Roza's palm.

"And who ever did his eyebrows should be fired." Roza added. "I mean, since we're already doing this. They were the completely wrong shape for his face; he does not need an arch that high." She patted Yuri's cheek. "Yours are much better."

Yuri cackled, reaching up to feel them; Roza had filled them in for him. She had told him he had good shape even if they were really sparse.

"And besides," Iska poked his calf. "I'm sure anyone would be more than happy to date what was it?” he looked down at his phone for a second, before sending Yuri a cheeky grin. "A bombshell blonde, who's breaking the mould for male omegas."

Yuri shot upright again. "What the fuck?"

"Russian figure skater and ballet danseur, Yuri Plisetsky, is more than just a pretty, perfectly symmetrical, face. Strong is better than pretty-"

"Fuck, is that from Buzzfeed?" He tried to grab Iska's phone from him. Wasn't the article just supposed to have run in English?

"Yeah-"

"Why were you in BuzzFeed?" Roza asked.

Oh fuck, no he glared at Iska. "He was memed." Fuck.

"What? No way!" Bal shouted, grabbing his phone from the coffee table. "That's hilarious, Iska send the link."

"Already did." Yuri kicked him.

Bal erupted in loud laughter, even Camran was snickering. Iska handed his phone to Roza who began to skim the article, laughing immediately.

After a particularly loud bark of laughter, Bal turned to him. "So, Yuri, important question. Do you have a dick or a va-"

Camran punched him. "Really though," he was still snickering. "Where are your boobs?"

Roza howled with laughter behind him, wrapping her arms around his ribs and palming his chest. Yuri shot forward, wiggling out of her grasp and glared at all of them in turn. "I fucking hate you guys."

Yuri watched with narrowed eyes as Assyl slipped out of the passenger side of the Altin's Range Rover. Okay, so that was the reason why Otabek had left so early and gotten Iska to pick him up. The Bastard. Camran placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. He dug the toe of his sneaker into the loose gravel underfoot.

"Is he serious?" Camran mumbled as they both watched Assyl flounce over to Otabek dressed in fucking Givenchy activewear. Not even Viktor would every buy something that expensive to sweat in. He hooked an arm around Otabek's elbow, laughing obnoxiously loud as they came up to the rest of the group. Yuri took a deep calming breath. God, he was wearing way too much makeup for a fucking hike.

Okay, be nice, Plisetsky, he warned himself. Otabek needed him to play nice, but still.

"I didn't know he was coming," he called in English, trying his hardest to look like he was teasing.

Otabek ducked his head slightly. "We were talking about it last night," he answered in English as well. "It would have been awkward not to invite him."

Yuri bit the inside of his cheek. Right. "Whatever, I'm not sharing my halva, your mom gave it to me-"

"Hey," Bal shouted over them in Russian. "Stop that; we can do the same thing in Kazakh, you know."

Otabek rolled his eyes. "Yuri's Kazakh is getting better."

Yuri stuck out his tongue at him, tossed one of his French braided pigtails over his shoulder, and turned away, stomping over to Roza and Saida who were taking pictures with Roza's phone despite the DSLR hanging around Saida's neck.

He slipped his bag from his shoulders, dropping it onto the gravel near Iska's car and jumped on Roza's back, effectively ruining the shot.

"Yuri!" Roza yelled, laughing, and leaned forward and handed her phone to Saida, to fold her arms under his thighs.

He stuck out his tongue when Said took like fifty more pictures as Camran joined in, then Bal, then Iska. He half expected Otabek to join them as well, but when he looked over, Assyl was clinging to him like a fucking baby monkey. Ugh. He rolled his eyes, and no that was not bitterness he was tasting, and his chest was not tightening one bit. Roza set him down as they all pressed against each other to get into the shot.

"Beka!" Bal, shouted. "Get your ass over here!"

Thank God for Bal, sometimes. Otabek leaned down to mumble something into Assyl's ear that made him laugh – nope, that wasn't bitterness at all – before trotting over to them with his hands in his pockets. Yuri swallowed, feeling that familiar cold trickling down to his stomach. He turned back to the camera, trying his hardest to smile and actually jumped when he felt an arm wrap around his waist. Saida had probably caught his eyes bulging out of his head as he turned towards Otabek. It was entirely possible that she had managed to photograph steam rising from his face, because Otabek's arm was burning up, and his thin tank top wasn't doing much to help.

Otabek glanced at him and in the split second their eyes met Yuri forgot how to breathe. Otabek grinned, his eyes sparkling like a countryside night sky, and Yuri just wanted to reach out, grab him by his hair and kiss him until they were both gasping for air. Otabek looked like he had read his thoughts somehow, because Yuri could have sworn that there were spots of red on his cheeks and he inched forward slowly before he flinched and turned away. With his heart pounding in his ears, Yuri copied him, just in time to see a notification pop up on Roza's phone screen saying her storage was full.

She groaned, opened her photo gallery, and began flipping through. Iska rolled his eyes and dragged Bal and Camran back to his car to get his stuff and a few extra water bottles, and Otabek wandered back to Assyl. Yuri watched him until he reached Assyl's side, hoping that he didn't look as sick as he felt. Assyl caught his gaze and sneered at him before grabbing Otabek's arm and pulled him back to the Range Rover for something he'd 'forgotten'. He glanced over his shoulder at Yuri giving him a smug grin before they disappeared around the back of the SUV.

Something dark and ugly was rearing up in Yuri's chest, and he clenched his hands so hard they started to tremble until Roza waved her phone in front of his face raising an eyebrow and smiling playfully. Yuri grabbed her hand to hold the phone still and saw that she had zoomed in on him and Otabek. They were staring at each other and heat waves began rolling in his stomach. He recognised that look; it was eerily similar to how Katsudon and Viktor looked at each other, or how his grandpa looked when he talked about his grandmother. Yuri swallowed, tugging at one of his pigtails.

"I'm posting this one," Roza said, grinning.

Yuri jolted. "No-"

"You need to stir the pot, come on; I saw how he just looked at you."

"He did seem a little rude," Saida agreed, egging him on as well. "And it's a nice picture of everyone."

Yuri ground his teeth, and his shoulders rose with a giant sigh. "Fine. But only because Saida asked nicely and is wearing leopard print."

Saida beamed, fingering the edge of her leopard-print hijab. Roza grinned pulling her phone back and leaning to the side to give Saida a quick peck on the temple. His stomach was already starting to bubble imagining the reaction that picture was going to get. Good. Assyl needed to that Yuri wasn't going to take his shit.

'Come on, boys," Roza said, waving them over to the start of the trail after she had posted a few pictures to Instagram. "Let's get started."

"Shouldn't Camran be in front?" Iska grumbled, adjusting the straps on his backpack.

"The trail is clearly marked," Roza stated. "There's no way we can get lost."

"I still don't trust you. Camran, is this the right way?"

"The sign is right there, idiot."

Camran giggled softly, but went over to head the group anyway. Yuri heard Otabek softly tell Assyl that he was a tour guide. He fucking wrinkled his nose, like that wasn't a cool-ass job. Yuri turned away. It was still early enough that it wasn't too hot yet, but Yuri knew that would change soon. They were going to hike up a gorge to the Assy Plateau and the Kazakhstani sun was not to be played with. He picked up his bag from where he'd dropped it and felt around the main compartment for his sun-block. It wasn't in there, though. He frowned, peering inside. There was his water bottle, snacks, a towel, socks, and his shades. He opened the front pocket then the sides, but it wasn't in any of those either. Shit.

"Hey, Beka, did you see me pack my sun-block?" he asked, rummaging through the main section again. He was positive he had slipped it in alongside a spare pair of socks and the bag of halva from Otabek's mom. He frowned, worming his hand down to the bottom of the bag.

"I think so," Otabek hummed. "You can't find it?"

"No..." This was bad. Yuri bit his bottom lip, glancing at the sky.

"You need a tan anyway," Bal joked. "You're basically glow-in-the-dark."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "I don't tan; I burn. How long is this hike again?"

"Three hours to, then three back," Camran supplied. He had to hide a smile at Assyl's disgruntled face. But he still had a bit of a problem.

"Fuck."

"I think I have some," Saida said, digging around in her bag. "Yup, here it is!" She waved a small tube; Yuri didn't know they made them that small. "Spf thirty."

Oh, yeah, that wasn't going to do anything for him, but it was still better than nothing. "Thanks." She tossed it towards him. God, this was so weird, he was positive that he had packed it.

"Just try to walk in the shady parts," Assyl offered.

Yuri raised an eyebrow. Was it just him or did he sound extremely smug? "I'm still going to fry."

He tilted his head to the side, combing his hair behind an ear. "I don't think I've ever gotten sunburn in my life."

Yuri sent him an unimpressed look, before turning away and slathering sun-block all over his face. Well, that was fucking great for him. Fucker.

Kazakhstan had some of the best hiking trails Yuri had ever seen. He hadn't been to the Assy Plateau before, but according to Camran, this was where the Kazakh nomads used to spend the summer months. It was covered in fields of wild flowers with huge mountains looming in the distance. They even passed a yurt and a farmer with a herd of goats. He was kind enough to let them take some pictures with a few of the friendlier animals, and Yuri had to hold back howling laughter when one of them made to nibble on Assly's sleeve. The look on his face and his scream almost made his sunburn worth it. Almost.

"Holy shit, Plisetsky, you're red," Bal exclaimed as they threw down their bags and tumbled into the grass near their parked cars.

"I know," Yuri grumbled. He was actually on fire; he could feel the heat rising from his face and neck and was almost scared to look at his reflection. His skin was burring so badly he felt like he was sitting in a bonfire.

"Does it hurt?" Assyl asked, and Yuri would have given his right arm to smack that fake concerned look off his face.

"Of course it fucking hurts; my skin got burnt by the sun!"

Otabek winced, reaching over to place a hand on his thigh. It also might have been a warning for shouting at his fucking fuck-buddy-slash-boy-toy. Yuri clenched his jaw, taking a little bit of pleasure in the way Assyl kept on looking at Otabek's hand on his leg.

"I have some aloe vera gel in the jeep," Camran offered softly.

Yuri followed him to his jeep since he had parked a little way off from the others, and waited while he dug around the back seat. "Hey, can you ask Bal where he put the black, drawstring bag I keep in here?"

Yuri turned around to head back to the others, but paused and rolled his eyes at a piece of litter that was literally right next to a giant plastic garbage bin that fucking said 'please don't litter'. He bent over to pick it up and – hold the fuck up. He felt his jaw hit the ground, and saw red for a second.

"Camran," he called in a loud whisper, and picked up his own fucking bottle of sun-block. Yuri ground his teeth, squeezing the bottle so tightly the top popped open and sun-block oozed out. Camran was going to have to hold him back from killing a bitch. 'Did it hurt?' the fucking bitch!

Camran poked his head out of the jeep, holding the bag he was looking for. "Is that..." His jaw dropped. "How..."

Yuri clenched his jaw. "He probably threw it away when we were taking pictures. Fucker couldn't have even tried to get it in the bin."

"The bitch," his eyes flashed anger. "You could have gotten seriously burnt!"

"I did!" Again, he felt like he had been set on fire.

Camran growled. "I knew he wasn't a nice person, but hecould have actually hurt you; this is serious. Beka can't date him."

Yuri opened his mouth ready to agree, but then Otabek's words came speeding out of nowhere. He heard tyres squeal as they raced from the depths of his memory, 'I'm ready for a relationship.' Fuck. Of all the people in Almaty, Otabek had to end up with Assyl. He was a bitch, but even then how the hell was Yuri supposed to go up to Otabek and be like 'hey, your boyfriend tried to kill me today'? So, despite the fire in his chest that was just as hot as his burnt nose, he swallowed and ground his teeth together. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Assyl tell Otabek something that made one of the corners of his mouth stretch upwards. Well, fuck. Yuri held his stomach. Assyl was a bitch, but Otabek seemed happy with him. But this still meant fucking war.

"I'll do it. When we get home. I don't want to start anything in front of the others right now."

Camran nodded, still obviously pissed.

Yuri didn't tell Otabek what Assyl had done when they had gotten home. He'd actually dropped him off, leaving Iska to bring Yuri home. When he arrived home, however, he offered to rub Yuri's back and shoulders with the aloe vera cream. Otabek's mom had gone pale when she had seen him, and brought him up to her own bathroom and forced him to take a cool bath in their giant porcelain tub and had given him seven different moisturising lotions and a pump bottle of aloe vera gel.

His skin was still burning, and his was seconds away from downing some pain killers.

"Hey, Beka," Yuri asked as Otabek's fingers worked magic on the back of his neck. He bit the inside of his cheek, staring down at his red forearms; the peeling was going to be a bitch. "Do you really like Assyl?"

Otabek froze for a second before he reached around Yuri for another pump of aloe vera gel. "I... uh, I think so, he's nice. I'm sorry about that night at the club; I wanted to stay with you and we really shouldn't have split up like that, but he really wanted to go in and I had invited him out and asked him to pick the club, so-"

"It's okay; you were just trying to keep everyone happy. I had fun with Roza and the guys anyway. We got high." His stomach was bubbling softly.

"Seriously? I leave you alone with them once and they-"

"Don't act like you're so innocent, Altin." Otabek scoffed through his nose. Yuri slotted his fingers into the spaces between his toes. "So, you're serious about Assyl?"

Otabek moved down to Yuri's shoulders, using his palms more than his fingers now. Yuri's eyes fluttered shut and he would have forgotten all about his questions if his stomach wasn't so fucking tight.

"I'm ready for a relationship, Yuri," Otabek started slowly. "I don't know I just... I like the idea of being with someone."

"And Assyl?"

He swallowed noisily, pumping more aloe vera into his palm. "I think I can get there with him."

His words made Yuri's mind cloud over and his throat constrict. Okay, so how the fuck was he supposed to get rid of Assyl and not upset Otabek? He looked at him over his shoulder and those fucking eyes. How was he supposed to even think when Otabek was there looking like that? With his glasses, damp hair brushed back, those toned arms that could probably lift an entire horse, and chest muscles that pulled against his tank top. And then there was the smoulder, one of his eyebrows was raised slightly over his glasses frame and he looked like he wanted to smile, his lips pulled tightly across his face. Yeah, there was no way Yuri would be able to live with himself if he ever upset him again.

Chapter Text

The sound of blades gliding against the ice was like home, and the ice rink was the only place in Almaty that didn't make Yuri want to die of heat stroke. He couldn't get on the ice fast enough, even if he had brought his back-up skates and they weren't as sharp as he liked. He skated in lazy figure eights, avoiding complete novices, clumsy teens, and one or two boisterous families, while watching as Otabek helped Assyl tie his shitty rental skates. He could barf; it wasn't that fucking hard to tie laces. He could figure it out himself, but it was all 'I've never skated before; I don't know how to do anything'. Yuri had gagged before tossing his skate guards at Bal's head and stepping onto the ice. Who had thought this was going to be a good idea again? Because as far as he could see Otabek was going to be hovering over Assyl to make sure he didn't fall. He wouldn't have been so mad if Assyl hadn't been sending him smug glances every so often; his lips pulled into a tight smile and an eyebrow raised. Okay, that was a lie. He would have minded even if Assyl was sweeter than fucking honey, or Camran, because watching Otabek skate around him, holding his wrists as he guided him to the edge of the rink was painful. Even more painful than his sunburn. He forced himself to look away and pretend that watching the small beginnings of a smile blooming on Otabek's face wasn't like knives to his gut. He tugged at the hem of his shirt, swinging to the side as a kid sped past, yelling at his friends to follow.

What the hell had Iska been thinking, suggesting that they all go to the rink? It was obvious where Otabek's attention was going to be. He had begged them not to tell Otabek about the sun-block, why? He wasn't too sure, just that he didn't want to fuck things up between them even more, and if Otbaek wanted to date an asshole, Yuri honestly didn't feel like he had the right to tell him not to. It was funny how Roza was better at putting his feeling into words than him.

So, Iska had suggested they take a different route. He had created a group chat with everyone, minus Otabek, and came up with the plan of going to the rink to make Assyl jealous. Except it fucking backfired because Otabek was all over him because he was pretending that he didn't know how to skate. The only satisfaction Yuri was getting at the moment was every so often a giggling girl and a pack of her friends, or a star-struck boy would go up to Otabek and ask for a picture or for him to sign something. He had thought that it bugged Assyl to have Otabek's attention diverted, but then he noticed the self-satisfied grin on his face and that he was taking a fucking picture of Otabek taking pictures.

"Yuuuriiii," Camran screamed from behind him. Yuri spun around just in time to catch him and braced his palms against Camran's upper arms before they collided. They both stayed upright, but slid back a few metres. Camran slumped against Yuri, pressing his forehead to his shoulder, his entire body shaking with silent laughter.

"How are you friends with the best skater in your country and still shit on ice?" Yuri scoffed, patting his back.

Camran pushed away, pouting, but wobbled and grabbed him again. "I don't know," he whined, pushing the short hairs from his forehead. "I haven't skated in a while-"

"At least you're not as bad as Mr. Gucci over there." Bal slipped up behind Camran, wrapping him in a hug and causing them both to tumble to the ice in a giggling heap. Roza and Iska skated up rolling their eyes. Assyl had shown up in a Gucci winter jacket with fur trim and sparkly, gold cuffs. Of course his face was flawless again, which made Yuri feel like an ugly, red lobster. When he had looked in the mirror that morning he had felt like crying, his face was a pinkish brown and so so shiny.

"Hey, why don't you show off a bit?" Roza poked his hip. "Go do a few quads or whatever; make him jealous."

Yuri raised an eyebrow, looking over to Otabek and Assyl. He was gliding along slowly on wobbly legs, but Otabek didn't seem to mind, if anything he looked amused. Yuri's stomach rumbled lowly. "He's not even watching."

"Hey, asshole!" Bal yelled across the rink, getting to his knees. "You gonna join us or make disgusting heart-eyes at your boy the entire time?" A few kids giggled at his choice of words.

Otabek looked over to them with a guilty grin. He scratched the back of his neck and began guiding Assyl over to them.

Iska rubbed his temples, shaking his head at Bal. "You're as subtle as a sledgehammer."

Bal grinned, hooking an arm around Yuri's neck, forcing them to skid to the side in a half turn before Yuri straightened them and dug his toe-pick into the ice. Bal was a hazard. "Hey, I can do a Salchow – wait what was it?"

Roza shrugged. "I have no clue. I love watching you and Beka skate, but honestly, I can't tell the differences between the jumps."

Yuri snorted, then turned to Bal. "Okay, Bal, let's see."

He cackled like a child, dragging Yuri to a clear spot in the centre of the rink. He did a few stretches, obviously building himself up then with a burst of sudden speed jumped into a fucking loop. Yuri's eyes widened – he landed a single, although very shakily and with two feet, but still.

"What the fuck, when did you learn that?" Knowing Bal he had probably just tried to jump one day and managed to pull off a fucking loop. But he knew that out of all them, Bal was the one who was the most interested in skating and Otabek's career. The jump was still impressive, though. "That's loop, not a Salchow, dumbass."

"I don't know the fucking difference!"

Yuri shook his head.

"A loop is when you take-off from the back of the outside edge of your skate and land on the same spot on the blade. For a Salchow you take off on the back inside edge and land on the outside edge of the opposite foot." Otabek literally appeared behind him. Yuri startled, but forced himself not to jump.

Bal looked down at his skates and shrugged. Yuri scoffed in disbelief, ignoring the fact that the side of his body which Otabek was standing at was prickling. The entire side.

"Okay then professional, why don't you demonstrate?" Bal quipped.

Otabek raised an eyebrow. "I am a professional." He turned to Yuri in exasperation. "Why don't you do it? You've been off the ice for ages."

Yuri tilted his head; he really had. He scoffed, waiting for a pair of teenage girls to skate away.

"Don't fall!" Bal shouted as he set up for a loop.

He flipped him off as he jumped and did a double, knowing that Yakov would have his head if he tried a quad first thing after a three month break. He landed, swinging his free leg behind him, but knew that it was a bit sloppy. A few onlookers applauded and Yuri sent a small grin in their direction.

"That was a Salchow?"

"A loop."

Bal threw his arms up, and skated back to Roza and the others, who were now leaning against the boards. Assyl was off to the side, busy on his phone and not even showing the slightest interest in wanting to talk with anyone. Yuri looked away right as Assyl looked up from his phone, glaring at everything in general. Okay, what was he upset about now? Yuri glanced to Otabek, almost immediately looking away when he realised that he was looking his way as well. If his cheeks weren't already red he would have been blushing crimson.

"Watch that free leg, Plisetsky," Otabek quipped, skating up to him setting his hand on his hips as he balanced on the inside edges of his blades. He had to arch his spine to keep balance, which tilted his chest upwards and made his shirt pull tight across his pecs. Yuri would have started to foam at the mouth if he stared any longer. Otabek sent him a small grin. So, he stuck out his tongue at him, before glaring at the line where the walls met the ceiling. His skin started to prickle again when Otabek stopped less than a metre away from him. His body heat was a sharp contrast to the chilled rink air.

"How are your programs coming along?" he asked, rubbing at the goosebumps on his arms, but then winced when he touched the sunburn too roughly.

Otabek grimaced in empathy. "You okay?"

"Yeah, it's just sunburn." He looked at the tips of his skates, the skin at the back of his neck buzzing.

"It looks like it hurts. Maybe we should have gone on a shorter hike."

Yuri breathed out heavily through his nose. Maybe he shouldn't have brought his asshole of a boy-toy. "I'll get better. Anyway, your programs?"

Otabek shrugged one shoulder. "They're coming along, I'm still working out some choreography and-"

"Show me." His heart was racing, for some reason, as the words left his mouth.

"What?"

"Come on." He forced a grin. "I haven't even started mine yet. Let me see what you've been doing."

"Uh, I-"

"Bekaaaa!"He was shocked that he still had it in him to whine.

Otabek gave in almost instantly, scratching the side of his head with his nails. "Fine. I'm doing something a bit slower this season, something a bit more... emotional."

Yuri tilted his head. "Emotional, how?"

He sighed softly. "Sad. Actually more bittersweet."

Yuri bit the inside of his cheek, wondering if that had anything to do with – no, probably not. He would have started thinking about his programs even before last season had ended. "Okay, cool. What's the song?" He didn't know why he even bothered asking; he didn't know anything other than the current top ten.

Otabek gave him a flat stare. "I'll send you a link when we get home."

Yuri held his breath, watching as he skated along to the music in his head. A part of him had always been jealous of Otabek's distinct style; he got why the judges loved it, watching him transported everyone into a different dimension. Every moment was perfectly controlled, purposeful, and powerful. The fire in Yuri's stomach roared. He bent into a camel spin, his lines perfect and Yuri could see his thighs tense as he held his leg parallel to the ice. The next bit of choreography, though, was a bit mechanical. Yuri shook his head, skating up to him.

"The fuck was that, Altin?" Otabek paused, raising an eyebrow. "Are you a robot? If Lilia saw that she would have kicked you out of the rink."

He scoffed. "I'm still working on it."

"Yeah, but you're too stiff." Yuri wiggled his shoulders for emphasis. "Curl into it more, hunch over, come on use those massive shoulders. I don't believe you're sad." God, he sounded like Lilia. He winced.

Otabek inclined his head, and slouched forward. "Like this?"

"Now you just look like a hunchback." He copied the bit of choreography, and added fucking feeling. "Like this, move your spine, use your hips!"

Otabek scoffed again. "Not everyone can bend like you."

Yuri rolled his eyes, stopping short less than a foot in front of him. "I'm not asking you to do a fucking Biellmann."

"Okay... so..." He tried again. It was marginally better. Otabek's skating was so crisp and clean that it was strange that he had picked something that needed fluidity and softness.

"Pretend your waist is a snake." He rested his palms against Otabek's hips. "Mooooove." He guided him, doing the motions as well.

Otabek chuckled, playing along and Yuri had to swallow a gasp when he realised where his hands were. He bit his lip, ready to pull away, but Otabek's soft, breathy chuckle had him frozen. His eyes were crinkled at the corners again in a genuine smile. Yuri licked his lips, as something like cotton candy grew in his chest. His mouth stretched into a smile as well.

"I think I just need to practise."

Yuri swallowed. "You need a miracle."

"Alright, Mr. I haven't even picked the music for my programs yet."

Yuri's cheeks heated as Otabek covered his hands with his palms. The rink had no right to be this hot. He was boiling, burning up from the inside out, but there was this sudden need to get closer, to have Otabek's hands all over him, to press himself against his chest and breathe him in with giant gasps. The air was too thick to breathe, and Yuri's heart could have broken through his ribs. The back of his hands were on fire; Otabek's skin was feverish .

It almost hurt when he pulled away. Yuri swallowed a whine but let him go. Still, he couldn't just let it pass like that. Yuri bit the inside of his cheek, breathing deeply to calm himself down.

"Let's try a lift."

Otabek raised an eyebrow, but gave in without a fight, scoffing and shaking his head.

Minutes later, Otabek's chest was hot behind him, and if he hadn't been guiding him, Yuri would have crashed into the side boards.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yup." Yuri swallowed, willing his mind to go blank and just focus on holding all his muscles tight so he wouldn't kill them both. Hi heart was beating so fast it was absolutely inefficient, but he turned around so that they were face to face.

"Okay, here we go." Otabek offered him a small, crooked smiled before placing his hands on his hips, holding tightly, almost squeezing. His skin tingled fiercely. They had practised swan lifts when Yuri was in Almaty before. Otabek's rink-mates Jean and Jansulu had given them tips, and had guided until they had done it currently.

Yuri took a deep breath bracing his hands against Otabek's shoulders. They spun and he leapt off of one foot. In one smooth motion Otabek had him high off the ice. The world spun for a bit; lifts were jarring enough to have already been moving forward, or in his case backwards,  then to add the topsy-turvyness  of being hoisted into the air. Otabek extended his arms over his head, and Yuri focused on one of the cross beams on the far corner of the ceiling to keep his body straight and in line, keeping his weight evenly distributed. Overbalancing the slightest bit would mean danger. He felt Otabek's hand tighten around his hips, his thumbs dug into his inner thighs. But then it was over, and Otabek was lowering him back onto the ice, spinning in a circle. He held onto his wrists as they spun out of the lift, and Yuri didn't even bother trying to fight the wide grin on his face. Otabek matched his expression, but with a much smaller grin with eyes half closed in amusement. There were some 'whoops' and applause from a small crowd that had stopped to watch them.

Yuri took a deep breath as an insane amount of heat rose from his face. He tugged at a wisp of hair at his temple. "Again, I wasn't straight." He set Otabek's hands on his hips.

Otabek breathed out harshly through his nose. "You felt straight."

He shook his head. "No way, my feet were way lower than my head."

Otabek rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning. "Okay, get ready." He tightened his hold on his hips.

Yuri nodded, bracing his hands against his shoulders once more. They spun in a tight circle together, and Yuri jumped; he would never get used to the odd weightlessness of being lifted. Otabek gave a soft grunt, using Yuri's momentum to get him over his head. He focused on getting his legs up higher this time and his brain screamed at him that he was going to topple over, but he knew he had to push it further. What his brain was trying to tell him was parallel to the ice wasn't parallel at all; Jansulu had explained that to him the last time. He leaned forward, stretching out his arms to counterbalance and Otabek's grip grew almost bruisingly tight. He shifted his weight further forward and, fuck, too much. He felt Otabek jerk as he lost his balance and then the rest happened so fast.

"Beka!" he screamed, but Otabek was already reacting, even as Yuri grabbed a hold of his wrist. He knocked his chin on Otabek's back, before the rest of him followed. Otabek had managed to spin around, grabbing hold of his forearm swinging him around to his front. Yuri hit the ice butt first, then Otabek went down on his knees and elbows, and the back of Yuri's head met the ice with a dull thud and a jolt of pain.

"Fuck, Yura, are you okay?" Otabek was over him, his eyes were wide and his face was pale.

Yuri pushed himself to sit up, blinking a few times as he took stock of what was hurting and what wasn't. There was a slight throbbing in his head, "Yeah, I'm fine. Your knee!"

Otabek gave a huge sigh, slumping forward and rolling onto his back. "I think my heart just stopped."

"Your heart stopped?" He raised a hand to rub at the back of his head. "I think I just ate mine."

"Okay, we're not doing that again."

"Are you guys okay?" Bal was racing up to them, ahead of the rest of the group as they sprinted across the ice. Oh right, they weren't alone. A small crowd had gathered around them as well, looking on in panic. Yuri tried to grin and wave them off.

"Yeah," he called out to Bal, shielding his face as he sprayed them with ice shavings as he stopped.

"You looked like you hit your head," Iska sounded slightly frantic, which meant that he was as close as freaking out as an Altin could be.

"I did."Yuri shrugged.

Otabek choked on air and turned to him spluttering. “Yuri!”

"I'm alright-" They ignored him of course. Roza helped him to his feet, while Camran checked him over for visible injuries. 

"I'm getting someone to look at you," Bal announced, turning to leave. Camran followed him after a moment's hesitation despite Yuri yelling that he didn't have a concussion or anything. Iska ran out to bring the car around to the entrance. And Otabek, and Roza were left to fawn over him. Yuri grumbled and it secretly killed him a little that he had to act like he hated it when Otabek carried him to the stands.

It took him three minutes to convince Otabek that he was fine – He knew what a concussion felt like, God – and eventually Otabek left him to go get Bal and Camran, while Roza went to return their rental skates.

"I don't know what you think you're doing." Yuri jumped; he had forgotten that Assyl was there. He stood leaning against the sideboards glaring death at Yuri with his arms folded across his chest and his legs crossed at the ankle. "Throwing yourself at Otabek like that, it's pathetic."

Yuri's spine went uncomfortably stiff as something cold and dark prickled under his skin. "What?"

Assyl narrowed his eyes; his upper lip curled and he tilted his head threateningly. "He's dating me, so get the fuck away."

Yuri gapped for a second before his mind switched on. "I'm not-"

"I'm not blind or stupid and I'm not going to let some horny, Russian bitch get in my way."

Yuri stretched his jaw, pushing his palms against his thighs, because if he got up from this bench Assyl would be leaving the rink missing a few teeth. "Excuse me?"

He took a step forward, jabbing his chin towards him. "You fucking made him grab your dick; are you that desperate?"

"Umm, that was a lift hold; he was holding my hips." He narrowed his eyes, grinding his teeth together. His hands were shaking with effort not to punch Assyl's face in.

"This is your second warning, since you were too stupid to notice the first; stay away from Otabek."

Yuri scoffed, sneering at him. He stood up finally, clenching his hands so tightly his nails were painful against his palms. He got was a small bit of satisfaction when Assyl actually had to look up to continue glaring at him. He brushed past him, bumping into his shoulder far more forcefully than necessary, and slung his skates in their drawstring bag over his shoulder. "Okay, the only reason why you're not on the ground with a broken jaw right now is because I'm friends with Beka. So, why don't you fuck off."

Yuri's flight back to Saint Petersburg was two days later. Otabek's mom snuck into his room and packed his suitcase full of halva, baursak, and a few jars of homemade vareniya. She had hugged him tightly, unwilling to let go as Otabek brought the car up from the garage. His father had shaken Yuri's hand and had told him that he was looking forward to seeing him next summer. There was a puffy hole in Yuri's chest as he looked over his shoulder at the house as they drove off. It wasn't like he was glad to leave, but this vacation had not turned out like how he had hoped. He would always love visiting the Altins, and Roza, Iska, Camran, and Bal. But maybe, it was time he took a break from Otabek, and as much as it hurt to admit that, he knew it was for the best, because their relationship was all kinds of fucked up right now.

They had all gone out for dinner last night, thankfully Assyl had declined the invitation and Yuri didn't dare ask Otabek why. The plan had been to go to some fancy restaurant, but they had somehow ended up at a KFC gotten a couple buckets, and then found a hookah bar in one of the most expensive strip of stores in the shopping centre. They had said their goodbyes sometime around three am and when Iska had hugged him he lingered to tell him to check his email when he got home.

"Call me as soon as you land," Otabek instructed after they had checked in Yuri's luggage and gotten his boarding pass.

Yuri pushed his thumb through a buttonhole on his denim jacket. "I thought you had a date later." Oh God, he hadn't meant for it to come out sounding that bratty.

Otabek shrugged one shoulder like it was no big deal, when Yuri knew he had sent one of his more expensive blazers to be dry-cleaned for it. "I can go to the bathroom for a few minutes. Or message me at least."

"Okay." He sighed softly, wondering why that had made his stomach tighten.

"Hey," Otabek grabbed his hand, twining their fingers together. "I know it sucks that you have to leave-"

Yuri scoffed. "I need to work on my programs. You can't keep me here."

One corner of his mouth stretched upwards then he yanked Yuri close by the hand and their chests bumped together. Yuri's eyes widened as Otabek wrapped his arms around his waist and leaned into him. It took him all of two seconds to get his body to relax and he hooked his chin over Otabek's shoulder, pressing his forehead to the side of his neck. There were small fireworks going off in Yuri's chest. His eyes fell shut and he wrapped his arms around Otabek's shoulders.  He didn't know why his throat began to close up or why his eyes started to prickle, but he wanted to stay like this forever. Like this with nothing to worry about. But, they had to separate eventually, and Yuri swallowed, trying his hardest to smile.

Otabek's face was inches from his and they both stilled for a second. Yuri's eyes zeroed in on Otabek's lips, slightly parted, so full and fucking kissable. If he just leaned in a bit he could – no. He drew back further and glanced over his shoulder at the growing line for the security check.

"Is that a new perfume?" Otabek asked softly.

Yuri raised an eyebrow, bringing a hand to his neck. "I'm not wearing anything."

Otabek blinked a few times as a light blush formed on his cheeks. "Oh. Uh..." he scratched the back of his neck.

Yuri snorted, hiking his back pack higher onto his shoulders and taking a few steps backwards. "I'm gonna miss you."

Otabek raised an arm to wave. "Yeah, you too. Bye."

As soon as he turned around his smile fell and he took a deep breath that only made him feel worse. He got in line behind a business woman, and looked casually over his shoulder. Otabek was still watching him, his hands shoved into his pockets. Their eyes met and Yuri's chest caved in; even from this distance he could see the twinkle in his gaze and the slight curve to his mouth. It wasn't his imagination either that his smell lingered in his nose.

"Yurochka!" Viktor slammed into him, wrapping his arms around him and tucking Yuri's head under his chin.

"Get off me, old man," Yuri growled pushing Viktor away, but the man held on like an octopus.

"How was Almaty? How was Otabek and his family?" He let go of him after one last squeeze.

Yuri sighed, grabbing his suitcase handle. "Can we at least get into the car first? Where's Katsudon?"

Viktor lead him to the curb, looking down the road for Katsudon and the car. "I'm getting the feeling you only like me for my husband."

"Well you're wrong." Yuri glared as Viktor raised an eyebrow, his mouth stretching into a wide smile. "I don't like you at all."

Viktor's pout was cut short when Katsudon pulled up next to the curb in their bright red Alfa Romeo. He jumped into the passenger seat, folding his arms across his chest like a child.

"Yuuri love, look up directions to the nearest orphanage. We need to make a delivery." Yuri flipped him off.

Katsudon sighed loudly. "Already, you two?" He slipped out of the car, and trotted around the front to wrap Yuri up in a tight hug then help him load his suitcase into the trunk. "How was the flight?"

Yuri grumbled and returned the hug. "It was okay, but I'm starving. Can we stop at-"

"Nope," Viktor called from the SUV. "Lilia said to bring you straight home; she's making dinner."

Yuri was a bit shocked that Yakov was also waiting for him at Lilia's apartment.

"I wasn't even gone that long," he grumbled, giving the old man a hug.

"I'm not here for you, Yurochka," Yakov said patting the top of his head. "We need to talk business."

Yuri rolled his eyes, going to dump his bags into his room. "Wow, barely one foot in the door and you guys already want to me to put on my skates." He saw Lilia smile from the corner of his eyes, and bent down to pick up Potya, who had been circling his feet, purring loudly. "At least my baby is happy to see me with without any ulterior motives." She went limp in his arms and her purring got louder.

They all sat around Lilia's dining table with bowls of split-pea and roasted tomato soup, and a kale salad with freshly squeezed lemon juice as dressing. He already missed Otabek's mom.

"We'll need to start on your programs right away," Yakov said after a small sip from his glass of vodka. "I know I told you that you should pick your own programs this season, but we're short on time and you haven't suggested anything-"

"Actually," Yuri squished a pea between his molars. "I have something."

"Then why didn't you tell us?"

He bit his lip, reaching down to scratch behind Potya's ear. "I got the... idea a few days ago. It's, uh," his cheeks were getting steadily hotter. "It's a Kazakh song." It was impossible to miss the way Katsudon's and Viktor's eyes lit up. "One of Otabek's actually." He looked away as the two of the gasped loudly.

"Does this mean you made up?" Katsudon asked the same time as Viktor blurted, "Are you two dating now?"

He ignored them both, turning to Yakov and Lilia. "I'll need help with the choreography, though."

"I'll do it!" Viktor jumped in, causing Lilia to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You can help," she snapped, and Viktor visibly shrunk. "We can do that for your short program. For your free skate however," she glanced to Yakov, who nodded solemnly. "We are going to work on the choreography from your 'Midsummer Night's Dream' solo." Oh, that would be really easy. He already knew it. “That does not mean you can slack off."

He rolled his eyes. "Why do you want me to use the solo? Isn't that like cheating?"

"I don't see how; it's my choreography. Besides, you did get very good reviews from the ballet. Now, make sure you send me, and Yakov, this new music. We need to get started right away. And Viktor, that means tonight."

"Also, Yurochka, you have a television Interview in two days about this whole internet thing fiasco." Yuri groaned loudly, as Viktor began to chuckle. Katsudon elbowed him. "We might as well use all this media attention to our advantage. I have you booked for two interviews so far, so I suggest you do some research about what questions they've asked during past interviews and come up with some good answers."

Lilia had made him clear the table and load this dishwasher because she knew that the Altins had not made him do a single chore while she, Yakov, and Viktor moved to the study to start brainstorming his short program. He should have gone with them but he really wanted to shower and he was tired as fuck. He'd speak with them tomorrow about it. He wasn't surprised, though, to find Katsudon in his room dragging one of Potya's ribbon toys along his bed as the cat chased after it. He sighed softly, unwrapping the towel from his head, and picking out a pair of old sweat pants and a t-shirt from his closet.

"So, I'm assuming using Otabek's song means you two made up?" Katsudon asked, not beating around the bush that night.

Yuri pulled on his sweat pants and dropped his towel, before sitting down next to Katsudon on the bed. "Define 'make up'." He ran a hand through his damp hair. "He's still dating an ass... someone else."

Katsudon sat up, tilting his head to the side. "So you didn't talk to him."

"I tried, but... the words just didn't come out and then he started to talk about how he thought he was pressuring me since I was ace and then we decided that we should just stay friends." His stomach hurt, like physically hurt. He wrapped his arms around it and bit the inside of his cheek.

Katsudon rested an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into his chest. "Why didn't you tell him you don't want to be just friends?"

Yuri screwed his eyes shut. "I don't want to upset him."

"Why do you think that will upset him?"

"I... I don't know how... We can't..." His eyes started to prickle and he pressed his palms to them. "He said we should just be friends. That's what he wants. I can't – I can't. I don't want to lose him for good. I can't."

"But you can't stay as just friends either." Katsudon's voice was soft and soothing, but Yuri still felt everything falling apart.

"I don't want to. But he's dating someone and he's happy, and I can't just..." He cut himself off shaking his head. Katsudon was rubbing his shoulder. "It would be so much easier if I was mad at him. I want to hate him, I want to just forget about him, because it fucking hurts so bad, but... I can't." Katsudon inhaled softly, now wrapping both arms around Yuri and resting his chin atop his head. Yuri ground his teeth, trying to fight off tears, but everything tasted salty and he was sniffling. "Why can't I hate him?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

Yuri laughed bitterly, but it came out sounding like a hiccup. "Yeah, well, while I'm here feeling like shit, he's out there dating a complete bitch. And I can't even bring myself to tell him because of what? Fucking love?"

"Yeah," Katsudon whispered. "That sounds about right."

"I hate it."

A fat, hot tear rolled down his cheek; Katsudon wiped it away with his thumb. "But you're planning on doing something about it? The song, your short program."

Yuri nodded, licking away the salt water from his lips. He scrubbed at his eyes before pulling away. "Yeah. It was Iska's idea. Beka's been working on some new mixes and he hasn't told anyone but Iska. He gave me one of his songs, it's... it's a love song. I guess it's not even well known in Kazakhstan and Beka was just mixing it for fun, but uh, it's better than me talking to him and making things worse. And this way I can, like, show him all my cards or whatever."

Katsudon smiled, pulling Yuri into a tight hug again. "I think it'll work. No, I know it will work."

Yuri tried to ignore that he was trembling slightly.

The television interview was almost a nightmare in Yuri's opinion. His face was peeling and they had literally just slapped layers of makeup over it and he looked like a fucking alligator. It was with a local news station at least and it was going to air early enough that very few people would be watching. He, Lilia, and Yakov sat on a very uncomfortable sofa, with blinding stage lights in their face while their hosts blabbered on about the meme and the importance of omega visibility in sports. Lilia and Yakov managed to redirect the questions to talk about his skating career and even his dancing, like the pros they were and Yuri counted at least three traps that he would have fallen into if they had let him answer by himself.

The next interview was with a teen magazine. Yuri liked that one much better because they didn't focus on the meme, but on how he would use his fame and position to inspire teens, kids and what not. They also talked about empowering omegas – and betas – encouraging them to do sports and be badass. Yuri was thrilled when they said they were keeping that bit. But he asked them not to put in the part where he blurted out that he kept the particularly sweet fan-letters in a shoebox under his bed. They also had a really fun photo-shoot with a stuffed cat taller than he was and some of the staff members.

True to her word, Lilia did not go easy on him. He was back in the ballet studio, re-working his solo from around seven am to noon, where Yakov would pick up with ice drills and gym sessions. He had gained weight in Almaty, but it was all gone within a few weeks. And of course, when it came to choreography, Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov did not fucking disappoint.

"Normally, I would charge for my services." Viktor grinned, taking in Yuri's stunned expression after he'd given him a run-through. "But since this is to help my son win over the love of his life don't worry about the fees. If this doesn't get Otabek to look at you, I will pick him up and bring him to you myself."

Yakov chose that moment to skate by. "You're performing this to get that Kazakh boy's attention?" He yelled loud enough for the entire rink to hear. Yuri swallowed as his face caught fire.

"It's young love, Yakov!" Viktor slung his arm around Yakov's shoulders. "You should be excited that Yurochka isn't going to end up all alone and crotchety like you."

Yakov pushed him away before turning to Yuri he gave him a once-over then folded his arms across his chest. "I hope it works."

Yuri was grinning even ask Yakov had him doing suicides across the rink as a warm-up.

"You have freckles!" Mila giggled, pressing her fingertip to Yuri's nose as they sat in the rink cafe during one of their breaks.

Yuri slapped her hand away. He had finally stopped peeling and was actually a shade darker after the whole shitstorm. There were a few light freckles across his nose and cheeks. He hadn't even known his skin would do that.

"They're adorable," Mila said. "See, you should spend more time in the sun."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "Did you not see me a few weeks ago? I looked like a fucking snake halfway through shedding."

"Mmmm, it was more of a caterpillar in a cocoon."

He rolled his eyes, but then noticed that she was digging in her bag for something. "What are you doing?" he asked in suspicion.

Mila straightened, brandishing a tube of eyeliner and mascara. Her eyes glinted manically.

"Oh no-"

"Oh yes!" She wiggled herself onto his lap, to attack his face. "You haven't posted to Instagram in a while."

"I'm all sweaty!"

"It's a natural highlighter!"

She somehow managed a flawless, cat eye and dug out a pack of fake eyelashes and glue from her bag – that was also a bottomless pit; she had pulled out dog treats and pliers as well. They did an impromptu photoshoot, Yuri trying his hardest not to laugh and ruin every shot while Mila climbed onto the table to get the right angle and lighting.

Yuri scoffed at the picture she had pulled up. For a picture taken after a morning of gym workouts and on-ice drills, in the shitty cafe lighting it looked pretty good. She had fluffed up his hair and had somehow gotten the cheap artwork in the background to look tasteful. The overall look was a bit grungy, she had smudged the eyeliner on purpose, but he really liked it.

"Post that when you get home," Mila winked. "During prime hours."

"Caption?"

"Mmmm, something about freckles."

"You're no fucking help."

She grabbed his phone from him and hit him on the head with it.

He posted the picture when he got back to Lilia's then plugged his phone in to charge while he went to shower. When he came back there were three missed calls from Roza and two from Camran.

He stared at his phone screen for a minute before swearing and calling Roza back.

"Well done, Plisetsky," she said as soon as she picked up.

Yuri sat on the edge of his bed; Potya wound herself around his ankles, soaking up the stray water droplets and covering his legs in fur. Was that laughter in the background? "I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not."

"Not sarcasm, wait I'm putting you on speaker." It was laughter; Camran was absolutely hysteric.

"What's going on?" Yuri twisted a lock of hair around his finger, making it drip onto his sheets.

"That picture you posted a while ago, gorgeous by the way, Beka commented on it."

"Oh, what did he say? I literally just got out of the shower."

Roza chortled. "Just something about you being cute, but-"

"Yuri!" Camran managed to stop laughing long enough to speak. "I can't tell if you're an actual genius or just lucky-"

"Assyl saw Beka's comment-"

"He got so mad!"

"We were all just watching a movie then he just flipped out. Even Beka was like what the fuck is wrong with you. I mean, he didn't actually say it but his face-"

"You know those crazy-ass girlfriends you see in like movies or on like Reddit? That's him. He started arguing with Beka how he wasn't allowed to comment on other people's pictures while he was dating him."

Yuri's jaw went slack and he couldn't deny the bit of glee that bubbled up in his stomach. "And what did Beka say?"

"He said," Roza started, "You should have been there. He was like all calm and you know Beka. He looked straight at him-"

"He was like 'you're not in charge of what I can post online' and-"

"And 'I don't like jealous people'!"

Yuri barked out a short burst of laughter.

"You should have seen Assyl's face. He was obviously not expecting that. Anyway, he was pissed, but he still had to ask Beka to take him home."

Yuri chuckled, bending down to pick Potya up and set her in his lap.

"So, Plisetsky," Roza said still giggling. "What's next?"

Chapter Text

Yuri slumped against Lilia's couch, adjusting the bag of ice against his ankle. Viktor's program was sure to secure him at least a bronze in any of his competitions, but – and it was a big fucking but – with three quads in the second half of his programs and a step sequence that would have had Katsudon running for the hills, Yuri knew that he was going to have to push. This past week had been nothing but early mornings, and late nights, long runs, gym workouts, and hours upon hours in the ballet studio. He took a picture of his foot, bruised and wrapped in an ace bandage to keep the ice pack in place, played around with a few filters then slapped it to his Snapchat story with the caption, 'RIP my feet'. It was still kind of shocking how many new people followed him; his last post on Instagram had gotten close to 30k likes, and even his Snapchat was hit; the amount of views his story was getting was a bit overwhelming.  He swiped away notification after notification, blowing a loose lock of hair from his face.

"Tea, Yurochka?" Lilia called from the kitchen. They had already eaten dinner, but tea was a cure-all for Lilia.

"Yes, please," he answered, closing Snapchat and switching over to Instagram. His heart leapt when he saw that Stella Agafova had posted something, she was starring in a new production at the Bolshoi. He liked the picture immediately, but hesitated on commenting. Would it come off as creepy? He hadn't spoken to her in a while, but like they were friendly. He bit his lip then switched over to the messaging app and tapped on the conversation with Otabek. He was probably still at the gym since it was like six in Almaty right now, but he could get lucky and catch him between sets.

Me:
If I comment on Stella's picture, would it be weird?

He stared at the screen for a while, before switching back to Instagram and commenting on it anyway. God, she was gorgeous; Yuri could get lost on her page going through her pictures and just fucking appreciating them. If she didn't make principle by next year, he was going to storm into the Bolshoi and slap someone. He just commented 'congrats' with the thumbs up emoji  too nervous to say anything else then closed the app before he could go back and delete it. His heart was thudding, god, could he be any more creepy about this? 

He opened Otabek's chat again.

Me:
Too late I just commented

When the typing bubble popped up, Yuri sat upright.

Beka:
I thought I warned you bitch

Yuri recoiled, jerking so hard that the icepack fell from his ankle. What?

Beka:
Stay away from my man

His stomach was rolling, clenching around what was left of his dinner.

Me:
What the hell are you doing with his phone?

Beka:
What are you doing texting him? I warned you

Yuri ground his teeth together, taking a deep breath to stop himself from throwing his phone across the living room. What the hell? Otabek got so mad at him for reading his messages but it was okay for Assyl to take his phone? What the actual fuck?

Me:
Listen, bitch
Otabek is my best friend. You can't tell me I can't talk to him

Beka:
I just did.

Yuri swore he heard a molar crack. This bitch, he had never wanted to strangle anyone more.

"Are you alright?" Lilia asked, setting a mug of tea on the side table closest to him, and bending to pick up the fallen ice pack.

"Yeah," he snapped, locking his phone.

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Is it that Kazakh boy again?"

He snorted, something black and gooey blotted out every other feeling in his chest. "No," he growled. "His boyfriend."

Lilia just gave him a pitying look and patted him on the head.

He tried calling Otabek later, but none of his calls went through. And he was left sitting on the edge of his bed in darkness, biting his thumb nail as hot tears welled in his eyes.

"Yurochka, are you feeling alright?" Viktor skated up to where Yuri lay on the ice after falling out of Y spin.

Yuri cleared his throat as he sat up. "Yeah."

Viktor didn't look convinced and turned to Yakov. "I think he should take a break-"

"I think you should focus on your damn husband over there." Yuri snarled pointing to Katsudon, who looked utterly exasperated at being dragged into another one of their arguments.

"Take five, Yurochka," Yakov instructed.

"I don't need to." Yuri got to his feet working out this hip he had landed on. There was bound to be a bruise there.

"I won't tell you again."

Yuri growled, digging his toe pick into the ice. "It was one fucking fall! I'm fine, I-"

"Yuri," Katsudon slid up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You've been at it even before we got here. A short break won't hurt."

Yuri swallowed as his throat started to constrict and his eyes began to prickle. He pulled away from Katsudon, roughly shaking his hand from his shoulder and headed towards the stands. Just Fuck everyone. He didn't need to take a break, he needed to practise harder because he was so far behind everyone else. He clenched his jaw, pulling his hair down from its ponytail.

He threw himself down on one of the benches, taking a huge gulp from his water bottle and swallowed enough that it burned.

"Stop pouting," Yakov grumbled. "You should know by now overworking yourself will not do you any good."

"I said I was fine, fuck-"

"Language." Yakov reprimanded him as he walked away.

Yuri clenched his hands so hard that they shook. God, he needed to punch something.

"Okay, what's wrong?" Katsudon said, suddenly appearing next to him on the bench.

Yuri ground his teeth, looking away. "Nothing."

"Seems like a really important nothing for you to be this angry."

Yuri snarled.

"I'll start guessing if you don't tell me. Is it-"

He tossed his water bottle to the ground, not even caring when it cracked, sounding like splitting ice, and water began seeping through the seam in the plastic.

"Yuri Plisetsky, you will clean that up this instant!" Yakov roared, spinning back around.

Yuri sprang to his feet kicking the water bottle in Yakov's direction and stomped off to the locker room. He didn't even make it all the way before a wall broke in his chest and his vision blurred with water. He pushed the door open, nearly stumbling when is swung at the slightest touch and swung the side of his fist against the nearest locker. The loud, metal clang was satisfying, but he couldn't stop his shoulders from shaking, or the tightness in his throat. He slumped against the lockers covering his face with his palm and taking a deep, shuddering breath.

"Oh, Yuri." Arms were wrapped around him and a chin was hooked over his shoulder. He knew Katsudon's smell anywhere, the ocean mixed with baby powder. He helped Yuri over to the bench in the middle of the room and helped him to sit down. "What happened?"

Yuri swallowed, but even that fucking hurt. He also might have shattered his little finger just now. "It's Beka," he mumbled.

Katsudon sighed softly, squeezing Yuri's shoulder with one hand while, gently forcing his fingers into Yuri's clenched palm. "Tell me what happened."

"I texted him last night, and his boyfriend answered. And I don't get it, he was so mad at me for reading his messages, but then he had his phone and, and he must really hate me."

"Does he know that... um-"

"Assyl."

"Does he know that Assyl had his phone?"

Yuri shook his head. "I don't know. He wouldn't answer my calls, and he's mad at me and I don't know what I did." He took another deep breath, but that only brought a few wet coughs with it.

Katsudon pulled him against his chest, cradling the back of his head. "Why would he be mad at you?"

"I don't know."

"If you didn't do anything then he wouldn't be mad at you."

Yuri sniffled. "Assyl hates me-"

"Hmmm? He hates you? Well... I can see how he'd feel threatened by you and Otabek's relationship. You two are far too close to remain just friends. And the sooner Otabek realises this, the better. I wouldn't worry too much about this boyfriend of his. I assure you, it isn't going to last."

"But then why didn't he answer my calls?" Yuri's voice was so small and shaky that he almost didn't believe it was his.

Katsudon rested his cheek to the top of Yuri's head, rubbing his palms up and down his arms. "Try getting him on his computer or something. I'm sure he has a good explanation."

Yuri hiccupped. "I just don't get why I'm trying to do all this; I'm making a fucking program for him, and he won't even answer my calls."

Katsudon squeezed him gently. "I'm sure he has an explanation."

"He better." They both jumped as Viktor entered the locker room. Yuri pulled away from Katsudon, roughly wiping his eyes. Viktor's expression was stormy as he sat down on Yuri's opposite side and set a hand on his shoulder. "When you win Otabek over after all of this," Viktor said calmly, tilting his head to the side. "How many limbs do you want him to keep?"

Yuri wiped his nose with the edge of his sleeve. "Don't you dare touch him."

Viktor scoffed. "I'm not making any promises."

Otabek came into frame, his gym bag over his shoulder, and marched across Iska's room and promptly out of frame without a single word to anyone. Yuri heard a door shut in the background and stared at the others in confusion.

"Shower," Iska explained.

"He came straight from practice?" Yuri asked.

"Yup." They were all gathered around Iska's room, lying on his massive bed, looking at Yuri on the computer. "So, how're your programs coming?"

Yuri couldn't help the grin that covered his face. "Well I asked Viktor for help and well, he went all out with the choreography. It's kicking my ass but, I think... I think it'll work."

"Wait," Bal poked his head up from the pile of pillows he was lying on. "Viktor fucking Nikiforov is choreographing your program?"

Yuri snorted. "Yeah. And it's Katsuki-Nikiforov, he gets very upset when people get it wrong-"

"If this doesn't get Beka to see the light, I'm coming over there to marry you myself." He flopped back down on the pillows. "He's so fucking thick sometimes."

Yuri chuckled.

"I don't know what he sees in that psycho to be honest," Camran sighed.

Both Iska and Roza shrugged. "He's always found weird dates, no offence Yuri." Iska offered. "Before he left for Canada, remember that one who only ate orange food? And he had a few weird ones over there as well."

"Yeah, but none of them have been psychotic."

"Well..." Roza tilted her head. "Maybe not this bad, but there was that one guy who bleached most of his closet when he dumped him." Yuri's eyes widened, Otabek hadn't told him about that. Actually, he hadn't brought up any of his exes in detail.

"Oh, yeah," Bal snickered. "He had to change the locks and everything too."

Iska snorted softly. "Yuri, you're fighting for a guy with a terrible track record-"

"Don't listen to him." Roza nudged Iska. "He's cleaned up in the past few years; Assyl is just a road bump."

"He likes crazy people?" Yuri wondered aloud, tugging at a hair-elastic around his wrist.

They all burst out laughing and Otabek chose that moment to re-enter the room, with a towel hanging around his neck and his glasses low on his nose.

"Who likes crazy people?" he echoed, squeezing himself between Camran and Iska.

"You," Camran chuckled, running his fingers through Otabek's hair carefully parting it down the centre. Yuri hid a giggle behind his palm; that was certainly a look.

"Me?"

"Your boyfriend in insane," Iska deadpanned.

Otabek raised an eyebrow, pushing his glasses up his nose. "He's not insane-" they all burst out into loud laughter, Yuri tried to copy them, but his stomach was spasming. Otabek rolled his eyes. "He's just strong-willed. He knows what he wants and he's not afraid to say so."

Okay, and there was the nausea.

"Is that was that is?" Roza scoffed. "He freaked out over a comment, Beka, and you were 100 percent right, might I add, Yuri was cute as fuck in that picture."

"He apologised."

"When?" Bal demanded, resurfacing once more.

"After I brought him home." Otabek hunched over his knees, frowning. "He told me that that was the wrong choice of words, but he wasn't comfortable with me making such comments about someone who's as... attractive as Yuri."

Yuri's throat clenched and his cheeks heated.

"Please don't tell me you fucking bought that," Iska mumbled, unsmiling.

"Why shouldn't I?"

“Oh Allah, Otabek what – are you deaf and blind?"

The tension in Otabek's jaw was obvious and his frown was turning dangerous. Yuri couldn't look away from him, even as it got harder to breathe.

"Must have been some fucking apology," Bal mused with a snort. "Did he get down on his knees and-"

Otabek's sneer was powerful even through the slight fuzziness of the video connection. "Yes. We. Fucked."

Yuri jolted backwards, his words hit like a slap and he was left with a stinging in his face and chest. His eyes began to smart immediately and he ignored the wide-eyed look Roza was sending his way.

"Was it good? 'Cause I honestly can't think of another reason why you'd still be with him."

Otabek's eyes narrowed to slits. He shot up from the bed, going over to pick up his bag. "You know what, fuck you guys. I'm not going to sit here and have you insult my boyfriend." He moved out of the camera's view. "And for your information, Bal, it was good sex, some of the best sex I've ever had." A door slammed.

Suddenly the world was spinning. He was sitting down but everything was swimming around him. His throat was closing up and his lungs weren't getting any air despite the quick, shallow breaths he was now forced to take.

"Oh, shit!" Bal turned to the computer, "Yuri!-"

He ended the call then fell apart.

Lilia studied him with a raised eyebrow the next morning, but didn't make any comments and pushed a bowl of oatmeal and fruit towards him. He was working with her in the studio early today, putting the last bit of choreography together for both his short program and free skate. The skin around his eyes was tender and he felt like he had barely gotten any sleep; he was probably going to be stumbling all over the studio.

He stirred his oatmeal around in the bowl, adding a few blueberries and a bit of honey, but his stomach griped at the thought of eating. He pretended not to notice that Lilia was watching him, looking down to nudge Potya with his toes. There was a soft clink as she set her mug of tea down on the counter and then Yuri felt fingers against his scalp, gently pulling back his hair.

"If some boy hurts you this much, he shouldn't be worth your time," she said sharply, starting a French braid at the top of his head.

"Yeah," he muttered, forcing a spoonful of oatmeal to his mouth.

Lilia silently finished the braid then wound it around itself at the nape of his neck, fastening it with hair pins she had gotten from God alone knows where. "Your hair's gotten longer," she mused, squeezing his shoulder. "Should I make an appointment for a cut?"

He shook his head. "I like it long."

Lilia gave a short laugh. "Soon it will be down to your behind. We'll have to change your name to Rapunzel." He grinned around his spoon. Lilia, pleased that she had managed that much, cupped his cheek, gently running her thumb across his cheekbone.

Practice wasn't as gruelling as he thought it would be that day. Viktor nodded his head with a smile after he had finished the last run through of his short program. Sweat was running down to the small of his back, where it seeped into the low scooped-back of his leotard. He wasn't even wearing his pointe shoes, but his feet were aching. He collapsed to the floor, laying flat on his back.

"What do you think?" Viktor asked, smugly as he turned to Lilia.

Lilia came up to them, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "I think he needs to clean up his arm positions or he's not going to get anything higher than bronze. That is novice work, Yurochka, you know better than to fling your arms all over the place like a windmill." Yuri fought a grin, as he wiped his temples with the back of his hand. "We'll do it again in ten minutes."

He hadn't touched his phone much that day, hiding it at the bottom of his gym bag. He had found it a few times pressing the lock button before growling softly to himself and covering it with a dirty towel. Lilia was right, of course, he shouldn't be letting Otabek distract him this much; he had a career to worry about for fuck's sake. And well, it seemed that Otabek really didn't care about him as much as Yuri cared about him. So, he had forced himself not to check his phone that day. It was hard; his fingers were itching and he felt like he was constantly forgetting something. But his whole life didn't revolve around one person no matter how hard it got to breathe at the thought of losing him.

But when he eventually checked his phone when he got home that night, there were six unread messages from the devil himself. Yuri sat down on his fluffy matt, pulling Potya onto his lap, and burying a hand in her soft, thick fur. Her low purring was the slightest bit comforting. And his hands were definitely trembling out of exhaustion and not because he was nervous. He tapped open the messaging app.

Beka:
Hey, for some reason your number was blocked??
My phone might be acting up, all your messages were gone as well as a few from Roza, and Camran

Then sent ten minutes afterwards.

Beka:
Were you trying to call me?
I'm really sorry Yura
I'm going to bring it in tomorrow. Who knows what other messages I missed
Let's just use Snapchat or Messenger to be safe for a while

Yuri huffed bitterly. So the asshole had blocked his number and erased all the evidence. He did feel marginally better that it hadn't been Otabek's own doing, but there was still an icy-cold hole in his stomach. He flopped to the side, hugging Potya to his chest, and burying the bottom half of his face in the fur at the back of her head. He opened Snapchat and took a picture of himself and Potya to send to Otabek.

'I thought you hated me'. He toyed with the caption for a while moving the placement so it hid a zit that had popped up just above his eyebrow.

Otabek opened the picture in less than five seconds, then sent back a mirror selfie in one of the gym mirrors. He was in black basketball shorts, and a very sweaty, and very tight, grey athletic t-shirt. Yuri inhaled a mouthful of cat hair before he realised there was a caption.

'Why would I hate you?'

Yuri swallowed thickly. His chest quivered and he wanted to vomit. He switched to text chat.

Me:
Dunno
Why else would you ignore my calls?

Beka:
I'm gonna bring my phone in tomorrow
I have no idea why it did that
Yeah, thought it was strange that I hadn't heard from you in a few days

Yuri frowned, his throat tightened.

Me:
So it didn't cross your mind to text me first?

Otabek started and stopped typing a few times.

Beka:
Well I was kind of mad at you guys
You did gang up on my boyfriend

Yuri clenched his jaw. Maybe because he fucking deserved it? He had to take several deep breaths to stop himself from typing that out. But instead of making him calm, his breathing was like fuel to the bitter fire in his stomach.

Me:
HE DID flip out over an Instagram comment

Beka:
It wasn't as bad as they made it seem
He didn't even yell

Me:
Right

Beka:
Why would I lie?

Yuri took another deep breath. Yeah, why would he lie? He started to type, but Otabek was already saying something.

Beka:
So I really need to shower
Can we Facetime later?

Me:
Are you allowed to do that?

Beka:
Very funny
Are you free?

Me:
Yeah
Call whenever

He went to take a shower himself, taking extra time to shampoo his hair and shave his legs even though he knew he was going to be wearing leggings from now until next summer. He heard his phone ringing from his room while he was brushing his teeth, but decided to let his ring out while his stomach was churning so hard that it felt like it was cramping. He tried to distract himself by combing a bit of the argon oil, Lilia had gotten for him through his hair and braiding it into two pigtails, and dug out his zit cream from one of the drawers. He dressed slowly in a pair of sweat pants and a loose, racer-back tank. Picking up his phone from his nightstand, he lay back against his pillows, staring at the missed call notification on his screen. He hesitated to return the call, his stomach still hated him it seemed, and despite his shower he felt sweat prickling his armpits. Maybe some of that calming tea bullshit of Lilia's would help.

The phone rang again while he was waiting for the water to boil. He pretended he didn't hear it.

Back on his bed, he stared at his phone screen again, this time with two missed calls from Otabek. He took a long, scalding sip of tea, which was an absolute lie because he was the exact opposite of calm, then returned Otabek's call. It took a while for the video to connect, but Otabek was sitting at his desk top, with his headphones covering his ears and his glasses reflecting the light from the monitor. He was also shirtless. Yuri's inhale lasted for nearly twenty seconds.

"Hey," he said, one corner of his mouth pulled upwards. "Thought you said you were free."

Yuri hid behind his mug. "I went to shower then I made tea." It wasn't a lie.

"Oh, I thought you hated me." He smirked.

"Why would I hate you?" Yuri grumbled despite the many reasons he actually had to hate him.

"So how are your programs coming?" he stretched his arms over his head, biceps tensing and chest muscles bulging. Yuri forgot how words worked for a second. "Yura?"

"Huh?"

"Your programs... are you alright?"

He blinked a few times as his cheek heated. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just tired. Uh, they're okay. I'm doing my ballet solo for my free skate. Lilia rearranged it for the ice."

Otabek's eyebrows rose for a short while. "Are you going to wear the same costume?"

"Dunno."

"Oh, well the horns will definitely be fitting."

Yuri stuck out his tongue. "Do you know your competition schedule yet?"

"Uh, yeah. My first is the Lombardia Trophy on September eighth, then the Ondrej Nepal Memorial on the thirtieth-"

"I'm doing Ondrej Nepal too." Yuri's chest clenched.

Otabek grinned widely. "So I'll see you then."

"Yeah," he forced a grin, but it came out looking like he had gas. "Better get ready to get your ass handed to you, Altin."

Otabek scoffed. "I could say the same thing."

As Yuri watched the little lines formed on either side of Otabek's mouth as he smiled, the rumble of pure anxiety and a sharp, longing pang ran in circles in his chest. Okay, so September thirtieth, was the day shit was going down. He would perform his short program and he would be there to see it and decide what to do afterwards. That meant he had a little over than a month, well a month and ten days to be exact, to make sure that it was the best program he had ever skated in his life. No pressure, right? Yeah, he was just going to admit, on live camera, that he fucking loved his best friend who was currently in a happy relationship with one of the biggest bitches Yuri had ever met in his life.

Yeah. No pressure at all.

But there was still a small problem. He opened the group chat as soon as Otabek hung up.

Me:
Guys, I need you to keep Beka busy on September fourteenth to eighteenth

Bal responded almost immediately.

Bal:
Why?

Me:
I can't see my short program before we compete together
He needs to see it in person

Camran:
Fuck, we didn't think of that
How many competitions do you have before you guys compete together?

Me:
Just one
The US International Classic

Iska:
That's a weekend
Hmmm
You guys wanna go camping?

Camran:
Yeah, that'll work

Roza:
What if he brings the whore?

Bal:
He's going to bring the whore. No doubt
But the whore hates being outside
So we can have a bit of fun

Camran:
Hahahaha
He's going to be absolutely miserable
>:D

Yuri snorted loudly, rolling over onto his side.

Me:
Have I ever told you how much I love you guys?

Iska:
You can stand to mention it more

He asked Yakov to record his short program before they ended for the day. Viktor was fucking ambitious with his double Axle, double Lutz, quadruple toe loop combination, but after nearly two weeks of falling on his ass he was landing it more than eighty percent of the time. Otabek's song was slow, with an interesting triple time rhythm. It lacked the fluidity of a classical piece, but wasn't jumpy enough to be considered modern. Plus there was the low edge of Otabek's preferred rock style, which kept it from being boring. Yuri still wasn't that good at understanding Kazakh, but there were a few words in the chorus that had him made him blush. He refused to explain to Katsudon what they had meant. God, Otabek could be so cheesy sometimes. Of course he would remix a song about one-sided love. He pretended not to notice the looks Georgi and Mila were giving each other as he stepped off the ice that night.

Bal was the first one to react to the video when he sent it.

Bal:
Holy shit, Plisetsky, if I wasn't already in a relationship I would be on my way to Russia right now

He rolled his eyes as he bit the edge of his left thumb nail.

Me:
Do you think Beka will like it?

Bal:
Definitely
He'll be drooling by the time you finish
Did you nearly fall on that last jump?

Me:
Shut the fuck up
Viktor's choreography is hard as fuck

Roza:
Totally just yelled out loud in class
That's amazing Yuri
If that doesn't get Beka's head out of his ass then he's the dumbest person on the face of the earth

Yuri chuckled

Bal:
I know right?
How do you do that? I like actually FEEL all the emotion, like I can tell what you're trying to say.
Uh, show?

Me:
Lots of fucking practice 

Lilia had beat it into him. Expression, expression, expression. Use your entire body, Yurochka, exaggerate, bend more, grasp it. Hearing all of that for the better part of four years would do the trick. Besides, he didn't really have to pretend with this routine. All the emotion was real.

Bal:
Beka's going to forget all about Assyl when he see this
Assyl who?

Yuri sighed deeply through his nose. Yeah, that was the plan.

"Sorry, Makkachin," Katsudon said cheerfully, patting the dog's head. "The doctor said we have to cut back on the sweet stuff."

Makkachin tilted his head as if he actually understood, but then popped back up on his hind legs and resumed sniffing Katsudon to find out where the hell he was hiding his puppuccino. Yuri snickered, recording a video on his phone and just managed to catch the poodle stuffing his entire head into Katsudon's open yoga bag. He began to whine when the realised there was nothing but socks, a mat, and a water bottle. Katsudon looked like he was suffering just as much. Viktor was lured from the kitchen by the dog noises seconds later, and began blubbering instantly and wrung his cooking apron tightly in his fists. Yuri rolled his eyes, slowly backing away; heaven help them if they actually had kids. The world would never be prepared for that.

Yuri scoffed as he ran upstairs before Viktor could come to his senses and force him into the kitchen to help with something.

He plopped onto his bed, dumping his yoga mat at his feet and kicking off his sneakers, picking up his phone to post the video of Makkachin, but then remembered that his grandpa had tried to call while he and Katsudon were at yoga. He returned the call, laying flat on his stomach and inhaling the fuzzy fibres of a leopard-print throw pillow.

"Yurochka," his grandpa answered cheerfully. "I tried calling you earlier."

"Yeah, I was at yoga with Katsudon."

"Oh right, you go on Saturday morning. Sorry, I forgot."

"It's fine," Yuri answered, kicking his feet. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Yurochka. I'm the same as last week; nothing is getting any worse." Yuri could hear the exasperation in his voice. He took a deep breath internally; Nelya had said that his back was giving trouble again and one of her kids had to help him carry his groceries yesterday. "Yakov sent me an article about you." He changed the subject quickly enough. "He said you were in something called a meme?"

Yuri groaned. "Ignore that."

"What is it?"

"It's nothing."

He huffed. "It has to be something if they wrote an article about it."

He groaned again, rolling onto his back, and stared at the slanted ceiling. "It's stupid. Like it wasn't even about my skating or dancing. They just found a random picture of me and thought it looked good."

His grandpa sighed heavily. "I don't understand you young people any more. Anyway, I read the article Yakov sent, I'm very proud, Yurochka. It seems like everyone has nothing but nice things to say about you."

His cheeks heated slightly. "Thanks. Which one was it?"

"Are there so many that you can't keep them straight now?" he teased.

"Oh, so you know how to joke?"

"Watch your tone, boy." Yuri grumbled softly before he continued. "It was from Connection Daily.com."

"What?"

"I can forward you the email."

"You know how-"

"I'm not illiterate or helpless, Yurochka." Yuri bit his lip as his grandfather fell silent for a few moments. "There I sent it."

"Oh. Thanks, I'll look at it when we're done."

"Hey, Yuri, we're ready to eat," Katsudon stuck his head into the room then covered his mouth with his hand when he saw that he was on the phone. "Oh, sorry. Come down when you're done."

He sighed softly once Katsudon had left. "I need to go; Deda, Katsudon and Viktor want to eat. We can talk more tonight."

"Of course, enjoy your day, Yurochka."

"You too."

He rolled off the bed, and switched his yoga shirt for a large v-neck t-shirt that sometimes slipped down his shoulders, because he was not doing any more exercise for the rest of the day.

"Set the table," Viktor instructed as Yuri stomped into the kitchen.

"I thought you said you were ready," he grumbled as Katsudon handed him the plates.

"We are ready." He smiled nudging Yuri in the direction of the table.

Homemade meals with Viktor and Katsudon always tended to be a very strange mix of Russian and Japanese food. They were having blini, but instead of normal toppings like smoked salmon, there was sashimi. Viktor had obviously been taking cooking lessons from Katsudon's mom.

"I don't think these are supposed to go together," he muttered, forking a few pieces of the thin slices of tuna onto his plate and ignored Makkachin as he whined hopefully from under the table.

"Why not?" Viktor tilted his head sideways.

Yuri ignored him, taking a picture of his plate to post to his Snapchat story and used the Russian and Japanese flag emojis followed by a row of question marks. He snickered to himself, closing the app, then noticed that he had gotten an email. Oh right, his grandpa had sent him something. He opened it then tapped on the link he had sent. The page took a few seconds to load and he had to wince at the headline that popped up. 'Yuri Nikolaevich Plisetsky: from the ice rink to internet fame'.

God.

They made it seem like the dumb meme was the highlight of his career. Never mind all the actual blood sweat and tears he'd put into his skating, and dancing. He rolled his eyes, scrolling down.

"Stop being so antisocial." Viktor's annoying voice was the only warning he got before he grabbed his phone and glared at the screen.

"Viktor!"

"What's this?" he hummed, eyebrows perking up in interest as he scanned the article. Yuri felt his cheeks heat. "And this is exactly why we think Yuri is the perfect omega?"

"God, they actually wrote that?" He pushed his chair back, scuttering over to Viktor's side of the table to peer over his shoulder. He skimmed the paragraph, his cheeks getting hotter with every word until he felt the heat rising from his ears as well. He groaned, hanging his head and pressing his forehead to Viktor's shoulder.

"It's okay, Yurochka." Viktor patted the top of Yuri's head. "It's a compliment if you squint hard enough."

"What did they say?" Katsudon wondered softly.

Viktor hummed. "Just about how pretty he is, plus that he's a good dancer and skater and a role model for little omegas."

"Why though?" Yuri groaned, snatching his phone back and slumping into his seat. "It's literally just my face, why does everyone care all of a sudden? Ugh, it's so creepy. What the hell is a perfect omega anyway?"

Katsudon snorted. "Oh, you know, all small and delicate. Big eyes, long hair, fragile looking-"

"Fuck off."

"They obviously didn't hear you speak," Viktor mused. Yuri narrowed his eyes; these two were having way too much fun with this. He kicked Viktor in the shin. Viktor turned to him with a smile, which proved to Yuri that the man wasn't human. "We should do a family photoshoot!"

Yuri raised an eyebrow as Katsudon began to splutter. "What?"

"When we expand the Mizuno line! We're thinking about adding a kids section, and Yurochka can-"

"I'm not a kid."

"You're kid sized."

"I am not! Just because everyone isn't a freaking beanstalk like you-"

"He is too tall to be a kid, Vitya," Katsudon sighed, shaking his head.

"Are you sure?"

"Mmmm, pretty sure."

"I'm fucking nineteen!"

"Language," the both of them snapped then went back to their conversation without missing a beat. He rolled his eyes and grabbed his plate, pilling a few extra blini onto it before standing up from the table.

"I'm eating in my room."

Viktor looked like he was about to protest, but Katsudon placed a hand against his forearm and squeezed gently. Yuri gagged; he couldn't leave the kitchen fast enough.

"Remember," Viktor called after him. "It's your turn to do the dishes."

"Fuck you!"

"Language!"

"Yurochka, a word," Lilia called as Yuri locked the front door behind him. Potya was already winding herself around his ankles, purring. He dropped his bag by the door and picked her up.

"Yeah?" He found Lilia lounging on the couch, her iPad propped up on a pillow on her lap.

"I have a proposition for you. Sit." He sat on the opposite end of the couch staring at her in confusion. "I was contacted by the Joffrey Ballet School in New York a few days ago. They were interested in having you as a guest performance in their September recital."

"What?" Everything had just stopped.

"It seems like that silly photograph actually did you some good. I've researched the school; it's impressive, very contemporary. What do you say?"

"Uh," Yuri bit his bottom lip, burying his fingertips into Potya's fur. "They want me?"

"Luckily the recital coincides with the US International, so we can just stay in New York a few extra days. If you're interested of course. I think it would be a good idea, although you may not be a ballet danseur professionally, it does look good for you to be involved. We will have to do some extra practice, however."

Yuri blinked. "What would I perform?"

"Puck's solo of course."

Yuri swallowed. "I..."

"They were willing to pay for your ticket and board you for the few days, but the performance would be pro bono."

Yuri took a deep breath, as little butterflies began to flutter in his stomach. "I... yeah. That'd be cool."

She nodded as a small smile played on her lips. "Also, I've gotten a few more requests for interviews in New York. We need to discuss this with Yakov, but I've been contacted by The Verge, Elite Daily and Huffington Post. Are you familiar with those?"

Yuri snorted. All of that from a fucking meme? "Are you serious?"

"I wouldn't joke about this. These are some big names, Yurochka. It's unorthodox, but I do hope you enjoy your fifteen minutes of fame."

"I'm already famous; I'm a world class figure skater."

Lilia smiled in full this time. "I know Sundays are supposed to be your rest days, but we need to get to the studio. I'll need to record your piece for the school, so they can figure out logistics for the recital. And we really need to get you back en pointe."

Yuri grinned, hugging Potya to his chest, sliding down off the couch to the carpet. He had actually been nervous about his first competition, having started so late, and with such a tricky short program – thank you Viktor – he wasn't sure if he was just going to make a fool of himself over there. But now he couldn't wait to get to New York.

Chapter Text

"I have a strange request for you, Yurochka," Lilia said after calling him for dinner.

"Another one?" Yuri grumbled, sitting down eyeing the avocado salad and chicken wraps.

She hummed in amusement, taking a small sip of water. "Yes, believe it or not. But this one is more strange than most. A few weeks ago Yakov was contacted by a small makeup company in America. I believe they are also based in New York City, they described themselves an indie company focused on empowerment. The name is War Paint have you heard of them by chance?" He shook his head, raising an eyebrow. "They saw the meme, of course, but they did their research on you and submitted a proposal to Yakov asking you to be a brand ambassador."

Yuri paused in piling a mound of avocado salad onto his plate and looked up at her. "What?"

"Yakov and I did our homework too. We weren't going to tell you before we made sure they were a reputable brand with good intentions and morals. But this would probably be a good chance for publicity, and sponsorship. Of course that's only if you want to go through with it."

Yuri huffed. So on top of all the interviews he had to go to in New York there was this as well. Brand Ambassador, whatever that meant. He shrugged, and then reached for a wrap. "It could be cool."

Lilia raised an eyebrow. "It would mean a lot more travelling for you – a lot more time in New York. We might have to re-adjust your schedule for this season."

"Would they pay me?" He popped a cube of avocado into his mouth.

"Of course." She inclined her head. "We will have to discuss the contract with them, however."

"Then yeah, I'll do it."

She paused. "I'll have Yakov send you a copy of their proposal. You need to read it carefully."

He groaned, slumping down in his chair. "Summarise it for me."

Lilia scoffed, deciding not to answer him.

Yakov didn't give Yuri a break to watch the Lombardia Trophy men's free skate. He had been able to watch the men's short program, but Yakov had just glared at him when he asked if he could go watch the free skate as well.

Me:
Yakov is being an asshole, and not letting me have a fucking hour off to watch you.
Why do you have to compete right during my afternoon session, asshole?

Beka:
I didn't choose the schedule

Me:
Yeah whatever
Davai
Asshole

Beka:
Thanks, Yura

Not watching it had actually turned out to be a good thing, because the aftermath was pretty much devastating.

Well, devastating for Yuri at least; Otabek had gotten gold. He was in second place after the short program, only two points away from Michele Crispino. He had watched him walk through the stands with something dark and bitter congealing in his chest. That should have been him with Otabek, not fucking Assyl. Forget that he was busy training for his own competition which was less than a week away, but the fact that it was him there with Otabek, made him sick. He had wanted to scream at him, yell at him for bringing him along, but that was what boyfriends did. Right? He was serious about Assyl so, why wouldn't he go along with him? JJ used to bring Isabella everywhere.

Right. It wasn't as if he couldn't afford the extra plane ticket.

Yuri stepped off the ice, immediately running over to his bag to pull out his phone. Otabek's free skate would have ended an hour ago, and the competition would be over soon. He pressed the lock button, only to be assaulted by a shitload of notifications. Fuck. What now?

He tapped open a text from Katsudon.

Katsudon:
Hey, are you okay?

Why the fuck wouldn't he be?

The group chat with Otabek's friends was on fire.

Bal:
Holy fucking shit
I'm gonna kill him

Iska:
Count me in

Roza:
Me too

Camran:
Yuri, how are you holding up?

Yuri frowned okay, what the hell had happened? Why did everyone think something was wrong with him? His stomach began to bubble acid.

He exited the chat then swiped down for the full list of notifications.  

Mila:
I thought you and Otabek were a thing what the hell is this?

She had attached a picture, and Yuri swallowed what felt like a frozen, watermelon-size ball of lead. It was a dark, grainy picture of Otabek and Assyl with a few camera flashes behind them. They were in front of a bunch of cameras and from the looks of it reporters, kissing.

Yuri's breath caught in his throat with a raspy inhale. He felt light headed, suddenly, and his vision narrowed to the tiny square on his screen. The phone slipped through his fingers, he couldn't do anything to stop it and it fell to the concrete floor with a ear-splitting crack, the sound echoing off the ice and metal benches. He reached down for it, but his hands felt clumsy, and they were shaking. It took his a few tries to pick it up. All the while, his head was spinning and his vision was blurring and turning grey. When he finally wrapped his fingers around the sides there was a crack running from top to bottom, splitting the screen in half.

He thought he would start crying, that his eyes would prickle and he would be short of breath. But instead, he just felt hollow. Like Otabek had just dropped an atomic bomb and it had blown out his insides. There was a tinge of rawness around his chest but there was just a cold emptiness in his chest and stomach. Almost as if something was missing. He Kept it together as he left the rink and hugged his gym bag to his chest on the train ride home; his hands were still trembling and the emptiness in his stomach had it tightening uncomfortably. The picture was seared into his mind – and that was when his breathing became quick. He tried to focus on anything else – not how everything Otabek did seemed to hurt him, definitely not on Instagram or how his phone sat in his pocket like a hot coal.

Yet, he found himself opening Instagram going to Otabek's tagged pictures and just staring at it until the screen went dark. Otabek didn't look too happy, actually; he was frowning slightly, a few creases lay between his eyebrows. He wasn't kissing back. Yuri traced the curve of his neck with his fingernail; he was pulling away from Assyl. If anything it looked like Assyl had jumped him, completely caught him off guard, and had taken the picture without him knowing. Yuri would like to think he knew Otabek, if these past four years meant anything; he would have never gone for something like that, especially not in front of a crowd that big and certainly not in front of the cameras. Yeah, some boyfriend if he didn't even know that much. Now, his chest was tightening and his stomach was doing all kinds of gymnastics. And the caption was just the fucking cherry on top of this steaming-hot pile of shit.

Goldenprincessassyl: my baby boy just won GOLD. But he knows I won't settle for anything less ;) @Otabek-Altin #peopleonlydreamtheycouldbethislucky #gold #goldmedal #boyfriend #winner #cute #hot #rich

He nearly missed his stop.

Katsudon was at Lilia's door, his face red, and he was panting as he raised his hand up to knock.

Yuri scowled. "What the hell are you doing here?" He pushed passed him, shoving his key into the lock.

"Oh, you're only now coming back?"

"Yeah, and?"

Katsudon bit his lip adjusting his glasses. "Did... did you see what...uh-"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

""Yeah. And why are you here?" He pushed open the door, barring Potya from escaping with his legs.

"I thought that... are you alright?"

He took a deep breath through his nose, closing the door behind them. "Yeah."

Katsudon shook his head slowly stepping up to him and wrapping him in a tight hug. He hadn't known he needed it until then.

He and Katusdon sat on the couch with Potya between them, busy bathing herself. Yuri left his damp hair out to hang around his face as he stared into his cup of tea. Usually, showers helped him feel better, but not that night it seemed.

"So, do you think-" Katsudon started softly, but Yuri's phone vibrated from underneath Potya who startled and climbed up his chest. "Oh hello, kitty," he chuckled, gathering her up and settling her on his lap.

Yuri scoffed, picking up his phone but then his heart plummeted when he saw that is was a DM from Goldenprincessassyl. Gross. His stomach lurched and he actually tasted bile at the back of his throat.

"What's that?" Katsudon asked, scooting closer.

Setting his tea down on the coffee table, Yuri unlocked his phone. "Message from Otabek's boyfriend."

Katsudon's eyes narrowed. "Why would he be messaging you?"

Yuri took a deep breath, opening the DM, knowing he would regret it. It was the same picture of him and Otabek, but he had added a message underneath.

Goldenprincessassyl: Crying yet, bitch? He's mine, get your own.

Again, Yuri expected to feel so angry that he would start shaking but instead he just felt empty.

"Yuri..."

"It's nothing." He shook his head, locked his phone, and set it face down on the couch. He breathed in deeply through his nose, again feeling his head start to spin. And God, this was all so fucking stupid. He tugged at the edge of his t-shirt, until he heard a soft ripping sound. Underneath his skin was buzzing, itching almost like he had to rip it off and all the while there was a deepening chasm in his chest. He licked his lips, blinking away the faint prickling in his eyes. "You know what. I'm done with this."

Katsudon frowned. "What?"

He sighed again, looking at his lap, then swallowed thickly before answering. "I'm just done. I mean, I'm going to do my short program for Beka, get out all I have to say, but then I'm done. He can either come to me and talk, or not. Either way, after this I don't think I can do this anymore. I'm done. I'm so fucking tired of crying and feeling like shit and having this fucking person harassing me non-stop. And none of it is going to change what Beka is doing or how he feels, no matter how much I cry or scream  or whatever. And I hate being like this. I hate that he makes me feel so raw and broken inside. And I fucking love him so much, but I can't..." he paused to take a deep breath, but it came out shaky and caught in his throat. "So if this program doesn't work out then... I can't. This is it." He thought that he was done crying, but a tickle on his cheek told him otherwise. He reached up to wipe his face with the back of his sleeve, finding more tears than he had expected.

Katsudon looked like he was pained. "I honestly didn't expect this... maturity from you."

Yuri scoffed and a tear fell into his mouth. "I'm just tired of feeling like shit."

"I'm sorry that the two of you had to even go through this. The answer to me was so simple, but I guess that you have to come to your own conclusions your own way, and even if it doesn't end up with you and Otabek together, I'm proud of you." He wrapped Yuri in another tight hug.

The next two days were some of the busiest Yuri had ever had. He, Yakov, and Lilia left for New York on the twelfth of September to get to Lake Placid, with a day to adjust to the time difference and get in a few precious hours of practice. A few hours meaning, Yuri skated as long as he possibly could before Yakov physically dragged him off the ice. He knew that his programs were polished to perfection, even that risky combination jump of Viktor's, but he couldn't help but feel that a bit more was riding on this than usual. He was too jittery to fall asleep right away the night before the men's short program, and dreamt that Otabek was there and had brought Assyl with him and they had both jumped onto the ice while he was performing and chased him around the rink, until the ice began to crack, and water sprayed up from underneath like fire hoses. He woke up at five-thirty, sweating with his mouth dry and his heart racing and decided to take a long shower, trying to calm the tremors in his arms and legs.

He went over to Lilia's room at six to get into his costume and for her to do his hair and makeup. They had decided on pure white for his short program costume it represented purity, innocence, or some longing bullshit. He had turned up his nose at it originally – he thought it would be too similar to the Agape costume from years back with all the feathers and sequins and angel motifs. But the actual thing turned out to be different enough that he stopped complaining. Lilia did his hair in a low, wrap-around ponytail, brushing it until it shone the keeping everything in place with copious amounts of hairspray.

"You will do well today, Yurochka," Lilia said, giving one last pass with the hair spray. "I know where the emotion for this program comes from, and it has been hard, but I believe you can make something beautiful out of it." Yuri bit his lip. "But let's not think about the reason today. I want you to have a clear mind before you set a single toe on the ice today. Now come, let's do some breathing exercises before breakfast; I can feel the tension in your shoulders from here."

The breathing exercises helped, as well as Katsudon and Viktor's good luck call. Viktor said he would disown him if he didn't come in first, but the Katsudon said that he'd re-adopt him anyway, but he would hesitate if he didn't at least come in third. Yuri wanted to hang up on them, but slowly realised as they started to argue playfully, that warm fuzz was slowly filling the nervous pit in his stomach. Iska had also sent a message last night saying the Otabek had been successfully captured for the weekend and they wouldn't even have cell service where they were going; there was no chance in heaven or hell that Otabek would be able to see his short program. But just to make sure, he had asked Yakov to request that the commentators leave out details about the music and just call it an original composition. Camran had uploaded a picture of all of them – plus Saida and Assyl – standing in Iska's driveway, their cars were packed to the brim with camping gear. The timestamp said it was five am; Bal had been brandishing a travel mug at the camera and all of their eyes were still puffy with sleep, except Assyl who was already in full make up. He tried not to feel bitter, as he double tapped the picture, reminding himself that the trip was part of the plan, and that he wouldn't have been able to go anyway, because he didn't live in Almaty with them.  And besides Camran had promised that he would record Assyl's misery.

His short program was over in a heartbeat. He hadn't fallen once; he'd landed all his jumps, nothing had gone wrong. In short it had been perfect, but as he, Lilia, and Yakov sat in the kiss-and-cry he found himself biting his lip to hold back tears.

"Yurochka?" Yakov asked softly, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

Yuri shook his head, hugging a white tiger plushie he had picked up from the ice to his chest, but he wrapped an arm tightly around his shoulders all the same. Lilia squeezed his knee and then a single tear mixed with glitter, rolled down his cheek.

His short program put him five points in front of the skater in second place. Leo fucking de la Iglesia. He had completely forgotten about Otabek's skating friends and had hunted him down afterwards to beg him not to tell Otabek about his short program. He thanked God that there were actually some nice people left on the Earth.

He nearly broke his ankle landing a triple Axel in his free skate, but he hadn't 'fallen' and the jump miraculously hadn't been downgraded, but he'd definitely lost a few technical points. Still, he was leaving the US International with a gold medal tucked safely in his carry-on. Yakov had shoved him at a medic as soon as he stepped off the ice, but it was nothing serious; he was just ordered to rest his leg for a few days and ice it after wrapping it snugly with a green compression bandage. He had nodded, but knew that rest wasn't an option; especially not with the ballet recital in a few day's time.

They had left as soon as the award ceremony was done, but they still got to the hotel in Manhattan at nearly nine. Still, Yakov and Lilia wanted to go out for drinks after they had dropped off their bags.

"Can I come?" he asked, watching as Lilia fished through her jewellery pouch for a pair of earrings.

Yakov hesitated, glancing to Lilia. "Uh..."

Lilia huffed. "No, Yurochka, the drinking age here is twenty-one." He stuck out his tongue at her. Her glare was enough to get him to look away in guilt. "And you have rehearsal tomorrow, plus the interview with Huffington Post and The Verge; you need to get a full night's rest."

"But,-" another sharp glare was sent his way. "I haven't even had dinner yet."

"You can order room service."

He grumbled, knowing that arguing with Lilia was futile, and there was no way Yakov would stick up for him. "You guys are so unfair."

Lilia stood up, going over to the full-length mirror to fasten her earrings. "I also know that you haven't read the contract or proposal from War Paint yet. You should do that tonight."

"You haven't read it yet?" Yakov sighed, shaking his head.

"It's like ten pages long!"

"Well, it's good that it's still early."

Yuri watched them leave, saying that he wasn't going to let them back in. He curled around Lilia's iPad with the twelve page pdf document open, but his attention was on his phone or more importantly the message from Otabek, that had just come in.

Beka:
Hey, can you talk now?

Yuri's stomach began to gurgle. He and Otabek hadn't really talked since he'd congratulated him for winning the Lombardia Trophy. Then there was the fact that Otabek didn't even know he was in New York. He hesitated in typing out a response, wondering if he should blow his cover or just say that he was busy. But they hadn't talked in over a week, and even after he'd talked with Katsudon about not wanting to continue pinning after him, he did miss him. God, he was such an idiot.

Me:
Yeah

Immediately, his heart leapt to the back of his throat.

"Hey, Yura," Otabek began as soon as the Facetime call connected, but then he paused and frowned. "Are you in a hotel? Where are you?"

"Uh... New York?"

Otabek's eyes widened as he sat up straight in his desk chair. He had obviously woken up not too long ago, with a terrible bed head and he was still wearing his glasses. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I... uh... I forgot."

"You forgot? No, you forget to turn your phone off silent, you don't forget to tell your best friend that you're going halfway across the world for – did you have a competition?"

Yuri took a deep breath. "Uh..."

Otabek's eyebrows rose above his glasses frames and his mouth dropped slightly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

God, he actually sounded hurt. Yuri bit his lip. "I – you had that camping trip."

"I would have... We could have rescheduled it."

Yuri shook his head. How the hell was he supposed to cover this up? "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters. I didn't get to wish you good luck, we have a tradition..."

He tugged at a lock of hair from his ponytail. "Things were kind of hectic before I left anyway; it just slipped my mind. And you were just getting back to Almaty too."

Otabek saw through his excuse and Yuri's stomach clenched hard. "You didn't want me to watch you?"

Yuri scrambled to think of an excuse, but he couldn't come up with anything and just sat there with his mouth open like Makkachin waiting for a treat.

Otabek sighed heavily, reaching up to rake his hair away from his forehead. "So you're mad at me too, huh?"

"What?" Yuri blurted, nearly dropping his phone over the edge of the bed. "No, I'm not! I'm, wait too? Who else is mad at you?"

Otabek sighed again, leaning back into his computer chair. "Assyl, my mom..."

Yuri frowned. "Why the fuck are they mad at you? You like just won a gold medal?" He didn't give a fuck about Assyl, but his mom was a different story.

He gave a sort of half-smile. "Well my mom's mad at me because Assyl is mad at me."

"What that fuck?" What the fuck was that bitch up to now?

"He's just being... difficult I guess."

Yuri had to bite his lip to keep himself from saying something that probably would have made Otabek hang up.  "You sound like you need to vent."

Otabek blinked. "It's okay, Yura. I know you're not a fan of him. You don't need to listen to me whine about him-"

His mouth moved before his brain caught up. "Fuck off, Otabek. I'm your best friend, so you better tell me what's going on."

"Are you sure?" He raised an eyebrow daring him, even though he could already feel his insides withering. "Okay fine. We came back from camping a few days ago and that was almost five full days with everyone, so I just wanted a couple of days to myself to work on some mixes and go to the rink." Yuri nodded; yeah time to recharge. "But he got offended and said that I shouldn't need time off from my boyfriend. So, he spent the night after we got back and I was just exhausted and I didn't really want to talk or do anything, then he starts complaining about how I'm acting cold and then it somehow became how I never want to do anything with him."

"Seriously?" That wasn't surprising at all.

"Yeah, he's a little dramatic." Yuri pinched his ankle to stop himself from biting out an I-told-you-so. "And we do do stuff all the time, it's just that I don't want to spend all our time together shopping or going out to dinner or clubs. He doesn't really like staying in."

Yuri raised an eyebrow. God, Assyl was the absolute wrong person for him.

"Then my mom heard us arguing so of course she barges in then they both gang up on me and complain how I'm so stubborn and stuck in my ways." He took a deep breath. "So I don't know, I just feel like I'm stuck trying to make people happy."

Yuri tilted his head. Yeah, everyone but him.

"And..." He ran his hand through his hair again. "I'm getting the feeling that Assyl and I don't really mesh well."

Yuri's stomach leapt and it was probably a good thing that he couldn't keep his face straight because Otabek read it as empathy rather than joy. "So, break up with him." He had to try.

Otabek sighed softly through his nose. "The thing is, if I do that, my mother will have my head."

"What? Why?"

"You've met her, Yura. You know how it important it is for her for me and my siblings to settle down and have a family. And for some reason she's worried I won't find someone soon enough."

"You have an Olympic silver medal and she's freaking about you taking too long to give her grandkids?"

He scoffed. "Yeah, say that to her face. You heard her complain before I started dating Assyl and then it makes it worse that he's Damira's cousin's son."

"Who?"

"Hadiya's wife, Damira. Her family is a bit petty."

"So? What does that have to do with anything?"

He sighed. "Okay, well when she and Hadiya didn't invite some little cousin to Maeena's fifth birthday party last year they didn't talk to them for three months. They completely ignored them – like didn't answer calls, turned the other way if they saw them in public. It was ridiculous. And Hadiya had a valid reason not to invite them; they weren't even in Almaty that week. So, you can just imagine the drama that will happen if I dump Assyl. I may as well go up and slap Damira's cousin in the face. And I really don't want to put her and Hadiya in the middle of all of this."

Yuri's entire body was quivering. So there was no hope then. "So, you're going to continue to date him even though you don't like him?"

Otabek paused, biting the inside of his cheek. "I like him, but it's just difficult."

"You didn't seem to like him when he kissed you at the Lombardia trophy." He could have kicked himself. Or patted himself on the back. Either way he was very close to hanging up on Otabek. Why the fuck was he being so unreasonable. Who cared if he caused a little family drama?

Otabek frowned slightly. "I... I wasn't expecting him to do that. That's all. I do like him, Yuri."

"Why?" He couldn't stop himself there either.

Otabek worked his jaw a bit. "Why?" His frowned deepened slightly before he shook his head and relaxed his jaw. "You're asking me why I like my boyfriend?"

Yuri bit his tongue. It would have been a stupid question except he really couldn't see a single reason. "Yeah, never mind." He held his stomach.

"So how did the competition go? You won, right?"

Yuri forced a smile through his teeth. "What do you think, Altin?"

He nodded smiling as well. "Good. I'll tell the others and-"

"Actually, Beka, I'm kind of need to get back to something."

"Huh?" The clueless expression that crossed his face would have made Yuri cave any other time.

"Yeah, I need to get through this twelve page document tonight."

"What? Why?"

He should tell him, but he didn't think he could stay on the call much longer and keep it together. Otabek didn't like Assyl but his family was pressuring him to date him. He didn't like Assyl but he didn't want to admit it. If they were talking in person Yuri would have punched him in the face.

He breathed in deeply through his nose and playfully stuck out his tongue. "It's a surprise."

The interviews with The Verge and Huffington Post were short and to the point. Their offices were fucking cool and they both had conference rooms set up for him. They were both curious about the meme of course, and that was the backbone of the interview, but he was kind of surprised that they were also interested in his career and the woman from The Verge had known about his gold medal from the US International. And of course, both companies gave him a crap load of merch. If he had to compare them to his other interviews they would be the most similar to the one he had with the teen magazine.  

Rehearsal at the Joffrey Ballet School went smoothly as well. They had left the hotel at nine after Lilia had forced Yuri to eat a light breakfast. He was honestly too jumpy to focus on eating, but then he remembered he hadn't had anything last night either. There were a bunch of 'trainee' dancers at the school who ogled him and nearly all of the ones in the show and a few others watched his rehearsal. Lilia had sent the music and lighting directions ahead so all he had to do was get used to the strange theatre. They were performing Beauty and the Beast and he was going to perform right before intermission as a way to get more people interested in the school. It was a cheap shot, since they only knew him from a fucking meme, but the director was positive it would work. Apparently they had gotten more teenagers buying tickets this year, and sales had gone up slightly since they had announced that he – they omega from the meme – was going to be performing. So, apart from the fact that they were using him as a show horse, the rehearsal passed in an exhausting whirlwind. They ran through the entire show twice – he had to leave during the second one for his interviews, but then Lilia dragged him back to one of their classrooms and had him go through his dance until the ankle that he had landed on badly started to hurt. He would have gone on longer, it was only just a slight twinge near the end of the day, but then he went en pointe and it nearly gave out. Lilia clicked her tongue and hover over him after she had ordered him to take of his slippers so they could leave immediately.

"Yakov, would you go get some ice?" Lilia asked, watching Yuri limp over to the bed.

Yakov watched him roll up his pants leg and massage around the bone, before sighing heavily and getting up. "Do you think you'll be able to perform on that?"

"I'm gonna have to," Yuri grumbled.

"Do you have the extra tape?" Yakov asked Lilia before he left. She dug out a roll of self-adhesive bandages from her suitcase.

The theatre was packed the next day Yuri wondered around backstage for a bit, in his team Russia jacket over his costume. Lilia had done his hair and makeup before going out to the main house to find Yakov and their seats. A pair of trainees came up to him and asked if they could take his picture and when he said yes there was suddenly a line. They weren't as bad as the Angels and there was far less screaming and shoving, but he knew that he was going to be tagged in over twenty pictures that night. He took a quick picture for Snapchat with the hectic dressing room in the background and pulled up the filter for the ballet school before adding it to his story. His performance also went without a hitch. His ankle wasn't too bad and it only hurt on the last pirouette. He was almost glad that he was going to be hanging up his pointe shoes for a while. At the end of the show, he was presented with a bouquet of flowers and a greeting card signed by all the dancers in the show and he had gotten a standing ovation when he came on stage for the curtain call. Lilia and Yakov wanted to take him out for dinner afterwards, but he fell asleep in the taxi so they just went back to the hotel, where they ordered a bottle of champagne from room service and left Yuri have a few glasses.

Their last day in New York was taken up by an early morning interview with Elite Daily then the meeting with War Paint.

Of all the interviews this one had to be the worst. Given it was still pretty early and Yuri was already exhausted, but it wasn't his imagination that the interviewer was condescending.

"Uh..." Yuri wasn't sure how to answer the question. Was the meme the highest point in his career? No, the fuck it wasn't.

The interviewer thought Yuri was taking too long with his answer so he repeated the question but much slower and louder, like he was fucking deaf.

Yuri sneered. "I heard you the first time."

He gave him a tight smile. "Oh sorry, I was just making sure that you understood the question."

Yuri glanced to Lilia and Yakov, who both mouth at him to be polite. "Why wouldn't I – no it's not the highest point in my career. It's completely random, and I had no say in it. What I would consider the highest point is something that I actually worked on."

"For, worked for. You didn't work on a goal, you worked towards it."

Was this asshole serious? Yuri clenched his jaw. "I didn't come here for a grammar lesson."

he huffed softly before continuing. "So, you don't think all the fame that followed the meme was worth it in that case?"

Yuri rolled his eyes. "The thing with a meme, it's cool for maybe a week or a month, but after that it's on to the newer thing. I would prefer to be known for something that won't be done in a snap."

The guy nodded and smiled. "I wasn't expecting an omega so intelligent, today."

Yuri took a deep breath and grabbed his glass of water. Thankfully the rest of the questions weren't so bad, they were just really superficial, and many questions were framed around his secondary gender. So he was glad to be done with it. And he was probably not even going to read the article when it came out. He didn't even like the picture they posted of him standing in the lobby with a few of their staff members, even though they had mentioned him in the caption and tagged him.

The War Paint office was a twenty minute taxi ride away, it would have been shorter but traffic was already piling up and they ended up being ten minutes late. Lilia called ahead, tapping the tip of her pointed high-heel against the floor mat of the taxi, and a woman with dark, curly hair and thick glasses met them outside. She guided them into a small conference room where and set down a thick stack of paper in front of Yuri.

"We're so happy that you decided to join us, Yuri." She smiled, as she set down a tray of glasses and a bottle of water in front of them. "This might be a bit unorthodox, but here at War Paint we look for models who are already figures of empowerment. We want to strike home to our audience that makeup doesn't make you weak and girly. That you don't have to use it to hide anything or to be confident. And you, Yuri, leapt out at us and beat us over the head."

He blinked. "Uh, thanks?"

"It is a compliment dear. We were intrigued by what you said about not necessarily enjoying the fame from the meme because you didn't work for it."

He shrugged. "Yeah, it kind of felt like cheating."

"And that's the mentality we're working for. It's refreshing to see someone of your generation who doesn't expect things to be just handed to them." He tried really hard to not roll his eyes. He really wanted to like this company. "Alright, so a bit about us as a company, we'll be seven years old in November, but we're still a relatively small company, and we hope to keep it that way. We boast of a wide variety of tones, and not just 200 shades of beige, so imagine makeup from the darkest of skin, like," she pulled up a picture of a model with thick ropey braids and skin almost as dark as her hair. "Like Tihun here. Very few companies carry something dark enough for her, and we also have some options for the other end of the spectrum too." Yeah like his glow-in-the-dark, pasty ass. "We hope to have a photo shoot in December where all our ambassadors can meet. We have six, including you, and the nice thing about being an ambassador, is that it is very low commitment; all we ask is that every so often you showcase a few of our products. We can go into the contract with more detail shortly." She smiled at the three of them.

It took them fucking two hours to get through the contract. Mostly because Yakov and Lilia were stopping to ask questions every five minutes. Yuri got it, and he was ready to sign his name just to get out of the damn building already. All he had to do was make a post every so often, show pictures of him doing like 'upstanding' things or in his case winning competitions and tag the brand and interact with the brand when they tagged him. It was no big deal, and apart from the occasional photo shoot where he'd have to come back to New York, it was actually very low commitment. It wasn't like they were asking him to be a model or anything. It was actually sort of like a sponsorship. So he got it and if Lilia or Yakov asked another question he was getting up and leaving.

Eventually they finished up the 'negotiations' and they ushered Yuri off to a studio  where he was sat in a chair in front of a brightly lit mirror.

"Ummmm," he began, tilting his head to the side. "We're doing a photo shoot?"

"Yes, Yurochka, I told you so last night." Lilia snipped sitting down in an empty chair next to him.

"Last night? You mean when I was half asleep?"

The curly-haired woman chuckled. "Classic feistiness. You are going to do well with us, Yuri. Now sit tight; I'll be right back with Sophie, our makeup artist."

Shopie came in a few minutes later, smiled at him and started poking at his face with a makeup sponge. It took her close to twenty minutes, but when she was done he had to do a double take in the mirror. Even when he actually tried with his makeup he had never been able to come anything close to this. Even Mila or Roza would have paled if they had seen this. It was a dark, elegant look; she had done his eye shadow in a gunmetal black – he had spied the name and Sophie had seen his interest and used it. His lips were now a dark, blood red, and his cheekbones were so defined that if he turned his head too quickly he would create a hole in time and space.

She quickly brushed out his hair, complimenting him on its shine and healthiness and mussed it up a bit before opening a closet to the side of the room and handing him a plain, black, long-sleeved shirt. They brought him to the other end of the studio where there were a few lights and a backdrop set up. A guy in tight, shiny pants took millions of pictures of his face, from every possible angle.

The curly-haired woman came back in as they were finishing up and told Yuri that he'd probably see the pictures on Instagram by tomorrow, but he was free to post his own pictures, hinting that that he was now an ambassador; however they would like to make the actual reveal themselves.

He did take a few pictures in the taxi back to the hotel, when they had stopped at a traffic light and the sun shone perfectly through the window, highlighting the shimmer on his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He gave a pouty smirk, musing his hair up even more and ignoring the way Yakov scoffed loudly. He didn't even need a fucking filter. He typed out a quick caption and posted it, tagging the location and picking out a few hashtags that would hint at his brand deal. His first like was from Camran, and then the notifications came rolling in like a waterfall. Yuri grinned, sitting back as the taxi turned down a street. He couldn't stop staring at himself in the picture; he couldn't wait for Otabek to see it either.

Yuri_plisetsky: Big things coming :P

Chapter Text

Iska called right as Yuri was ready to switch off his bedside lamp and try to fall asleep. His sleep schedule was fucked since New York, but if he didn't get in back on track by tomorrow next week's training was going to be shit. But he answered the call anyway, sitting up so that he wouldn't look like he had a double chin.

"Are you going to sleep already?" Iska asked raising an eyebrow. Yuri could see Camran and Bal in the background.

"Don't you guys have an exam to be studying for?"

"Nope, mid-terms aren't until next month," Bal grinned from over Iska's shoulder, dragging a chair up beside him.

"So where's Roza?"

The two of them shared a look. "Saida."

Oh. He rolled onto his side, propping his phone up against a cat plushie. Ugh, he really needed to get his screen fixed too.

"So," Camran popped up in-between them. "What's the story behind the picture that nearly gave Beka an aneurysm?"

"Huh?"

Bal snickered. "We were at the gym; he was doing curls and nearly dropped like twenty kilos on his foot."

"What?" Yuri sprung upright, as short breathy laugh caught in his throat.

"Serves the idiot right for doing curls while he was on his phone, but damn, Yuri, warn someone."

He giggled softly as Camran flicked Bal's bun, and forced himself onto his lap.

"Really, though," Iska said, scooting to the side so the two of them could sit down comfortably. "What was that about?"

Yuri cocked his head, fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt. "I was kinda asked to be an ambassador for this makeup company in New York-"

"What?" Bal yelled. "That's-"

"Impressive." Camran cut him off. "I expect free samples by the way."

Yuri giggled again. "They'll probably send me stuff to match my skin tone, so I don't think you'll have much luck there. I could send you the eyeshadow and lipsticks-"

"Nah, it's okay; I was just joking."

"Seriously, I have like four palettes that I don't even use. Mila keeps on giving them to me."

"Wait," Iska frowned slightly. "You were chosen to represent a makeup company and you barely even wear makeup?"

"I used to," he muttered the same time as Camran said, "He used to," and pulled up his phone, tapped around it a bit then shoved it in Iska's face.

"Oh, wow," Iska blinked a few times. "So why don't you do that anymore?"

Yuri shrugged. "Dunno."

"I should have recorded Beka's reaction, though," Bal sighed. "We couldn't get him to make a full sentence for nearly five minutes." Yuri's eyebrows shot upwards. "One of the trainers came over and everything, he got so red too. He asked Beka if you were his boyfriend and you should have seen him splutter, like full on cartoon stuttering. It would have been even more perfect if the bitch was there to see it."

Yuri snorted, but his stomach was doing flip-flops. God, if only Assyl had been there. He had blocked him since he had sent that DM, he wouldn't have been able to see it on his own anyway.

"Iska?"

"Hmmm?"

"I, uh, I talked to Beka the other day and he said that his mom was mad at him because he and Assyl were arguing?"

Iska sighed softly. "Yeah I can see that. Aunty Alma is... a bit, uh, she has a strong personality."

Yuri swallowed, yeah he knew that much and she had been very excited about Otabek's romantic life, but it still seemed a bit odd that she would side with fucking Asyl over her possibly-favourite son. "She was pressuring him to date?"

Iska wrinkled his nose. "I wouldn't exactly call it pressuring, but Beka is really bad at dealing with her when she's upset. And she's honestly so happy he's dating someone that I can see her not wanting him to 'mess it up' so to say."

"But Assyl is an Ass."

Camran snickered. "He acts like an angel around Beka's parents, though. It was like a switch."

"So, she thinks what she's doing is actually good for him?"

"Don't all parents, though?"

"I wouldn't know."

There was a bloated silence. "Oh shit, sorry Yuri, I didn't mean it like that," Camran backpedalled, waving his hands.

He shrugged. "It's still kind of weird that she would side with him over Beka."

Iska tilted his head. "He hasn't told any of us about that, but it's easier to poke fun and tease family than someone you barely know. What did she say to him?"

"That he's stubborn-"

"She says that all the time. 'Otabek, you are so bull-headed, it will be the death of you and what will i have to have to tell everyone? That you died because you didn't listen to your mother?'" he scoffed. "Every time I go over she's needling him for something."

Yuri frowned, okay he could see that happening. Maybe he only took to heart this time because Assyl was there?

"I wouldn't pay attention to him when he says Aunty Alma is mad at him, Yuri. Otabek will always be her baby. And when she finds out what a bitch Assyl really is, she's going to flip shit."

"He's going to have to move out of Almaty." Bal cackled.

"Good riddance." Camran nuzzled against his chest, smirking. "I don't think he's going to last much longer to be honest. We all can see that Beka is getting annoyed with him."

Yuri raised an eyebrow. Oh really?

"He won't leave him the fuck alone." Bal added. "I mean it's not that easy to tell how introverted he is, with his Dj'ing, skating, and all the pictures he takes with fans and stuff, but come on take a hint. He calls him every minute, tries to get him to go out like every night of the week. And then all the social media, his hashtags are the actual worst." He paused to shake his head. "I saw Beka trying to untag himself in that kissing pic, watched him pull up the menu and everything, but then he saw me looking so he didn't. Yeah, Beka's going to snap soon. And you didn't even have to do anything."

Yuri's head was spinning slightly. "I'm still going to, though. The program."

"That will just be the icing on the cake." Iska offered.

He grinned.

Yuri fell hard, smacking against his hip and shoulder against the ice. Okay, ow.

"Yurochka!" Yakov took to the ice when Yuri didn't get up right away. He heard two other sets of blades, that meant Mila and Katsudon were on their way as well. He picked himself up, trying his hardest to ignore the throbbing in his ankle.

"Are you okay?" Yakov asked, kneeling down next to him.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

Yakov didn't believe him. "It's the ankle again," he grumbled. "Go sit down, let's take a look at it."

"I'm fine-"

"Yuri."

He rolled his eyes, and growled at the way Mila and Katsudon were staring at him as he skated to the stands. "This isn't a damn show," he yelled, flipping them off.

Yakov pulled his leg onto his lap after Yuri had tugged off his skate, and started grumbling immediately. Yuri ground his teeth together knowing that he wouldn't be getting back on the ice today. Apart from the pressure lines from the inside of his skate and socks, it didn't look any different than normal, but the dull throb said otherwise. 

"It's not a sprain, at least," Yakov sighed, prodding his foot and rotating his ankle. Yuri winced as he moved it about. "Looks like a minor strain; I'm not surprised with all that you've been doing."

Yuri huffed. "I'm not going to stop dancing-"

"I didn't tell you to. Go home, you need to rest."

"I'm fine. I'll just ice it for a bit-"

"No, you are not skating on that foot-"

"Yurochka's injured?" Viktor asked, his voice echoing around the rink as he waltzed in on their conversation. His eyes zeroed in on Yuri's leg on Yakov's lap.

Yuri rolled his eyes, his shoulders hunching up to his ears. "I'm not-"

"Yuri's hurt?" Katsudon looked like he was about to climb over the sideboards to get to them, and Mila's eyes went wide.

Oh for fuck's sake. "I'm fine!" he yelled.

"It's just a strain," Yakov sighed, rubbing his temples. "He's not allowed in here for three days-"

"What?" Yuri nearly jumped off the bench. "I can't miss three days of practice! I have a competition in less than two weeks! I need to-"

"You need to rest and I'm going to tell Lilia; you are not allowed to do anything strenuous. Three days, rest. You hear that, you three?" He glanced around to Viktor, Katsudon, and Mila.  "He's not allowed in the rink. Let Georgi and his students know too."

"Three days, Beka," he complained loudly, falling backwards onto his bed. "I can't do anything for three fucking days!"

Otabek's laugh was muffled through his phone speaker. "I'm sure Yakov and Lilia know what they're talking about. Would you rather an injury that could end your career?"

Yuri pouted. "Shut up. I wasn't asking you to be sensible."

Otabek scoffed. "Right, I forgot I'm supposed to be a verbal punching bag."

Yuri grinned. "It's in the best friend agreement."

Otabek grumbled and they fell into silence. And the shitty thing was that before they could do silences, they could be on calls and not talk for like ten minutes and it would have been alright. Now, Yuri's skin was crawling at a few seconds. He bit his lip as he wracked his mind for any-fucking-thing to say, but he was drawing blank. Thankfully, Otabek beat him to it.

"So, Iska told me you got some kind of brand deal with a makeup company in New York... I guess that explains that picture."

“Oh, yeah, they're called War Paint. I guess it's something like a sponsorship. It's not official yet though, they were supposed to announce it across social media a few days ago, but they told me the were going to delay it for a few days more."

"That's cool. So, does that mean you're going to start wearing makeup again?"

He rolled his eyes, pulling one of his pillows to his chest and stared at the ceiling. "You would like that wouldn't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

There was half a beat pause. "Yuri."

"Never mind. Forget I said that."

"It's not like you need to wear it or anything-"

"Oh my fuck, I said forget it!"

Otabek drew in a long, sharp breath. "Okay. Fine."

The following silence had Yuri squirming. God, why did this suck so much? "Do you have your flight booked yet? When are you getting to Slovakia?"

"The twenty-ninth, sometime in the evening."

"Oh, me too. We – we should, yeah. You know."

Otabek grunted. "Uh, yeah. I... uh. Assyl's coming too, just... by the way."

"Oh." He actually felt the muscles in his chest squeeze against his lungs. "Okay, I thought... okay."

"Yeah," the phone rasped as Otabek breathed out heavily. "He liked it the last time and wanted to come again."

"Oh, okay." Fuck, shit, fuck fuck fuck fuck.  Why did he love this fucking asshole? "That's cool."

"Yeah. He actually hasn't traveled much before. He's been to Paris, I think, and Milan, but he thinks it's fun." 

Yuri wondered if he could hang up and make it seem like an accident. "Yeah."

There was another pause, this one shorter than the last two. "I can't wait to see you again." Otabek mumbled at length. 

Okay, like how could he be such a dick then turn around and say something like that. Yuri bit the inside of his cheek. "I saw you like two months ago, dumbass. But yeah, same." Well, it wasn't a lie, but, yeah. But.

The thing he hated the most about time differences was that something big went on in America and he would be fast asleep when it happened. War Paint dropped the picture sometime near three am, two days after he'd talked to Otabek on the phone. He woke up to nearly fifty new followers on Instagram and just as many DMs and other notifications. Blinking away the sleep from his eyes, he squinted at his phone and he really, really needed to get his fucking screen fixed. He tapped on the first notification - War Paint had mentioned him in the post, and grinned when his face filled the screen. 

WarPaint: Introducing our newest Brand Ambassador, @yuri_plisetsky! He's a figure skater from Saint Petersburg, Russia who has captured our attention with his daring attitude and long list of gold medals... more

The Angles were all over the comment section screaming gibberish, and he found himself grinning. He looking so fucking fierce. He'd been iffy about that shade of lipstick, but seeing it in the picture he understood why they went with it. He sent the picture to Mila, even though he'd already told her about the brand deal, still grinning widely. 'You need to learn how to do this' he typed out. She was probably still sleeping, but she'd see it when she woke up. And he'd also ask her to go through his DMs as well. He scrolled through the list of unread messages and at least a third of them were pictures from greasy-looking guys.

So fucking gross. 

He wouldn't open them, but it was still disturbing and he felt a familiar spike of nausea cut through his excitement. Why the hell were people like this? He ground his teeth, pulling one of his stuffed cats to his chest, since Potya was in Lilia's room. He breathed out forcefully through his nose; dick pics would always come, now maybe even more since his contract with War Paint did say that he was obligated to do photoshoots and occasionally model products. But did these guys actually think that sending him a picture of their disgusting dick would do anything? How many times would he have to announce to the world that he was fucking asexual? God. A new DM came in.

Bloxman3Ilkeva sent a picture.

The fucking notification came in right under his thumb, he jerked, and the fucking thing opened. He had never tapped the back button so quickly in his life before. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the actual fuck? Why were people like this? He growled, rolling onto his stomach and opening his camera roll. It looked like he'd have to be reminding the world of his sexuality again. He found a picture he'd taken a few weeks ago. He'd just come home from ballet and taken his hair down from his bun. He loved when his hair did that, falling in gentle waves around his face, from being wrapped up so tightly all day. He'd taken a few pictures on the couch, in a nude, camisole leotard and extremely sheer tights, after he had ripped off his running shorts as soon as he'd stepped through the door, but his knees had been pulled up to his chest, so it looked like he wasn't wearing anything. Perfect. He was going to fucking go there.

He slapped on a black and white filter and typed out the caption. 'This is what asexual looks like.' If he got any more dick pics before Mila woke up he was going to report every single one of them. Just as he thought that, a notification popped up, right under his thumb again, and he accidentally tapped on it. 

"Fuck," he hissed, but choked and took it back. It was a comment from Otabek.

Otabek-Altin: Beautiful

Yuri stared at his comment until his phone screen dimmed. It was definitely not healthy for his heart to flutter like this, or to have butterflies in his stomach this early in the morning. He took a deep breath, before burying his face into his pillow. This fucking asshole. He was in love with a fucking asshole. 

The flight to Bratislava for the Ondrej Nepala Memorial was alright in general. He was seated next to Viktor and Katsudon who had both fallen asleep as soon as the plane took off. So, he didn't have to deal with any bullshit. They arrived at the hotel a little before seven local time and Yakov and Lilia had fucked off for drinks as soon as they had dropped their bag off in their rooms. Viktor and Katsudon had met up with Chris, who was now going through the process of becoming an ISU judge. So, that left him and Mila in the lobby as they waited for the Crispinos and Emil Nekola to get their asses out of their rooms so they could all go eat. Mila was in the middle of a sentence when Yuri saw Otabek enter the hotel lobby. He looked a bit dazed, his hair was messy from the long flight and his tracksuit was rumpled. He looked around blearily as his rink mates filtered through the door. Yuri's chest tightened around his heart and Mila might have stopped talking – he didn't notice.

He looked up, a grin forming on his face as his eyes landed on Yuri. Yuri was smiling widely himself, until he spied a black bob hovering behind Otabek's shoulder. Every good feeling he had ever felt came crashing down right then. He stopped short, clearing his throat and stood awkwardly in front of them. Otabek looked a bit confused himself – his arms were outstretched and Yuri knew that he'd been preparing himself their customary greeting and was puzzled as to why Yuri hadn't jumped on him. He blinked owlishly, letting his arms fall to his sides. Their gazes met for a brief moment and Yur's insides clenched as a tinge of disappointment swirled around his dark eyes.

"Oh, you're here too?" Assyl's trilling voice cut through the moment like a butcher's knife.

Otabek winced slightly. "Yeah, Yuri's competing  as well."

Assyl raised an eyebrow – attaching himself to Otabek's arm. Yuri took in his shimmery jumpsuit, gold jewellery, and Louboutins with an internal sigh and tried to look pleasant. Assyl gave a small tight smile, tilting his head sideways until it rested against Otabek's shoulder.

"Hope you don't fall like last time."

"Last time?" Mila boomed before behind Yuri, slinging her arms over his shoulders. "Hi, I'm Mila, I don't think I've seen you before."

Assyl sized her up shortly, amber eyes calculating. "Assyl," he said after a short pause, extending his hand. "Otabek's boyfriend."

Her head whipped around to Otabek, as she leaned around him to shake Assyl's hand. "Oh, boyfriend!"

Otabek nodded but he angled his neck the slightest bit away from Assyl when he started to smooth his hand up and down his forearm. Something clunked out of place in Yuri's chest. Mila's arms tightened around him as she pressed herself against his back.

"Oh. Well congrats, I guess. Hey, we're all going out for dinner in a little while, if you want to come. We're just waiting for the Crispinos to get here."

Assy's smile quivered. "That sounds lovely."

Yuri nearly elbowed her. What the fuck was she doing? He didn't want to ruin his night. Luckily Otabek didn't seem to notice him glaring at her because one of his coaches came up to him and handed him a key card and gave him a few instructions in Kazakh.

"Yeah," he said, turning back to Mila. "Just want to drop off our stuff in the room, maybe change too."

Mila nodded. "Yeah of course. Yuri can text you when we're ready."

His eyes flickered to Yuri before he turned around to grab his bags.

"So, Otabek's boyfriend, huh?" Mila asked snidely as they watched the elevator doors close behind them.

Yuri shoved her off of his shoulder. "Shut the fuck up."

He ended up sandwiched between Sara and Kenjirou watching, but trying not to, as Assyl was chatting quietly to Otabek at the opposite end of the table. Kenjirou kept on looking their way and blushing and Yuri wanted to punch him. It took a lot for him not to.

"It's so cute how all you skaters are friends." Assyl's voice echoed across the table. Yuri glared at him, smiling at Emil and Michele. God, he was so fucking fake. "I don't think I could be friends with someone I had to compete with."

Well, there was a surprise. Yuri rolled his eyes, reopening his menu even though he already read it through twice. He knew he shouldn't be mad at Mila for inviting Assyl; she didn't know what a bitch he was, but he was still mad at her. And actually, he wasn't even hungry anymore and he had been starving earlier. Every word Assyl said grated on his nerves – he wanted to jump up and yell at everyone to just stop fucking talking to him. He hated the way he was smiling, languidly leaning against Otabek's side and waving his stupid, bright-red, acrylic talons as he spoke. So fucking fake. And here these idiots were including him in their world, telling him about skating and everything else. The acid in his stomach was probably steaming right then. He slunk low in his seat, forcing his eyes to the menu and trying his hardest not to listen to anything the others were saying. But Kenjirou nearly shouted right into his ear when he spoke.

"Yeah, we help each other out all the time," he said excitedly. "Like how Yuri's short program is to Ot-"

Yuri inhaled all the oxygen in the restaurant, spinning around, probably hitting Sara in the face with his hair. He dropped the heavy menu and it knocked over his full glass of water, immediately soaking the table cloth and the entire front of his shirt. The uproar was instantaneous. Sara leapt from her chair to avoid getting wet as water dripped from the edge of the cloth, Kenjirou yelped, and Yuri scrambled to set the glass back upright. Chairs screeched, and water pattered against the hardwood flooring.

"Yuri!" Mila shrieked as water began to invade the tablecloth near her and she snatched her phone up to keep it dry.

"Sorry," he huffed as his entire face grew hot. A bunch of waiters came rushing up to their table.

"It's hard to believe that someone so clumsy is a figure skater."

The comment came from Assyl, and if it had been from anyone else Yuri would have flipped them off and thrown the rest of his water at them. He ground his teeth together; no, he couldn't start anything now, not the night before a competition and certainly not in a restaurants were reporters were waiting outside for them. He took a deep breath trying to calm himself, but was surprised when it came out shaky and sharp prickling behind his eyes accompanied it. Fuck.  He stared at his lap, curling his fingers around the soaked edges of his shorts. A waiter squeezed between him and Sara and began soaking up water with a cloth. Yuri blinked slowly, fighting to keep his eyes dry.

"Would you like to move to a new table?" one of the waiters asked.

He didn't wait for anyone to respond, getting up and walking as fast as he could to the door. Mila called after him, but he didn't look back. He didn't look back once until he got to his hotel room. Collapsing against the door, he noticed that his hands were shaking.

Fuck. Just fuck everything. He clenched his hands, forcing himself to take a deep breath through his nose. But just fuck. He barely took two breaths before there was a knock on his door. He ground his teeth together, dragging his hand through his hair before turning and swinging the door open. Who the fuck –

"Hey, are you okay?" Otabek asked softly, leaning against the door frame.

Yuri felt like something was going to burst out of his chest, possibly a Xenomorph from that old sci-fi, horror movie he'd seen a few times. "I'm fine." He turned around, giving Otabek his back as he folded his arm across his wet shirt. "Shouldn't you be getting back to your boyfriend?"

"My boyfriend isn't the one who's crying now."

He spun around. "Fuck you; I'm not crying!"

"No, but something is wrong."

Yuri narrowed his eyes, as he calmly stared back. Their staring competition lasted for around three minutes before Otabek gave in, looking away to the side. "You should change your shirt."

Yuri plopped backwards onto the bed as Otabek padded to his suitcase in the middle of the floor. He sighed when he flipped it open. "Do you even know what folding is?" He picked up a light, pink t-shirt and held it out to him. Yuri stared stubbornly at his hand. "Yura, do you want to get a cold?"

He took a deep breath. How fucking dare he? How dare he come into his room, acting all caring and shit while less than fifteen minutes ago his fucking boyfriend had ridiculed him in front of everyone. He bit his lip as his eyes started to prickle. No, fuck, not now, not in front of him.

Otabek sighed softly as he sat down next to him. "Hey," his voice was almost a whisper. "What's wrong?"

Yuri jerked away, before getting up and stomping over to the window. He would have done anything in the world to scream in his face that he was the fucking problem. Instead he clenched his jaw and stared at the terracotta rooftops in the distance.

"Yura?" Otabek was suddenly behind him and every nerve in his body was itching. "Come on, you can tell me."

"I can't," he spat, spinning around and nearly banging their noses together. He took a step backwards in surprise, but his back hit the window with a thud. Otabek was already reaching for him, wrapping his arms tightly around his shoulders. And Yuri should have pushed him away, but he fell into the hug as if it was the only thing he wanted in the world. He slumped against Otabek's chest, balling his fists in his shirt and hunching over so he could press the side of his face to his neck. Otabek's arms tightened around him ever so slightly, pressing a calming sigh out of him.

"You can't tell me?" His chest rumbled as he talked.

"No. Not yet." He took a deep breath. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Otabek echoed, rubbing his back soothingly. "Is that why you didn't want me to watch your last competition."

"Yeah. It's a surprise." He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply.

Otabek's exhaled ruffled the baby hairs at his hairline. "Okay, looking forward to it."

Yuri smiled, a warm cloud rising from deep within his chest. suddenly it didn't matter that his short program was about to change their lives and this could be the last time they'd be together like this. There was a sharp pang in his chest at the thought, but then Otabek pressed his lips against his forehead.

Yuri was positive that he'd just fallen asleep - he had to be dreaming. His eyes shot open, but he didn't move from where he was, focusing on the tingling where Otabek's lips had been. His stomach was fluttering now, and he couldn't deny that he wanted to raise his head and make him repeat the kiss, but on his lips instead. He took a deep breath through his nose, as his cheeks began to smoke and wound his arms around Otabek's waist, bunching up his shirt at the small of his back with his fists. He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that.

"I think I'm going to vomit," Yuri grumbled, holding his stomach.

"It's going to be fine," Katsudon said, rubbing Yuri's back. "You've done this routine a million times before-"

"Yeah, but not in front of Otabek." And that was easy for him to say; he was in first after his short program; he had literally nothing to worry about.

"Trust me," he said firmly. "You will be fine."

Yuri took a deep breath through his teeth; there were two more skaters before he competed and he wanted to rip off his skin. Otabek had skated seventh, and he was currently second after Katsudon. He knew that skating this program wasn't a big deal; he'd done it perfectly in practice and at the US International. He had no reason to be so nervous. But Otabek was going to be in the stands, watching him. And shit was about to go down.

"Am I about to make a huge mistake?" he asked softly. Katsudon tilted his head to the side. "What if this is a terrible idea?"

Katsudon was silent for a moment; the hand that was rubbing circles against Yuri's back paused. "Wow look at you thinking ahead for once." Yuri scowled. "Honestly, Yuri, I couldn't think of a better way for you to get through to Otabek right now."

"But, what if he hates it?"

"He won't hate it-"

"But-"

"Shhh, there are less than five more minutes until you compete. Deep breaths, and I know this whole thing is for Otabek, but don't think about him right now. Think about doing a perfect program, about the look on Viktor's face when you do it flawlessly, about how proud Yakov and Lilia will be, and how happy your Grandpa will be to see it. Otabek is the least important person right now."

Yuri tugged at the hem of his jacket. That was all easier said than done. Katsudon squeezed his shoulder. "Come on, you need to get ready to go on."

Yakov and Lilia both gave him curt nods as he unzipped his jacket and handed Yakov his competition pass. His heart was about to leap out of his mouth, and his stomach was twisted up so badly he might never be able to digest food ever again.

"You'll be fine," Katsudon repeated, wrapping him in hug. He nodded even though he didn't believe him.

Viktor was waiting his turn after Katsudon pulled away and wrapped Yuri in a hug so tight he lifted him up.

"Let me go, you idiot!" He pushed against Viktor's chest.

"And there he is," Viktor sang, setting him back down. "You had me scared for a second."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "Fuck off."

Viktor smiled his stupid heart-shaped smile, giving him a gentle nudge to the rink entrance. "I would, but you have to show that asshole over there what he's missing out on." He jerked his head to the sideboards, and Yuri did a double take when he saw Otabek casually leaning against the wall.

"Yura," Otabek said as he walked up. Compared to what he was feeling now, he hadn't been nervous at all. Oh god, what the fuck was he about to do?

"B-beka." His throat was so dry talking hurt.

Otabek grinned, giving him a thumbs up. "Davai."

Yuri swallowed. "Thanks."

He slipped off his skate guards, handing them to Yakov as well, the collar on his costume was suddenly way too tight. He stepped onto the ice, and Lilia swooped in, smoothing down his hair, and wiping away something from his cheek.

"Remember, hold your arms tightly," she snipped. "Do not get sloppy."

He nodded, licking his lips. Yakov handed him his water bottle. "And breathe, Yurochka. I haven't seen you this nervous since your first competition ever."

Yuri rolled his eyes, but he could feel himself shaking.

The announcer called his name and this was it. He found himself glancing in Otabek's direction one last time before turning around to skate to the centre of the rink. The cheers from the crowd were a dull roar in his ears. He could barely hear the commentators introducing him and his routine. Probably a good thing because he didn't need to remind himself that he could lose his best friend tonight.

He took up his starting pose, waiting for the music, head bowed, arms out to the side, feet crossed at the ankles. He forced himself to breathe evenly, in the seconds it took for the music to start. Right before the first note, his head twitched upwards and Otabek was staring right at him. Their gazes only met for a split second, but Otabek's eyes were wide and his mouth was agape. He was positive that he wasn't breathing either.

He spun in a scratch spin on the first note of the music, ripping his eyes away from Otabek. And everything he had ever done was basically leading up to this. It was crushing. This whole thing was for him, he loved him so fucking much, that he had let everything hurt. And tonight it was all going to bleed out on the ice. Everything was over in a rattling breath, his jumps, his choreography, all of the step sequences that Viktor had drilled like an army sergeant, were all over in minutes. He had held his heart in his mouth the entire time. He ended on one knee, curled over with his hands to his face. Viktor always made his programs so fucking dramatic, but this time Yuri felt wetness on his cheeks that he knew wasn't sweat. His ears were ringing, his chest heaving and he waited for the last notes of the music to play out before he stood back up. As the crowd went wild and the commentators gave their last remarks he scanned the crowd. He saw Lilia and Yakov by the rink entrance, Viktor and Katsudon had their arms around each other, but he didn't see Otabek anywhere.

Yuri blinked a few times, but that only helped his vision to grow blurry with water. Flowers and stuff cats fell on the ice around him but he skated past all of them.

"Yurochka, that was beautiful," Lilia congratulated him as he slipped on his skate guards. Yuri tried to smile at her, smile at Yakov and those two idiots, who were bouncing up and down a few feet away, but his insides were warring and his eyes were stinging fiercely.

"Yuri?" Katsudon came up to him, of fucking course noticing that he was on the brink of tears.

"Where's Beka?" He was surprised that any of the heard him over the noise of the stadium.

Katsudon's smile fell and he yanked Yuri against his chest, petting his hair. The first tear that fell was scorching hot.

There was a knock on the door later that night and Yuri sprang up from the pillow not surprised to see a huge patch of wetness where his face had been. He wiped his face with the edge of his sleeve and looked over to the door. This could be Otabek. His swallowed thickly, sliding off the edge of the bed, his stomach rolling and his chest aching. There was no hiding that he'd been crying, his eyes were surely bright red and his entire face felt swollen. Still, he took a deep breath, clenching his jaw and throwing his head back just a little to seem more confident than he felt.

This was it.

He opened the door, holding his breath, then forgot how to breathe entirely when he saw Otabek in the doorway. He was dressed in a dark hoodie with the hood pulled over his head, grey joggers, and Nike slides. Yuri found himself swallowing again as his heartbeat echoed in his ears.

"Beka," he whispered.

Otabek looked at him and Yuri's chest twinged when he saw that his eyes were the slightest bit red around the edges. His jaw was set however, and he had an arm wrapped around himself.

"Yura," he cleared his throat. "We... should talk."

Yuri's breath left him and he had to hold onto the doorframe to keep upright. "Yeah." He knew this was coming, he'd known for a while, so why the hell did it still hurt so much?

Otabek cleared his throat again, blinking slowly, screwing his eyes shut briefly. "After the competition, though." His sigh sounded wet. "We... we should focus on competing first, but afterwards... we-we need to talk."

Yuri nodded dumbly, his stomach was quivering and he wanted to vomit. "Okay."

Otabek's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Okay." He turned around abruptly but then paused, swinging his hand outwards, banging his fist weakly against the wall. He paused for the briefest moment, his back heaving, before looking at Yuri from over his shoulder. "I'm breaking up with Assyl. Now. When I get back to my room, I'm breaking up with him." He turned back around.

Yuri hissed. That was what he had wanted, that was the whole point of this. Yet, his fingers went numb and he couldn't help but feel queasy. "Beka, wait!" He took a step out of the room. "We really should talk now."

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I – I'm sorry, but I just need... I don't, I can't..." He shook his head. "Please, Yura, I need some time to put this all together. We will talk, I promise, but just... after."

Yuri's eyes stung anew, and his throat constricted so tightly he wasn't sure that it would ever go back to normal. "Did I..." his voice cracked. "Was this another mistake? Was I wrong?" he sounded so soft and pathetic. He wrapped his and arm around his stomach, covering his mouth with his palm as silent shudders ripped through him.

Otabek paused again, turning around halfway. His face was scrunched up, and his eyes looked wet. He shook his head frantically, before turning back around. "No, I was."

Yuri was left to stare at his retreating back, tears freezing on his cheeks as his jaw slowly dropped. He was left watching Otabek speed walk down the hallway, both wanting to chase after him and retreat back into his room.

Yuri sat with Emil, Michele, and Kenjirou to watch the Ladies' Short program the next day. Mila was competing second, but Sara was tenth. Katsudon and Viktor were somewhere around, but they had promised to be back in time to watch Mila. Yuri kept his eyes trained on the ice, not thinking about anything, certainly not about Otabek or the conversation they'd be having tomorrow. Mila glided to the centre of the rink, her blue costume glittering in the light. She was still ranked second in her division, and Yuri was secretly thankful for all the controversy and fighting that had gone on decades before his time that allowed male omegas to compete in the men's division, because if he was up against Mila he could kiss at least half of his gold medals goodbye.

She waved to the crowd, and Yuri's eyes burned from not blinking. Because he knew if he blinked his eyes would go to the spot where Otabek was sitting with his rink mates, and he could not do that because his breathing was shallow enough. He barely noticed as Katsudon sat down next to him, but jerked in surprise when he wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Jumpy this morning, aren't we?" Viktor commented.

"Shut up," Yuri grumbled. "I didn't see you sit down."

"Distracted too-"

Katsudon elbowed him roughly in the ribs as the first notes of Mila's music began. "Hush. Mila's about to perform."

Yuri excused himself after Mila was done. Her program was three minutes of perfection basically. He could see Yakov grinning from the side boards. He had needed to go to the bathroom since the first skater had competed, and he knew that the closest bathrooms would be full of spectators and fans, and god forbid he run into any Angels after yesterday's performance. So minutes later he was trotting down a hallway on the opposite end of the stadium to the main entrance. He'd go to the changing rooms afterwards to congratulate Mila. He didn't need to see her score to know that she had set the bar high for the rest of the competitors. But judging from the dull roar of cheering crowds he could tell that he score was impressive.

He scoffed, raising his arms to push the bathroom door open, when there was a sudden click of heeled shoes. He drew back looking at the bathroom sign to double check that he was at the right one when a sharp yelp was forced from his throat as pain flared along his scalp. It took him a split second to realise that some asshole was yanking on his ponytail hard enough to make his head snap back. His hands flew to his hair, tugging back on his ponytail to ease some of the tension.

"What the fuck?" he yelled, craning his neck to see what asshole would pull his hair like that. He wasn't even shocked to find Assyl there, glaring death at him. Yuri sneered back, trying to get his hair free but the bitch had an iron grip.

"You fucking bitch," he snarled, yanking his head to the side. Yuri stumbled, his shoulder crashing against the wall.

"What the fuck, let go of me!"

"You were planning this! You were planning to steal him from me, since day one!"

Yuri dug his nails into Assyl's wrist, but the bitch would not let go. "It's not my fault he likes me better. Maybe he saw you for the fake bitch you really are!"

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" He yanked his hair again, trying to bash Yuri's head against the wall. But he had already made a mistake, by pulling his hair in the first place. Yuri swung his fist, not even aiming, he just swung. His knuckles met Assyl's jaw with a satisfying smack, and the death grip on his hair vanished, and he heard the clack of high-heels against the tiled floor. He straightened, adjusting his ponytail and rubbing his scalp, before turning around to see Assyl, bracing himself against the wall, one had to his mouth as blood seeped through his fingers. Good. There was a flash of regret in his eyes, before he looked up at Yuri and his face contorted in rage.

With a blood-curdling scream he launched himself at Yuri. He braced himself, ready to fight back, but Assyl actually fucking jumped at him, his hands outstretched and those fucking acrylic talons came right at his face. The sliced through his skin like butter, and he felt a sharp sting and burn across his left temple and cheek. But that was secondary to the fact that he'd landed heavily on the floor and Assyl was on top of him clawing at every bit of skin he could find. He was positive that there were going to be scratches all over his forearms regardless of his track jacket. Oh, this bitch; there was no way he was coming out of this the winner. He swung his fist again, and Assyl jumped back avoiding it, but Yuri used his movement to grab him by the shoulders to try to flip their positions. Assyl was a scrappy fighter, that was for sure; he'd gone for his fucking eye, blood was dripping from his eyebrow and stinging his eye, and he kept on trying to knee him in the balls. He missed each time, though. All the while he was hurling insults in both Kazakh and Russian, cursing Yuri and his family and everyone who had even looked at him. He didn't need to; Yuri was already seeing fucking red.

They rolled along the floor, hurling punches and scrabbling at each other, until Yuri finally got his knees under himself and wrestled Assyl onto his back. He pinned him to the floor, holding onto what he could and squeezing while he panted and sneered. He was bigger and heavier and he was going to fucking murder a bitch.

His knuckles cracked as his balled his hand into a fist. Nothing else mattered at that moment but bashing Assyl's skull in. He couldn't see anything else but his ugly face with a smear of blood on at the corner of his mouth and his swollen bottom lip.

"Otabek is a fucking idiot," Assyl gasped. "If he chooses you." He lobbed a glob of saliva at Yuri's face.

A bit caught him on the nose, and he drew back his fist.

"The only fucking idiot is you!" he roared swinging his fist and a thick arm was suddenly wrapped around his middle, hoisting him off Assyl and to his feet as a meaty hand caught his fist. Yuri growled, fighting against it, nothing mattered except beating Assyl to a bloody pulp. He ripped free of the hold, yelling as he leapt on Assyl again, but before he could reach him he was pulled back again, thick, muscled arms wrapped under his armpits and around his shoulders, this time lifting him clean off the ground. Someone had grabbed Assyl too, and was already dragging him down the hallway, and fuck, if Yuri didn't recognise the security guard uniform.

"You bitch!" Assyl yelled after him, rubbing his throat. "You fucking bitch!"

Yuri flipped him off as the security guard dragged him further away.

What felt like hours later he was sitting on a bench outside one of the official's office. Yakov and Lilia were inside and they had been inside for a while. It didn't look like they were coming out soon either. He rested the back of his head against the wall; his entire body ached and the bandage the medic had put over his eyebrow and cheek was making the entire left side of his face itch. Yuri had then been marched off to the main office where Lilia was already talking to a tall, blond man in a suit.

Yuri knew he was in trouble; even more trouble when two security guards appeared and stepped into the office as well. He also knew he should care more, that there was a high chance that he would be disqualified, but the adrenalin from the fight was long gone and every inch of him hurt. At least Assyl's bloody face was branded into his brain. He scoffed softly, rubbing his upper arms and trying to make himself comfortable on the hard bench.

"Yuri." Yakov stepped out of the office, looking like he was ready to murder him. "Come." Yuri swallowed, springing up from the bench and following Yakov a short way down the hall. "What the hell were you thinking? Fighting, in the middle of a competition! And for what reason? Who is that boy?"

Yuri scowled, looking at a random spot on the wall beside Yakov's head. "I didn't start it."

"It does not matter if you didn't start it! They have it all on tape! Now tell me, Yuri, what were you thinking?"

"I..." he trailed off in a sigh, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the tiles. How did he even begin to explain this?

Yakov sighed softly himself. "Now, I know that you wouldn't punch someone in the face without a good reason. Who was that boy? Why did he attack you?"

"He's Beka's boy – ex boyfriend."

Yakov inhaled deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "The reporters are going to have a field day with this." Fuck. He hadn't even thought about that part; he could already see the headlines. Cat fight. Omegas battle over Alpha. Shit like that. He groaned aloud and Yakov scoffed. "You've been doing this for how many years? And up until now you still forget that competition venues are always swarming with reporters."

"I didn't forget," he groaned. "It's just that... I don't know. He started it!"

"Yes, he started it, but you punched him in the face-"

"And what about me?" He pointed to the bandages on his face. "I could have lost an eye!"

"You also nearly strangled him."

"I – what? No, I didn't."

"You were holding his throat."

"I was?" Yuri looked down at his hands and the forming bruise on his knuckles of his right. He hadn't even realised; the only thing on his mind had been to end him.

Yakov sighed again. "The committee will decide if you're disqualified or not by the end of the day, but you need to come in and explain what happened."

"And what about Assyl?" he snarled. "Am I the only one who gets in trouble?"

"They will talk to Assyl as well, but he's not a competitor or has anything to do with this competition. The most that can happen is he can be banned from the location. You should have thought of that. Before you punched him."

The news came before lunch. Yuri had been confined to his room, his keys confiscated and the hotel security was told to report to Yakov or Lilia if they saw him anywhere. He'd taken a long shower; blow dried his hair and braided it. He filed down his nails, and actually gone through his suitcase and folded all the clothes. He did his best not to think about the call that would eventually come. He had hidden his phone under one of the pillows and refused to even look in its direction. His heart was in his throat and his stomach had twisted itself until it had stuck into a contorted ball. He did not need to see the articles that were probably spreading like wildfire. He didn't need to read the concerned texts form Katsudon or hear Viktor berate him over the phone. He didn't need to hear Mila swearing at him for being an idiot, and he didn't need to read any emails from the ISU officials saying he was disqualified. He didn't need to hear it from Yakov or Lilia either. He folded the last shirt, setting it on top of the pile and tried his best to ignore the stinging in his eyes.

The first sniffle came when he brought his hand up to his face and screwed his eyes shut. Of course then would be the moment someone would knock on his door. He clenched his jaw, roughly wiping his eyes, before getting up. He wasn't expecting Otabek to be on the other side. Otabek's eyes widened when he saw him and he already looked a bit ashen, his forehead was creased and his eyes were deep with worry. Every muscle in Yuri's body locked into place.

"Yura," he breathed, holding out his arms like he was about to hug him. Yuri took a step back, and Otabek's arms fell to his side. "I heard the news."

Oh. He felt like a dump truck had driven over him, and he closed his eyes briefly, taking a breath so big he crumpled when he exhaled. He tumbled back into the room, blindly groping for the bed, until a large, warm hand touched his elbow and guided him to sit down.

"What happened?"

He scoffed but didn't say anything.

"Yura." He sighed softly. "So, I get called to the committee office earlier to come pick up my ex, because he was ordered to leave the premises immediately-"

"Good riddance-"

"Because he got into a fight with you. Then everyone gets an email saying the free skate line-up has been changed because you've been disqualified."

"So, you already know what happened," he spat.

"I need to hear it from your side."

Oh. Yuri sighed through his teeth, squeezing his hand into a fist and watching as discoloured skin pulled across his knuckles. Otabek's hand suddenly covered his, gently uncurling his fingers then bringing it to his face to examine it.

"You punched him."

"Yeah."

There was a short pause. "And he did that to your face?"

He had forgotten that there were bandages there. "Yeah."

Otabek inhaled deeply. "I'm so sorry, Yura. And I know I said that I wanted to wait until the competition was over, but..." he paused to swallow, dropping Yuri's hand to clasp his own together. "I booked a room in a hotel thirty minutes away and I think we need to be alone for a while and talk.”

"What's wrong with here?"

"Reporters are swarming the place."

Oh. Right. "You have to compete tomorrow."

"I withdrew."

He said it so offhandedly that it took Yuri a second to realise what he had actually said. "You what?"

"I withdrew. I was the one who brought Assyl here and, well, all of this is my fault. If you don't compete then neither am I."

Yuri swallowed. "You're just going to give the gold to Katsudon."

"He can have it."

Yuri fisted the comforter, listening to his nails scrape against the fabric. His heart was fluttering and it felt like he had drank a glass of battery acid. This talk was a long time coming; he couldn't escape it. He shouldn't want to. He already felt the edge of panic slicing through his chest and he had to fight to keep his breathing deep and even. Okay. He was going to do this. He gotten this far, he had fucking punched a bitch in the face and skated with a bloody heart all for this. He stood up, clenching his fists and striding across the room to the door.

"Okay, let's go."

Chapter Text

They took a taxi to the hotel. Yuri had pulled the hood of his hoodie over his head and slunk out through the side door to avoid the security guards. He'd nearly bitten his index nail clean off on the drive over. It had started bleeding so he shoved his hands between his thighs and glared out of the window. It had been the longest thirty minutes of his life. The hotel they arrived at had to be one of the most high class hotels Yuri had ever set foot in. He immediately felt out of place in his cut-off, jean shorts, black hoodie, and worn out sneakers. He hung back as Otabek checked in, picking at a loose thread at the bottom of his hoodie; maybe he should have changed.

Their room was on the tenth floor; Yuri watched the numbers light up as the elevator went up. He didn't dare look in Otabek's direction, although his body heat felt like it was magnified by like a thousand and caused Yuri's skin to sting like he had dove headfirst into a beehive. The room had floor to ceiling windows that overlooked a small lake and one of the major tourist attractions, the Bratislava Castle, loomed on the hillside in the orange sunset glow. There was a king-sized bed in the centre of the room and a giant curved television in front of it. He would have been excited under normal circumstances. Now he felt like he wanted to fling the windows open and throw himself out of them.

Otabek sat down on the bed, letting his duffle bag fall from his shoulder to his feet. Yuri stood in the entryway frozen. It was hard to catch his breath, and he had to brace his hand on the wall to keep from falling over.  Otabek was staring at his lap.

"Yura," he started softly then broke off in a heavy sigh. "I owe you an apology."

Yuri swallowed. No shit.

"I didn't think Assyl would have reacted like that."

"Really?" Yuri scowled, folding his arms across his chest.

Otabek swallowed. "I know you and the other guys didn't like him much-"

He slammed his palm against the wall, instantly furious. "He was a complete ass, Beka! How the hell did you not notice it? He was a fucking bitch who was only using you for your money-"

"It didn't seem that way-"

"Right, he just had to bat those fucking doe eyes at you and you couldn't see any-fucking-thing else! God, he was a fucking bitch!" His voice rose with every word.

Otabek breathed out heavily. "Okay, I get that you're mad but-"

"Don't you fucking dare, Otabek Altin! Don't you dare defend him!"

"I-"

"He was a shit person, who only lied and cheated, and-"

"Yura, calm down-"

"Fuck off!" His voice echoed off the walls. "I'm not going to calm down, not after what he did!"

Otabek held up his palms. "He's not here anymore, Yura. He's on a flight back to Almaty right now; you'll never have to see him again."

Yuri swallowed, but that didn't do anything to help the rage bubbling behind his eyes. That didn't matter. "He's a shit person, Beka."

"I know."

"You don't, though." He dragged his fingers across his forehead, wincing when he pressed the bandage above his eyebrow. "This whole time..."

Otabek's eyes hardened instantly, and a small crease formed between his eyebrows. "What? What do you mean? What did he say to you?"

Yuri scoffed. He should have felt satisfied, elated even, at being able to dish out all the dirt on Assyl, but instead it felt like he was rearing back to slap Otabek in the face. He took a deep breath. Why? "Remember when we went on that hike and I got sunburnt?" He nodded. "Assyl stole my sun block. I found it in the bushes near a trash can when we came back."

Otabek's jaw dropped slightly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Yuri shrugged. "I didn't want to... to ruin things between us."

His frown deepened. "Ruin things? How would that have-"

"You were so mad at me! I couldn't... I didn't want to..." he trailed off, what were the right words?

"I never would have dated him if I had known he'd done that. You know that I wouldn't have...  Yura?" Yuri averted his eyes, swallowing. "You thought that I... that I would have dated him, knowing that he tried to hurt you?"

"I don't know!"

Otabek winced, closing his eyes briefly. He breathed in deeply before opening his eyes and clenching his jaw. "I thought we knew each other better than this."

Yuri ground his molars together. "Yeah," he spat. "I thought so too."

There was a heavy silence. Yuri felt like he was drowning.

Otabek sighed again, running his hand through his hair. "I was dating him to get over you."

Yuri bit the inside of his cheek. No amount of preparation in the world would have gotten him ready for this. "What?"

He raised his head. "Aren't you going to come inside?"

Yuri swallowed. Each step felt like he was walking to his own funeral. He plastered himself against the wall folding his arms across his chest and bouncing his leg. He couldn't sit down, not right now.

"When I told you I... I loved you I meant it." He paused to clear his throat. "But you obviously weren't ready to hear it." Yuri scowled. "I thought that this way would be easier for both of us, that it would be the best way-"

His heart was pounding heavily, echoing thuds that he heard in ears and felt in his fingertips. "Oh my God!" The yell came from the deepest part of his stomach. "You can't just decide things for the both of us!"

"What? I didn't-"

He held up a finger silencing him instantly. "Yes, you fucking did. And I was stupid enough to let you. You told me I wasn't ready for a relationship and I just left it at that! I should have told you this months ago, but I don't even know what fucking difference it would have made. For some reason, I lo... I like you, and I want to fucking be with you." He took a deep breath. Okay, just blurt it out Plisetsky. "I – I want to have sex with you."

Otabek jerked, his entire body read surprise. From his raised eyebrows, to the set of his shoulders, and his hands clenching the sheet on either side of his thighs.

"That's what this whole thing was about right? That I couldn't..." he shook his head. "That I'm not... normal."

"Yura, you aren't a freak of nature; you are normal."

"But not normal enough to know what I want right?"

"What?"

"You told me I didn't know what I wanted." He huffed, crossing his legs at the ankle. "Well I do."

"I..." Otabek trailed off, a pronounced tightness creeping in at the edges of his eyes.

Yuri swallowed thickly, ignoring his flaming cheeks. "I was trying to tell you last time. I'm  not... I'm not fully ace. When we, uh... I liked it. And it was confusing, and I didn't know how the fuck to bring it up."

Otabek blinked a few times, clearly not understanding. "You're not fully... o... kay. I... um. So, what does that mean?"

Yuri felt like crying. He spun around to face the window as his eyes began to sting. A part of him knew that Otabek wouldn't get it. "I just..." How the fuck did he say this?

"Yura," Otabek began softly. "You know you can talk to me about this."

Fuck, he squeezed his eyes shut, wrapping an arm around his waist. "I feel like I've lied to you all this time."

"Why?"

He swallowed, and yeah, there went the trembling lip. "Because I told you I was ace and now I'm not-"

"Yura," Otabek was suddenly behind him. When the fuck had he even gotten up. Yuri felt him reach out to his waist before his hands even touched.

"No!" He spun around. "Don't fucking touch me!" Otabek recoiled like Yuri had slapped him. He took a slow step backwards, and then another, biting his bottom lip, and Yuri nearly ran to him, already regretting yelling at him. He shook his head, the end of his braid slapping against his back. "Don't... not... just let me speak."

Otabek swallowed audibly, standing awkwardly between Yuri and the bed, and nodded slowly.

"There's a thing called demisexual." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I didn't even know it was a thing until Katsudon explained it to me. It means that I don't... I need to form a strong emotional connection before I feel any," oh God. "Anything sexual." Otabek blinked, slowly sitting down on the edge of the bed. Yuri suddenly felt itchy all over. He scratched the back of his neck. "And like, you were my best friend, and I... well, you weren't pressuring me into anything. And it wasn't just the heat of the moment, I mean well it was, but I wanted it." He folded his arms across his chest, scratching his upper arms through his hoodie.

Otabek licked his lips, and swallowed again. He reached up to rub his temples. "I thought that you would have been comfortable enough to tell me this, but... I've been an ass, haven't I? I still can't even begin to imagine what it was like for you to... deal with being ace. I know how confusing that was, and all I wanted was to be supportive and be able to give you advice. And I'm so fucking sorry that I wasn't able to help."

Yuri wanted to scoff at him. How the hell was he supposed to vent at him, when he was the one he needed to vent about? It really was just fucked up. He clenched his fists, taking a shuddering breath. "I didn't know how to tell you."

Otabek bit his bottom lip, looking off to the side. Yuri wasn't sure if it was just the light or if his eyes really looked glassy. "I'm so sorry, Yura. That you ever felt that you couldn't tell me something so important."

Yuri screwed his eyes shut for a moment. "That's not..." he shook his head. "That wasn't your fault. I still don't really understand it. Like, I got being ace, it made sense to me, but this, I'm still not sure about this. But I do know that I like you."

Fuck, his eyes really were glassy. "And you were trying to tell me this last time?"

"I... yeah."

"About, what was it? Grey-ace?"

"Yeah."

He swore. Covering his face with his palm. Yuri's heart actually clenched; he took a step towards him before he planted his feet on the carpet and forced himself to stay put. "I'm such an idiot, Yura. I thought you were scared when you were yelling after I... I thought I'd crossed some boundary and I never wanted to do that with you." he shook his head roughly. "So, everything I thought was wrong?" He let his hand fall from his face. Yuri hissed; his eyes weren't just glassy now, they were actually wet. "All of this... this... this grief because I misunderstood you? I thought you didn't want anything between us. I thought you wanted to just stay friends. You didn't? All this time you didn't?" His next breath was loud and shaky. "I'm such an idiot."

Yuri didn't know what to say.

"Allah, Yura." He looked skywards again. "You... you deserve someone so much better than me. Someone who can actually understand you."

"What? Beka, no-"

"All this time and I just... I can't believe I didn't know. I didn't even think... I thought everything was ruined."

"No-"

"I'm sorry. You deserve so much better. You need someone better."

Yuri clenched his jaw. "No, what I need for you is to shut the fuck up! Who the fuck are you to decide what I do or don't need?-"

"Yura-"

"No! Fucking listen to me! Just shut up for a second! Just shut up." His nails were digging into his palms. "I love you." Otabek froze, his eyes went wide. It was easy to see that they were starting to turn red now. But he had to go on because he knew if he stopped he wouldn't be able to start back up. “I have for a while, and okay, I didn't know how to fucking tell you, and then everything went to shit, but you're not deciding this for me! Okay? When you started to date Assyl, I couldn't fucking saying anything 'cause you were so fucking happy and I just wanted to be you friend, and I can't lose you, Beka! I can't!" He watched Otabek's throat bob as he swallowed. "And I fucked up so bad, because I can't talk like a normal human being and I don't want that to happen again, but I can't sit and watch you go out with all these other people anymore, and I know it's selfish of me, but it fucking hurts when you smile at someone and it's not me!" His entire face was on fire.

Otabek shook his head. "I had no idea, Yura."

"I know you didn't! And I just wanted to be a good friend. If I couldn't be with you, then I still wanted to be your friend." He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. Fuck, he was crying. "But it fucking hurts! And I don't want to be just friends. I can't do it anymore!"

"Yu-"

"I'm not done yet. I can't just be you friend. So, if we can't be together, then I don't think I can do this anymore."

Otabek was silent for more than a minute. Yuri's heart was beating in his ears, it was almost deafening at this point, but it was also slowing down to a halt, slower with each second that passed.

"I don't deserve you, Yura. I've put you through too much."

Yuri ground his teeth together, heart speeding back up, pounding red through his head. "And I'm telling you that you do. I want you! And I've never been so sure of it."

"How can you even forgive me? My ex tried to kill you. He nearly gouged out your eye."

"I don't care."

"I made you watch me date him."

"I don't care."

"Yura, oh..." he muttered something in either Kazakh or Arabic that sounded like a string of curses. "I slept with him, how can you... you can't."

Yuri swallowed. Okay that one had really fucking hurt. "And you rubbed it in my face."

Otabek went pale; he gaped for a few seconds, before he bit his lip and shook his head violently. "I'm so sorry, Yura, I didn't mean..." He shook his head. "It wasn't the best... sex. It wasn't. It wasn't, it wasn't. I can't believe I even said that. I wasn't thinking... I," he looked like his was in pain, with his face screwed up, and his hands balling the edge of his shirt. "Fuck. Yura, no apology will ever be great enough. You can't forgive me for that."

Yuri swallowed wrapping his arms around his waist again and biting his lip. Otabek had been an absolute ass, but seeing him so frantic, on the verge of tears, and beating himself up over a comment made him feel like the villain. Even if that same comment had made him cry for an entire night. He wanted to run to him, jump onto his lap, and kiss him until everything was better. "I can."

Otabek looked straight at him, those thick, long eyelashes clumped together with dampness. Yuri felt his own eyes start to water as well. Okay, he knew then that Otabek could cut out his heart and stab it, but he would gladly give him the knife. Love was a fucking stupid thing.

"I can't forgive myself," Otabek muttered, looking at his hands on his lap. "How can you?"

"I don't fucking know." He tugged at his hoodie zipper. "But I do."

Otabek bit his lip. "I don't deserve you."

Yuri ground his teeth, and glared. "Fuck. You." He stomped his foot, feeling the floor shake. A hot ball of fire was spinning in his chest, growing bigger and bigger. It was going to burst any second now. "Fine then! Just fucking leave! Here I am pouring my heart out like an idiot, I fucking choreographed my short program for you! And you don't fucking deserve me? Am I yelling at a brick wall? Just fuck you, Otabek. Fine, if you don't want to be together, then fucking leave!" Hot tears were dripping down his cheeks and he swore loudly, wiping them away with a quick swipe of the back of his hand. His breathing was strained too, like there was a wet cloth over his mouth and not enough oxygen in the room.

"Yura," Otabek's voice shook, but at the same time it was firm. "I'm not going anywhere."

He turned around, facing the window letting tears fall silently fall down his face.

"Yura," he tried again. "I just... I don't think I can ever forgive myself for putting you through this. But I... Yura, I still love you. I don't deserve you; I don't deserve your forgiveness. But if you can see past this, if you can see a future with... us, I'm not going anywhere."

"Why are you so stupid?" Yuri mumbled, softly banging the side of his fist against the window.

He heard Otabek's footsteps this time as he came up behind him. "When you figure it out, tell me." He was less than a foot behind him. Yuri could feel the heat from his body rolling off of him in waves. He swallowed thickly. "Can I..."

Yuri spun around, throwing his arms around Otabek's neck. He startled, his shoulders jumped before he wrapped his arms around Yuri's waist, pulling him tightly against him. Something broke inside Yuri's chest, again; he was surprised that there was anything left to break. But in a matter of seconds he was sobbing against Otabek's shoulder. One of Otabek's arms tightened around his waist while the other came up to cup the back of his head. Soft lips were pressed against the side of his neck, and he heard him a take a deep, wet breath.

"I'm so sorry, Yura," he mumbled. "I didn't know." Yuri grabbed the back of his shirt, tugging. "I'm so sorry." He repeated it like a mantra; his words were almost indistinguishable, from the occasional shuddering breath.

Yuri wasn't sure who was holding who. He felt like he was breaking apart, but Otabek's shoulders were trembling as well. Yuri sniffled, into his shirt wondering why he was crying if he had gotten what he wanted. It wasn't perfect, and it would take a while for it to be. Thinking about the past few months would still come with a sharp sting, but that would fade with time too. He knew it would. Deep down in his stomach, relief bloomed. Otabek was still here, big and solid and warm, his arms wrapped tightly around him. This was what he had wanted. He sniffled one last time, hugging Otabek tighter and pressing his forehead to the side of his neck. Letting, his eyes fall shut he breathed in deeply. His nose was still clogged, but he could still make out his smell, and yes, all the bullshit he'd gone through was worth it. Otabek would never not be worth it.

Suddenly his chest was too small for his heart. But in a good way. A warm, fuzzy way. He pressed his lips to the side of his neck, quickly and gently, before pulling away.

"Beka?" It was completely unfair that Otabek was still hot even when he was crying. Yuri cupped either side of his face, smoothing his thumbs across his cheeks. Otabek's eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into Yuri's palm. Yuri felt his chest heave as he breathed in deeply through his nose. "I love you."

His eyes flew open, dark, glassy, fathomless pools. Yuri felt his mouth crack into a small smile. He smoothed his fingers up Otabek's nose, across his eyebrows, and wiped away the water droplets that clung to his eyelashes. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to the tip of his nose. He threaded his fingers into his hair, pushing it back from his temples, and then ran his palms along the back of his head. His undercut was a bit shaggy, a bit longer than he would normally keep it, but still silky.

"I love you," he repeated.

Otabek blinked then breathed out deeply, cupping Yuri's jaw with both hands, wiping away the tear trails on his cheeks, but avoiding the bandage on his left side. They stared at each other for a short while, Yuri's chest was about to explode. God, he loved this man so much. He jumped forward, crashing their mouths together. Otabek's fingers dug into his scalp, tangling in his hair. Had his lips always been so soft? He closed his eyes, just relishing the feel of him. Otabek's breath was coming in short huffs through his nose as their mouths moved together. And for once they weren't drunk or high. Yuri smiled into the kiss, letting his arms hang over Otabek's shoulders. It felt even better this way. They pulled away for a few seconds to stare at each other again, as if they would forget what the other looked like.

Even with his eyes still red and puffy, Otabek was still the most beautiful person Yuri had ever seen. And now he was all his. He dove back in, first with slow pecks that had his heart racing and his stomach churning fuzzy heat. Then they grew longer, needier, and deeper until he could feel the tiny, steel ball on Otabek's tongue with his own. One of Otabek's arms fell to his waist, and his fingers splayed across the small of his back. He tugged Yuri against himself while stepping backwards until they reached the bed. Slowly sitting down, he brought Yuri with him, making him bend at the waist. Yuri climbed onto his lap, running his palms along his shoulders, up the sides of his neck and holding the back of his head to keep him in place.

They kissed until their lips were red and raw and even then they still traded slow, gentle kisses, Otabek running his hand up and down Yuri's thighs as he sat sideways on his lap, arms wrapped loosely around his neck. Otabek's eyes were still a little red around the edges; Yuri's own felt worse. Also the skin under his bandages was itching like crazy. He had kicked off his sneakers stretching his socked feet along the bed. The moon was high in the sky, sending silver light through the windows.

"How did you get that song?" Otabek mumbled against the corner of Yuri's mouth. "I can't stop thinking about your short program, it was beautiful."

Yuri felt his cheeks flush. "Iska." He pecked him once on the lips.

He scoffed. "I should have known. So everyone knew you were going to skate that program?"

"Why do you think they took you on that camping trip? I wanted you to see it in person."

He nosed the side of Yuri's neck. "Yuri Plisetsky..."

"What? I'm bad at talking, and I knew you would understand if I skated it to you instead."

"We're both bad at talking." He kissed the shell of his ear. "But, we'll get better."

"Yeah." He smiled tilting his head to the side as Otabek kissed up his neck. "Now that you don't have a shit boyfriend who's trying to sabotage me." Otabek froze with his mouth millimetres away from Yuri's skin.

"Yura, I-"

"I'm guessing he was pretty mad when you dumped him."

Otabek sighed. "Why do you want to talk about him right now?"

"Because he nearly gouged out my eye! I want to see him suffer."

Otabek squeezed his thigh. "I honestly didn't know he would have gone after you like that. I mean, I... I kinda had the feeling he wasn't dating me for me-"

"He was a fucking gold digger-"

"To put it crudely-"

"And I do."

He sighed again. "Yeah, he was mad, there was a lot of shouting and cursing on his part. I thought he was going to slap me. Then he stormed out and I didn't see him again until they called me to the office." Yuri ground his teeth, grazing his nails along the back of Otabek's head. "He's on his way back to Almaty now."

"God, what did you even see in him?"

Otabek grimaced. "Do you really want to talk about this now?" Yuri levelled him with a flat stare. "Okay fine. He came off as really nice, like sweet and thoughtful, he would have coffee sent to the rink for me on some mornings, he gave really good massages-"

"Ew."

Otabek huffed softly. "Can we not talk about him anymore? At least not right now."

Yuri stared at him, half wanting to push, but then he saw the uncomfortable expression on Otabek's face. His mouth was pulled into a tight line, and the hand that had been on his thigh was awkwardly hovering in the air. It must have been kind shitty for him too. The whole situation was kind of shitty and if he erased all the details, he had caused Otabek to break up with his boyfriend. Was he a home-wrecker? Well, it felt fucking great.

"Okay," he mumbled, leaning against the crest of his shoulder. "But we will talk about him. I'm not done venting about what a shit person he was. I won't ever let you forget about It." He didn't bother to hide the spite that came with his sentence.

"I don't want you to ever let me forget it." he squeezed his hip. "I never should have done that to you."

He rolled his eyes. No he fucking shouldn't have, but damn if his guilt wasn't starting to get annoying. "Then I'm allowed to say anything about him and you can't say a single word."

He pressed his lips to his temple and Yuri's stomach somersaulted. "Okay, that's a promise-" he was cut off by a deep vibration in his pocket. He pulled out his phone, narrowing his eyes at the screen. "It's my mom," he said almost guiltily, looking up at Yuri from under his eyelashes. Yuri sighed, sliding off his lap; Otabek would never decline a call from his mother. He curled against his side, watching as he pulled his shoulders up to his ears when he pressed the answer button. "Hi, Ma-"

"Otabek Altin-" his head jerked back and he held the phone at arm's length as his mother yelled at the top of her lungs. "What have you done?"

He tentatively brought the phone back to his ear, leaning over to switch on the bedside lamp. "You don't have to yell, Ma... I... yeah. Yeah. I withdrew. No, Ma, it's not... I'm not hurt. My knee's fine. No..." There was a long pause and Otabek sighed heavily.  "What did Tair tell you? Yeah. He did... He's fine now... no, I didn't know he would have. Hadiya obviously didn't know what he was like. Yes, I dumped him. Ma... Ma. Ma! Can we talk about this when I come back? Okay." He sighed. "Actually, I'm putting you on speaker." Yuri's eyes widened as he looked up at Otabek. "I want to introduce you to someone really important."

"-What are you talking about, Otabek?" His mom's voice echoed around the room. Yuri sat up straight, un-tucking his legs from underneath himself.

"Ma, Dad," Oh, his father was there too? Otabek glanced down at Yuri, grabbing his hand with his free one and twining their fingers together. "I want you to meet my boyfriend, Yuri."

Yuri's cheeks caught fire and his entire face started to smoke. He gapped at Otabek, boyfriend? Otabek squeezed his hand, smiling gently.

There was a pronounced silence from the other end of the phone, before there was a bit of fumbling. "Kemhebek, how do I get this to show video?"

Yuri snorted. "Hi Mrs. Altin-"

"Yuri, sweetheart, one second let me-" the call cut off.

Otabek sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. Yuri couldn't stop the giggle that barrelled out of his mouth, and he  nuzzled against Otabek's shoulder.

"Boyfriend, huh?" he asked.

Otabek's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Yes, if you want-"

"Yes I fucking want it, asshole."

Otabek shook his head, as his mom called back this time on FaceTime.

"Yuri! Oh, look at you, your face! Did he do that?"

Otabek winced.

"I will be speaking to Hadiya and Damira. How could they suggest you date someone like that?-"

"Ma, I don't think they knew," Otabek sighed. "I should have been able to tell myself but-"

"He was so nice, I never would have thought." She shook her head. "I should have known. People are always after something,  be it money or status-"

"Alma," Otabek's father reproached.

"But it's true! That's why Maalik took so long to find someone, they were just trying to use him. It makes me sick-"

Otabek's father wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders, hushing her without having to say anything. "Yuri, are you alright?"

"Yeah, they're just scratches." He ran his fingers across the edge of the bandage on his cheek. 

"Do you have a lawyer?"

"What?"

"I know a few who can help you. They'll drop whatever they're doing to focus on this."

"Oh, I... uh-"

"You are going to press charges aren't you?" The way Otabek's mom said it, it didn't sound like a question.

"I don't know..." He chewed on the side of his thumb nail.

"But you must! That boy hurt you; you cannot let him go unpunished-"

"Ma, that's for Yuri to decide-"

"Don't worry, Yuri, the entire family will stand behind you." Otabek grumbled softly, and Yuri squeezed his hand gently. "Oh, gosh this was partly out fault, if we hadn't set up Beka-"

"It's okay, Mrs. Altin-"

"No, it isn't. I am going to make sure that boy learns-"

"Alma, Suiktim, that's enough. I'm sure Yuri has had to deal with enough today." Yuri gave Otabek's dad a grateful glance. "We can discuss this later. And Yuri, my offer stands for as long as you need it."

Yuri swallowed, and Otabek squeezed his hand again. "Thank you."

He nodded once then a playful grin broke across his face, making him look even younger than his son. "So, Beka. Boyfriend? I can't say I didn't see that coming."

Yuri's jaw loosened by itself and his face heated again.

Otabek rolled his eyes. "Okay, I'll talk to you two when I get home."

"Otabek," his father's voice turned sharp and he said something in Kazakh too quick and jumbled that Yuri couldn't pick out a single word.

Otabek cleared his throat and nodded. "Iya, äke."

Otabek's mom made a deep noise at the back of her throat looking between the two of them. "Okay, darling, we'll let you go now. But don't think we're done with you yet. Yuri, have a lot of work to do with this one."

His face flushed yet again and Otabek hung up, setting his phone down on the nightstand. 

"I can't believe you just did that," he grumbled, flopping backwards against the bed. Otabek watched him with a small smile.

"I wanted them to know."

"You're such a sap."

He scoffed, scooting up on the bed and laying down on his stomach next to Yuri. "Says the person who skated to possibly the sappiest love song in Kazakhstan."

"Says the person who remixed it."

"I... well. Fine."

Yuri grinned, rolling onto his side and reaching out to run his fingers through his hair. Otabek  titled his head, pressing against his  palm. Otabek reached out to his face as well, running the back of his index finger along Yuri's nose. A definite hardness flashed across his eyes. Yuri nearly pulled away, instead wrapping his fingers around Otabek's wrist, keeping his hand in place.

"How bad are these?" he asked softly, fingering the edge of the bandage on his forehead.

"Uh, well he had like six inch long acrylics." Otabek winced. "But they weren't too deep. I'll be fine."

"I hope it doesn't scar..."

Yuri stretched his jaw. "If it scars I'm suing."

He sighed softly, cupping his uninjured cheek. "Yura, I'm so sorry-"

"I know. Stop saying that."

"But-"

Rolling his eyes, he shuffled forward and pressed a finger to Otabek's lips. "Shut up."

He replaced his finger with his mouth a moment later; Otabek sunk into the kiss almost immediately. They wrapped their arms around each other the best that they could. And with each movement of their lips, the word boyfriend echoed around Yuri's head and he was swept up in a giddy rush. His stomach was fluttering and he felt all warm and mushy. And, God, they had really taken too long to get here. Otabek snaked an arm under his neck, allowing Yuri to use his bicep as his pillow. Yuri slung an arm over his waist, hooking his calf around Otabek's shin. God, way too long. He pulled back to catch his breath, smiling, feeling the corners of his mouth pull at the corners.

"Beka, I-" his stomach rumbled loudly, filing the otherwise silence of the room. 

Otabek scoffed, his eyes twinkled in the dim lighting. "Hungry?"

Yuri bit his lip bring a hand between them to press against his stomach. It was still gurgling. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, now that he thought about it. He'd been waiting outside the officials' office for most of the day, then Yakov had confined him to his room. He'd been too worked up to even think about food anyway. But now that his stress levels were back to normal his stomach was taking its swift and loud revenge. "Famished."

Otabek smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he sat up. "We can get room service."

"It's not too late?"

"Uhh," he rolled over, stretching out for the folded menu on the nightstand then checking his phone. “Not if we call them in the next ten minutes." He tossed the menu to Yuri. "You can get anything you want."

"Yeah, I know."

Otabek pinched his waist, causing him to squeal and shuffle away giggling.

A little while later, Yuri settled down in the middle of the bed with a tray loaded with Tagliatelle Bolognese, pan roasted Scottish salmon, grilled avocado, and a giant slice of chocolate cake. He dug in while Otabek played with the television remote, and nearly cried; that was the best tasting pasta he had ever had. He stuffed his mouth until he couldn't fit anything else and only then started to chew.

"Yura, look." Otabek chuckled softly and Yuri looked up at the television screen chewing and a bit reluctant to look away from his food. "Camran would kill us if he found out we flipped past this."

Yuri narrowed his eyes. Dirty men with long hair, armour, and was that a wizard? "Is that Lord of the Rings?" he asked through a full mouth.

Otabek paused for a second before shaking his head. "I still can't believe you've never seen them."

Yuri was wrapping more pasta around his fork before he ever swallowed. "They're too damn long. I've seen parts."

Sighing softly, Otabek cuddled up next to him, looping an arm loosely around his stomach. "Do you want to watch it?"

Yuri shrugged, stabbing the fish and ripping off a decently sized chunk.  "Okay."

"That taste good?"

Yuri paused mid-chew, feeling his cheeks heat slightly. He probably looked like a starved animal with the Bolognese sauce all over his face. But Otabek already knew what he was like around food. He twirled a bit more pasta around his fork then held it out to him. He grinned, allowing Yuri to feed him and possibly making sure their eyes met as his lips closed around the fork. Yuri's cheeks got even hotter.

"Okay, I get why Camran is obsessed with these," Yuri admitted as the ending credits rolled past at like five times the normal speed. Nazgul's namesake was badass; he would never be able to look at the pomeranian the same way again. It had turned out to be a marathon, but they had joined somewhere during the second movie. "That elf dude was pretty cool."

"Legolas-"

"Nerd."

"He kind of reminds me of you-"

"Fuck off. Just because he's blond?" He yawned, stretching his arms over his head, and snuggled against the pillows. "What time is it?"

Otabek checked his phone. "Almost four. Uh, I'm assuming that you're spending the night here." He looked up almost shyly.

"Yeah." Yuri bit his bottom lip.

His smile was small and relieved. "You can borrow one of my shirts."

Well yeah, considering Yuri had left everything in his room in at the hotel thirty minutes away. He hadn't even brought his phone; it was still under his pillow.

He tried not to be too obvious as he brought the collar of Otabek's shirt to his nose and inhaled deeply. It smelled more of detergent than it did of him, but it was his all the same. It was soft and grey and fell around Yuri's shoulders like a an 11,000 Ruble sack. Otabek got into bed beside him, with his glasses perched low on his nose. He slipped under the sheets, hiding a yawn at with the back of his palm. Yuri rolled over onto his side, watching as he stretched over to turn off the bedside lamp. They lay down in the darkness facing each other. Yuri swallowed, feeling as if electricity was sparking across the small gap between them.

"Beka?" That was all he needed to say. It was like a clap of thunder and they were together, kissing deeply and roughly, hands roaming all over each other. It took seconds for Yuri's breath to start coming out in heavy pants. Otabek rolled him onto his back, swinging a leg over his waist and hunching over to kiss him senseless. It was dizzying. Yuri wrapped his hands around his biceps, squeezing and marvelling at how they didn't even give the slightest bit as he braced himself with his elbows on either side of Yuri's ribs. Yuri was still unsure how his was able to have such a big presence while he was so short. He was all heat, hovering over him. All heat and hard muscle.

Otabek's hands found their way under his shirt, hiking it up to his chest as he ran his palms across every inch of him he could reach, palms against his ribs, thumbs pressing against his nipples. The rough calluses on his hands sent heated shivers running across Yuri's skin. He moaned into the kiss, nipping at Otabek's bottom lip, and his hands left his arms to trail down his waist then back up his spine. He felt a slight tremor in Otabek's muscles as he grazed them with his fingertips. Otabek inhaled deeply through his nose, before breaking the kiss with a series of soft pecks.

"Do you want to?" he asked breathily, lips moving against the corner of Yuri's mouth.

Yuri swallowed, excitement peaking in his stomach. "Fuck yes."

Yuri felt Otabek laugh in a hot puff of air against his cheeks. He craned his neck, finding his lips effortlessly even in the dark.

They unhurriedly peeled each other's clothes away. Their limbs tangled in knots, mouths moved together, and breath mingled. Otabek's skin was like fire as he wrapped his arms around him. Yuri's skin was tingling; everywhere Otabek touched was about to break out in flames. He held onto him like he was his life, wrapping his arms around his heavily muscled and incredibly broad shoulders and digging his nails into the meat of his back. Letting his weight push him into the mattress, was the best thing he had felt in a long while. He wasn't drunk, but he felt like he was, head spinning, heart racing, and skin buzzing. Otabek slid a knee in between his thighs, before slotting himself in the space he made. Yuri was sure that he was going to ignite as he felt bare skin against his. He was hard, he could feel the hot tension between his legs and he was also so wet between his ass cheeks. But he still felt himself flush up to his eyebrows when Otabek's hard cock pressed against the crease of his thigh.

They had done this before, he reminded himself, inebriated, but this wasn't his first time. He pulled away from the kiss, pressing his face to the side of Otabek's neck. He smelled of sweat, lingering spices, and something that had Yuri's stomach jumping. He sunk his teeth into the muscle that joined to his shoulder and Otabek inhaled sharply, his grip on his waist turning vice-like. He swore softly, reaching behind him to hook one of Yuri's legs around his waist, and Yuri's breath hitched when he felt his cock press against his stomach. There was a gush of slick between his ass cheeks, and his stomach jumped. He hooked his other leg around Otabek's waist as well, his hips rising off of the mattress. Otabek was panting, Yuri could feel his chest heaving and sweat was already beading between his shoulder blades.

"Yura," he huffed, cupping the back of his head, threading his fingers through the base of his loosened braid. 

Yuri lifted his face from his neck, slowly kissing his way up his jaw before finding his lips. He couldn't see much in the darkness, but it didn't matter since his eyes fluttered shut anyway. Otabek held his chin, as they kissed deeply, tongues entwining instantly. His free hand travelled lower and he guided one of Yuri's legs up, folding it at the knee. Humming, he wiggled to get used to the new position and caused Otabek to hiss into his mouth as his cock slid along Yuri's stomach, leaving a warm sticky trail against his skin.  

"I don't think I can wait..." Otabek groaned, pulling away enough that his breath ghosted across Yuri's face. "Yura, I need you now."

Yuri swallowed shakily. He was panting like it was impossible to catch his breath. He rolled his hips, forcing a choked groan from Otabek's lips. "Then what are you waiting for?"

He heard Otabek swallow before he guided their mouths together again. He probably wasn't going to have any lips left by the end of the night.

"Okay?" Otabek asked, sounding strained and breathless.

"Yeah." Yuri bit his lip, pressing his fingertips into Otabek's back and held his breath. He could feel him moving around, lining himself up. There wasn't much more warning, other than a soft moan before he pushed in. Yuri's mouth fell open, his head lolled backwards – his neck suddenly boneless – and Otabek attached his mouth to his throat as if there'd been a magnetic pull. He moved slowly, practically gliding into him. With each inch deeper Yuri left himself going limp; white, hot pleasure spiralled out as Otabek stretched him open. It took him a while to realise that he was mewling; pathetic, high-pitched noises escaped from his throat. Teeth sunk into his neck, and a hot tongue soothed away the sting afterwards. The little ball of his piercing rolled against his neck, a hard blip in the otherwise smooth velvet. Yuri felt like he was vibrating, floating, nothing else existed besides him and Otabek.

When he was all the way in, he stilled; Yuri could feel his heartbeat against his chest, and his pelvis flush against his ass. He rolled his hips experimentally, and a breathy moan was forced from deep within his chest. Otabek bit his neck again, and Yuri realised that he was still holding onto his thigh when his fingers dug into the muscle. He saw white for a second, feeling the heavy fullness. His stomach fluttered.

"You better fucking move." He tightened his thighs around Otabek's hips.

He didn't need to be told twice, drawing his hips back, picking up a slow, deliberate rhythm that had Yuri squirming. He bought up one of his hands to cup the back of his head, pressing gently as he continued to suck, lap, and nibble at the same spot on his neck. Yuri's eyes were threatening to roll back into his head. He moaned with each thrust, his breath hitching and voice getting higher by the second. Otabek was gasping softly, his muscles tensing and relaxing with the same slow pace of his thrusts. He was pushing in incredibly deep, not as deep as it had felt when he'd taken him from behind, but maybe that had to do with the position. But he preferred this way, to have Otabek on top of him, holding him, pressing him into the bed with his solid bulk. He felt safe, warm, and – oh fuck,

He keened, squirming, feeling his muscles tighten around Otabek's cock. "Oh, God, Beka! Fuck!"

Otabek's mouth stretched into a smile against his neck and he finally raised his head, searching out Yuri's lips. He swallowed the next moan, reaching a hand in between them and trailing a single knuckle up the underside of Yuri's cock. Yuri's hips jumped, and he had to fight down a tremor, digging his nails into Otabek's back. Otabek nipped at his lip, pulling off with a pop before kissing him full on as if he was trying to swallow him. All Yuri could do was hold on to him. He continued to graze his fingers along his shaft, in light teasing strokes that had his hips jolting off the mattress and the muscles deep within him jumping and clamping down around his cock as he kept up his slow steady rhythm. He felt like he was hyperventilating; the room was so hot and their bodies were slicked with sweat and other things where they were joined. He was sure his skin was hot enough to the point of steaming.

"Be-Beka, stop teasing," he groaned, his hips canting upwards trying to chase Otabek's hand.

Otabek chuckled softly, burying his nose against his neck once more and placing a gentle kiss to the tender spot he had been working on. But his fist finally closed around his cock and began pumping it in earnest. Yuri nearly started to cry; it felt so fucking good. His back arched off the bed, changing the angle of Otabek's thrusts and fuck-

"There," he nearly screamed. "Like that!"

Otabek's hips jerked, snapping in and hitting him in just the right spot that he felt tiny tears leak from the corners of his eyes. His entire body was buzzing with pleasure. Heat was exploding from deep within his ass, where Otabek was buried, and from his cock. He could feel the explosion building in flashes.

"Beka, I'm," he whined, having to try very hard to get the words out. "I'm gonna..."

Otabek took his earlobe between his teeth. "Come for me, baby." His voice was low and rough, and that was all he needed to tip over the edge. His mouth fell open in a silent moan, his toes fucking curled, and everything tightened and released a thousand times over.

There was new slickness as Otabek continued to slide in and out of him, and he could feel the added heat of his release on his stomach. Distantly he knew he should be whining about overstimulation but instead he just felt all good and tingly. Even when Otabek began to move quicker, his hips jerking and bumping him up the bed, all he could do was let his head loll against the pillow and let out soft, shaky moans.

He could make out the telltale swelling of his knot, as his thrusts became shallower and quicker and there was a split second of panic before Otabek peppered kisses along his jaw and down his neck. Still, the tightness became overwhelming shockingly quickly. Otabek's hips were stuttering, thrusts growing rapidly erratic and out of control. He could hear his breathing speeding up to match. Yuri bit his lip, moaning softly as the last waves of his orgasm gave into new pleasure.

Otabek swore, and his entire body jerked as he pulled out fully. Yuri whined in disappointment at the sudden emptiness, but felt the literal streams of his release against his chest and stomach. Otabek's chest was heaving, and his breath was choked almost as if someone was holding his throat. He buried his face against Yuri's neck letting out soft whimpers as he rode out his orgasm. Yuri bit his lip feeling burning hot seed drip down his sides and fill his navel. God, alphas. He waited until Otabek could breathe properly again, rubbing his palms soothingly up and down his spine.

"Fuck, Yura," he said weakly, pressing his lips to his collarbone. "I love you so much."

Yuri curled around him to press his lips to his forehead. His chest was still heaving; he could feel his frantic heartbeat, even as he turned boneless on top of him. He wrapped his arms around his neck holding him tightly, while trying to get his own breathing under control.

"Well, I love you more."

Otabek's laugh was breathy and tired; his arms trembled as he pushed himself off of Yuri. Once he was on his side, he pulled him against his chest and Yuri tucked himself under his chin, taking his turn to press his nose to his neck and breathe in his scent. He kissed the centre of his chest, resting his palm against his heart. Every bit of tension that was in his body was long gone. His arms and legs felt all droopy, but there were still remnants of a warm tingle throughout every nerve. He let his eyes fall shut, nuzzling to the spot right above Otabek's racing heart. He smiled against his skin, and would have been more than happy to fall asleep right then and there, but –

"Are, you going to let me up so we can clean off?" he asked, surprised that Otabek wasn't already in the bathroom.

"In a minute." His words were slurred with sleep.

"You're going to wake up all crusty."

Otabek groaned, and Yuri felt him try to move but fail. He giggled. "Come on Beka, I would carry you but you're like 100 kilos." He huffed, his stomach tensing in lazy laughter. "We can take a bath together."

That got him moving. Very slowly, but at least they made it to the bathroom.

They settled back into bed, Otabek curled around Yuri to avoid the wet spot near his side where he'd tried his best to clean the sheets. They hadn't bothered to redress, still feeling all tingly and worn out. He tugged one of Otabek's arms over himself like a blanket, clasping their hands together at the centre of his chest. He could feel Otabek yawning behind him, and he was soon copying him. But, a loud vibration from the nightstand had him awake again. Otabek grumbled, pressing his nose to the back of Yuri's neck.

"Who is that?"

Yuri reached out for his phone. "Iska," he mumbled, glaring at the incoming FaceTime call.

Otabek swore, sounding like he was drunk. "Ignore him."

He pushed the phone away sliding it under the sheets as his eyes fell shut.

"Beka?" Iska's voice was muffled from the sheets.

"You answered?" Otabek grumbled.

Yuri scrambled to find the phone. "It was an accident!"

"We can hear you two," Bal's voice came through his time.

Otabek growled as Yuri finally uncovered the phone and held it at arm's length.

Bal whistled loudly and Yuri's eyes widened when he realised that they were both obviously naked and cuddled together.

"Iska," Bal yelled then rattled off in excited Kazakh. Otbek growled from behind him as loud cheers blasted through the phone speakers. "Finally," he switched back to Russian. "We've been waiting for this for years! Roza, Camran," he called over his shoulder. "You just missed it; Beka and Yuri just-"

"We can see them," Roza cut him off, and Yuri realised that he had used Iska's computer to call. Great, they could see their afterglow in fycking HD.

"What do you guys want? Why are you calling so early?" Otaek groaned, pressing his chin to Yuri's shoulder.

"It's eleven here... anyway. What happened? How did your program go, Yuri?"

"It went as planned obviously," Iska's voice came from off screen and Yuri felt himself blush up to his hairline.

"So we don't have to see anymore of that bi-"

"What happened to Assyl?" Roza asked pushing Bal away from the computer.

Otabek sighed heavily, pressing his forehead to Yuri's shoulder. “Yuri nearly broke his jaw." They all cheered loudly, and Yuri could practically feel Otabek roll his eyes, before he hid his face behind his back. His arm tightening with guilt around Yuri's waist. "He's on a flight back to Almaty."

"And you are aware of what a piece of shit he was-"

"Guys, it is literally five am over here."

"And?"

"We haven't slept yet," Yuri grumbled.

"Oh," Bal's grinning face took up the entire screen. "Marathon sex. Got it." Camran cackled loudly from behind him, and his slender arm tugged on Bal's bun.

Yuri choked on his breath and Otabek groaned. "Yura, hang up please."

He pressed the end call button as loud laughter erupted from the speakers.

"I hate my friends," he grumbled softly nuzzling against the nape of Yuri's neck.

"Well if it wasn't for them I wouldn't have done that program." He set Otabek's phone back down on the nightstand and reached over to turn off the light. "And you'd still be dating an actual asshole."

Otabek sighed softly. "Well, I guess they have their uses."

"Yeah." Yuri's eyes were falling shut once more, and he drifted off to sleep with Otabek pressing soft, lazy kisses against his shoulder.

Another phone call woke them up two hours later. Yuri sat up with the disorientation that came with getting only two hours of sleep. Otabek clumsily reached over him to the nightstand and brought his phone right up to his nose to see it clearly. "Uh, Yuuri is calling me," he mumbled, sitting upright.

"Oh, fuck." He shot upright, fighting through the grogginess.

"Should I answer?"

"Give it." Otabek handed him his phone. Yuri hit the answer button, rolling his eyes. "What do you want?”"

"Oh, thank God, Yuri. Where are you? Are you safe? We were all worried sick."

A bit of guilt ebbed into his stomach. "I'm with Beka."

"Well, yeah, this is his phone – so does that mean you two – no, this isn't the time. We'll talk about that later. Yakov is furious; you were supposed to stay in your room. Vitya, he's with Otabek."

Yuri rolled his eyes again as there was rustling on the other side of the line.

"Yurochka," Viktor's voice now echoed through the speakers. "We've been looking for you for hours!"

"Well you found me. Now what the fuck do you want?"

"Ummm," he could practically see Viktor tilting his head to the side while pressing his index finger to his lips. "Well, don't go on social media for a while."

Fuck, Yuri brought his hand to his temples. "What did they say?"

"Mmmmm, let's just say you're making headlines."

"Fuck."

"But –"

"Is that Yurochka?" He head Yakov in the background. "Give me that – Yuri Aleksandrovich Plisetsky! Have you lost your mind? I told you to stay in your room! Where are you? Tell me this instant!"

Yuri swallowed. "I'm with Beka-"

"That boy! He has been nothing but trouble since the moment you met him-"

Viktor made a sound of agreement from the background. "Oh, yes, he is a bad one-"

"Shut the fuck up, Viktor," Yuri growled.

"Do you know how close you are to losing sponsors? My phone has been ringing all night! They all want statements from you right this moment."

Yuri's stomach went cold, and he bit his bottom lip. Otabek's arms were around him in seconds and he pulled him against his chest to almost sit on his lap. "Have any of them dropped me?"

Yakov sighed deeply. "No. We claimed that you acted in self-defence and that seems to have satiated them for a while, we can also back it up with the security camera footage if needed. But you will have to clean up your act, boy. And that means coming back to the hotel this second and making an official statement in front of the press-"

"What? No way, I'm not doing that-"

"You will and that's final. Now put that boy on. I have a few words for him-"

"You are not talking to him." Otabek's arms tensed around him.

"Yurochka-"

"I'm serious, Yakov-"

"He needs to make a statement too. If we have to clear up this mess the both of you have to have to do something about it."

Yuri groaned.

"Oh yes, groan and moan. I have had it up to here with you." He paused to take a deep breath. "At least you're safe. I was worried when you weren't in your room this morning."

"I'm sorry I scared you." He picked at the edge of the comforter.

"You could have at least have taken your phone. We thought you had been kidnapped. Lilia almost called the police; she had thought that that Kazakhstani boy had come after you again."

Yuri hung his head in guilt. "Tell her I'm okay."

Yakov sighed heavily again. "I will, Yurochka."

Viktor stole the phone back. "Could you put Otabek on?"

"Fuck off. You aren't allowed to talk to him. I know you're going to spout some embarrassing shit-"

"I'm not going to embarrass you; I just need to make sure of something."

"There's no way in hell I'm letting you."

"Why are you delaying the inevitable-"

"Yuri?" Katsudon had snatched the phone back from Viktor. "How are you doing? Are you okay?"

He sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me."

"No. I worry about you, I always worry about you." He gave a long sigh. Then, even over the phone, Yuri could sense a change in his demeanour. His voice was still sweet and quiet, but there was a dangerous edge to it now. "Come see me when you get back to the hotel. First. You can go to Yakov afterwards."

"Uh." His spine tingled and he felt the hair at the back of his neck stand up. Yeah, if he disobeyed that order from Katsudon he would probably die the next day. "Yeah."

"Okay. Well you two need to get moving before Yakov has a stroke." Yuri grumbled. "And, Yuri?"

"Yeah?"

"See? I told you you were going to be fine."

His cheeks went hot again. "Whatever."

"Okay, bye, see you soon!"

He hung up, and was about to toss the phone across the bed, but then remembered that it wasn't his. He set it down gently on the nightstand.

"Everyone's worried about you?" Otabek asked, hooking his chin over his shoulder.

Yuri manoeuvred them both back under the sheets, finding Otabek's hand and threading their fingers together.  "They can deal."

"We should go back." Otabek pulled him close, pressing his palm against the small of his back. Yuri shivered.

"Later." He smirked, throwing a leg over Otabek's waist.

Otabek raised an eyebrow, grazing his nails up Yuri's thigh, stopping to press his palm against his ass cheek. "I'm okay with later."

Yuri kissed the underside of his jaw, resting a hand against bicep. Otabek bent his neck, nosing the side Of Yuri's mouth before he turned his head and captured his lips.

They would have to return to reality later. There was still so much they needed to talk about and clear up. And soon he would be returning to Almaty while Yuri went to Saint Petersburg and had to deal with the fallout from the both the ISU and the press. But now there wouldn't be any more aching stomachs over Skype calls or short tempers and yelling, and they could go back to calling each other and not saying anything, and there were no more fucking secrets. Otabek's fingers dipped into the crease between his ass cheeks, and Yuri gasped into the kiss as his entire body jolted in heat. And the sex was going to be fucking amazing from now on.

Yuri found himself giggling and had to pull away slightly.

"What's so funny?" Otabek asked, drawing small circles at the small of his back. Yuri shivered, his eyes nearly rolling back into his skull.

"Nothing." He chirped, joining their mouths again, reaching behind him to graze his fingers along Otabek's wrist as he lightly traced his entrance.

It was nothing at all.