Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The snow was cold. Colder than the air inside the rink had been. Yuri tilted his head back to look at the softly drifting flakes. They danced in the air in front of his nose, flickering in and out of the yellow streetlights, crunching beneath his feet as he walked with his grandfather. Tiny mitten engulfed in the secure, safe grip of his guardian.

A snowflake landed on his nose, and he batted it away with a green-mittened hand.

Nikolai watched from the corner of his eye. “Yuratchka, you were the best of the bunch,” he said, rumbly voice carrying the words down the to small child beside him. The child he loved more than anything in this world.

“Grandpa, can you come to practice again tomorrow?” Yuri asked, looking straight ahead, watching the snow and the sidewalk.

“I can skate even better. It’s fine, even if Mom’s not there!” Bright green eyes, too old for a four year old, met his as he looked down and smiled.

Nikolai’s heart cracked, a new fissure joining old scars. He could see the hurt lurking at the back of those eyes. So desperately covered up.

This had to end.

-----

Yuri woke up to the sound of voices. It wasn’t the volume -- though in their small apartment you didn’t have to be loud for everyone else to be able to hear you.

It was the way his Grandfather was talking. Harsh and clipped. Terse. Angry. All Yuri heard was that he was mad.

Mad at Mama.

“You can’t keep running off like that.” Yuri slipped out of bed, stuffed tiger held in his arms.  “Think of your child!”

Turning the doorknob, Yuri peeked out through the crack and into the kitchen. Mama was sitting at the table while Grandpa loomed over her. He was angry, hands clenched into fists and his face as dark as a thundercloud.

“He’s my soulmate!” his mother said. She was angry, too. Her cheeks flushed red, dark brown hair flying around her face.

“He’s using you. That mark is unrequited and he knows it!” Somehow, Nikolai managed to thunder the words without raising his voice. Yuri flinched at the intensity.

What’s a soulmate? he wondered, as his grandfather continued on. He knew he should be in bed right now. That he should close the door and turn away.

But he wanted to know what was happening.

“You’d do anything for him but think of what you’re doing to your son.” Nikolai slammed a fist on the table. The leftover dishes from dinner rattled.

Mama’s lip quivered. Tears started to slide down her cheeks before she buried her face in her hands, shoulders heaving as she sobbed.

Mama was crying.

Why was Mama crying? Yuri opened the door a little bit more, ready to go to her. Mama shouldn’t be crying. But Grandpa relaxed, fists opening to gather her in his arms.

“There, there.” He rocked her the way he rocked Yuri when he’d had a nightmare, rubbing her back and murmuring to her. Grandpa’s hugs were the best, safe and comforting and warm. “It’ll be okay.”

“I miss him. So much. So much,” Mama sobbed, burying her face into Grandpa’s shoulder. Who was she talking about? Who did she miss? Why was Mama sad?

Yuri forgot about hiding, forgot that he was supposed to be in bed. Forgot about the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach when Mama hadn’t picked him up from skating practice this afternoon.

Mama was sad.

Mama shouldn’t be sad.

Yuri took one step forward, then another.

“It hurts. All the time. I can’t sleep, I can’t breathe, I can’t--”

“Shh.” Nikolai cut off the stream of hysterical words, one hand stroking down her hair. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Yuri stood there, invisible, as his mother cried. An odd stillness enveloped him. The apartment around them creaked and settled in the night. Grandpa stroked Mama’s hair and made soothing sounds. Yuri could smell Mama’s perfume and taste the dust in the air.

But it was still like he wasn’t there.

Like they didn’t see him.

Like they’d never see him.

He couldn’t move. Feet glued to the floor by an odd, heavy numbness that made everything around and outside of himself fuzzy.

Eventually, after a very long time, Grandpa looked up. Eyes locked with Yuri’s for a brief second, surprised to see him standing there, silently hugging his stuffed tiger.

“Oh, Yuratchka,” he said, pulling slightly away from Mama, one hand on her shoulder. She wiped away her tears, quickly, but Yuri wasn’t fooled by the wan smile. Her breath still caught in her throat, her shoulders still shook.

“You should be in bed, Yuratchka,” she said, tone light and artificially cheery. The way grownups did when they were mad...but not at you, and were trying to pretend like they weren’t mad at all.

“I’m thirsty,” he said, after a moment. It wasn’t true, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

With one last squeeze of Mama’s shoulder, Grandpa grabbed him a glass of water and ushered him back to bed.

He tucked Yuri in and turned out the lights. Broad back silhouetted in the doorway, yellow light spilling around him, as Yuri spoke, words finally coming unstuck from his throat.

“Grandpa, what’s wrong with Mama?”

A quiet sigh escaped Nikolai, and his shadow seemed, to Yuri, to grow smaller in the room as his shoulders slumped. He turned back around and sat on the edge of Yuri’s bed.

“She’s having soulmate troubles, Yuratchka. It will pass,” he reassured his grandson, smoothing his hand over the short blond hair.

“Her soulmate?” Yuri asked. He didn’t know what that was. He’d heard adults mention it before, but they’d always talked like soulmates were supposed to make you happy. Mama was sad.

Grandpa sighed, eyes downcast, staring at the floor through the shadows. He didn’t want to look at those bright green eyes, piercing through the darkness.

“It’s complicated, Yuratchka.”

“Why?”

Ahh, the blessed, ignorant curiosity of a child.

“Yuri, your mother’s soulmate...is not a good person. He hurt your mother. A lot. She’ll get better soon.” Nikolai chose his words with care. Not wanting to shatter the fairytale illusion of soulmates for his grandson so soon.

They could be perfect matches, and beautiful, transcendent love stories. Or regular, quiet loves, with their ups and down. They could also be harsh, and cruel. Your heart bound to an abuser or a tyrant or someone who wasn’t bound to you in return.

He wasn’t ready to let his grandson know that yet. No four-year-old should have to know that.

There was a small silence, but the cadence of Yuri’s breathing stayed fast and steady. Nikolai waited, knowing his grandchild wanted to ask something more. The words hung in the dark, like they refused to fall into silence.

“The way yours hurt you?” Yuri asked after a moment, tiny voice loud in the quiet. If Nikolai strained, he could make out his daughter’s quiet sobs in the kitchen. Hopefully, Yuri couldn’t.

Nikolai twitched. “How did you know about that?” he asked, voice gentle. His palm on Yuri’s back warm and soothing as the little boy shrugged a shoulder and buried deeper into the pillows.

“You get sad sometimes. And you look at your arm a lot when you’re sad.”

The Cryllic letters on his arm had faded with age, a ghostly reminder of the wife and soulmate he’d lost several years ago. That scar still hadn’t healed; the bond still an ache in his chest whenever he thought of her.

“Your grandmother was different, Yuri. I loved her very much and she loved me. It wasn’t her fault that she died. Your mother--” Nikolai’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, buying himself some time.

“Your mother’s soulmate...he doesn’t love her. And she’s very sad about that.”

Yuri was silent for a moment, thinking.

“I don’t want a soulmate, then. Not if they can hurt you.”

Nikolai smiled in the darkness and held back a laugh. Yuri had spoken with the seriousness only a four-year-old could muster.

There were very few people who never got a soulmark. He doubted his Yuratchka would be one of them. The boy’s heart was too big and felt too much for him to go through life alone.

“You don’t have to worry about that for a long time, little one,” he said, stroking Yuri’s hair once more before kissing him on the forehead and patting him goodnight.

He paused the doorway. “Most soulmates love each other very much, Yuri. Don’t forget that,” he said as he closed the door.

Huddled under his blankets, Yuri didn’t care.

Mama was sad because of her soulmate.

Grandpa was sad because of his soulmate.

Soulmates were stupid. Soulmates were dumb.  He hoped he never got a soulmate, Yuri thought before he drifted off to sleep.

Cold. Firm. Resolute.

Like ice.

A frozen resolve that slipped into his soul.

Chapter Text

Sunlight streamed into the dance studio, natural light leaving harsh shadows on the face of the ballet instructor as she spoke.

“Higher. Higher!” she barked at her oldest student.

Otabek’s lungs spasmed, muscles and joints screaming as he strained to comply. Gritting his teeth, lifting his leg a fraction of an inch higher. Stance rigid and wobbly, terrible. Dancing like he was made of wood, joints stiff, movement jerky.

The instructor sniffed and walked off. Tall and regal and haughty. Her stance and posture perfectly balanced and graceful. The epitome of everything the ballet studio represented.

Otabek tried to do what she asked and clearly wasn’t good enough. Singled out by his age, his height, and his incompetence. Sweat dripped down the side of his face.

He would not cry.

Ahead of him, a small blond boy moved with perfect grace. Complete precision. Slipping into the next pose as though it were effortless.

Like Otabek, though, in the middle of a room full of dancers, this boy stood alone. But where Otabek stood alone because he was terrible, because they were leaving him behind, this boy was better than all of them.

He was alone because he was racing ahead, not struggling to keep up. And he was absolutely beautiful.

For a split second their eyes met, and Otabek forgot about how hard he was trying to get his muscles to stretch further than they wanted to. Forgot about trying to get his joints to bend in ways they were never meant to bend. He stopped breathing, lungs resting at empty as he watched the blond boy dance.

He danced like he was born to it.

Wrists floating, supported by air.

The graceful extension of his leg behind him, the effortless drape of his arm in the air -- none of Otabek’s awkward, stiff flailing present at all.

His movements were completely at odds with the attitude that rolled off of him when class was done. A wall going up around him as soon as he came down off his toes. Harsh, defensive. Almost belligerent, as his green eyes caught a sunbeam and gleamed at Otabek.

Eyes like his father’s.

Eyes like a soldier.

The world takes it’s toll, Beka, his mother had told him, years ago. Your father’s eyes have seen much. And you know it when you look at him.

Strength.

Dainty and delicate and stronger than steel.

That was his first impression of Yuri Plisetsky, the 10-year-old who out danced the entire novice class, and the Junior figure skater in their midst.

A soldier, dancing with incredible grace.

Standing there, glaring at him as the rest of class moved around them, breaking for lunch.

Otabek’s muscles trembled where he stood, spasming from pushing themselves beyond their natural limits. He did his best to hide the tremors and spasms, clenching his hands against the twitching.

After all, he still had a whole afternoon to endure. And the on-ice drills were as brutal as the ballet.

He stood there, breathing hard, trying to catch his breath as the rest of the class filed out. The blond boy trailed behind the crowd, totally unaffected. The only sign of strain a few hairs out of place -- and those could easily have just been messy and uncombed from this morning.

Scorn rolled off the younger boy in waves, as he passed Otabek. Nose crinkled as he looked down on him, despite being smaller. Otabek’s spine straightened, his jaw clenching as he stood firm against the unsaid judgement.

They were alone in the room when the blond finally spoke.

“Why do you even keep trying? You’re no good at this.”

Before Otabek could respond, the other boy huffed out a breath and strode out of the room. That unearthly grace evident in the way he moved. Not a sneak, not a slide, but still somehow as fluid as that. Not trying to hide or draw the eye. Just there.

Some innate quality no doubt that made him almost impossible to forget or ignore.

What would he be like, on the ice? Otabek wondered, watching the empty doorway as dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming around him.

What would it be like to watch him skate?

---

Two years later, Otabek’s arm burned.

Black spots swam before his eyes before he sat down, cradling his right forearm against his chest, as though that would help with the pain. Lowering himself to locker room bench with a thump, slumping back against the wall, he was grateful he was alone here today.

He knew what this was: the pain a precursor to black script slowly appearing on his skin. A brand new soulmark winding between the veins on his forearm.

He’d been waiting for it for almost a year now. Most soulmarks showed up in early puberty, between the ages of 12 and 14, though it wasn’t uncommon for them to show up as late as 16 or 17.

Later, in some rare cases.

Very rarely did a person live their entire life without a soulmark. And though those people insisted that their lives weren’t empty or worse for not having one...society thought otherwise. Society pittied them.

And deep down, Otabek has started worrying that his soulmark wasn’t going to appear.

Not that it would have been terrible if it hadn’t shown up -- he’d never been the type of child who daydreamed and fantasized about his soulmate -- but with no soulmark a looming possibility...He just hadn’t wanted to go through what some other people did. If that made him selfish, so be it.

He endured the burn with little more than a grimace, leaning back against the concrete wall while he waited for the pain to pass.

Black ink slowly cleared, shapeless blobs finding edges and forming a string of words down his arm.

He blinked back the pang of hurt when he was finally able to read the words etched on his soul. The words that bound him to his soulmate forever.

Huh? What are you staring at, asshole?

The air slid out of his lungs, like it did when he slammed into the ice after missing a jump. The concrete wall against his back almost as hard and unforgiving.

His vision swam, but with hastily blinked back tears this time instead of black spots.

This was only a minor setback. It wasn’t the end of the world.

A soulmark didn’t indicate how the relationship would go. He knew this.

He just didn’t expect these to be his soulmate’s first words. Didn’t expect to have an uphill battle staring at him at every time he glanced down from now on.

Asshole .

The word taunted him, seared into his eyeballs. Etched on his arm for the rest of his life. Unless he wanted to take measures into his own hands…

He shook his head. That wouldn’t change anything.

Mutilated marks still burned.

They still told you when you’d met your soulmate.

Scar tissue couldn’t change the words or the time or the place or anything about their first meeting…

Thoughts and excuses spun through Otabek’s head, spinning story after story as to why these words would be the ones his soulmate first spoke to him.

He sat there for a long time before he pulled himself out of it, body stiff and aching from practice, heart bruised and already weary from the new words on his arm.

His coach would not be impressed with him tomorrow.

At least these words were an understandable excuse.

Chapter Text

Consciously, Otabek had known JJ was going to be in Barcelona. He just didn’t expect to be accosted by the Canadian the first time he set foot outside his hotel room.

All he’d had to do was make it across the lobby. A few feet of plush carpet and red marble separating him from his freedom.

Stomach rumbling he stopped, almost at the hotel doors. Too polite to pretend he hadn’t heard his name.

“Otabek! Going out?” JJ had a bright smile on his face, one arm waving at Otabek, while the other hugged Isabella close to his chest.

Otabek slipped off his sunglasses since they clearly weren’t hiding him enough for him to escape. Besides, JJ wasn’t that bad, once you got to know him.

And got past that ego.

“Just getting some food,” he said, taking in the scene before him. Isabella pressed into JJ, cowering like she was afraid but the smirk on her face said otherwise.

The way she was angled, she must be hiding from...Otabek’s eyes swept the lobby, taking in the people milling out them, business suits and casual dress blending together. A group of girls with cat ears on and…

A boy in a leopard print hoodie.

Yuri Plisetsky.

Otabek’s eyes widened.

So, he’d been getting into it with JJ and Isabella. That fit with what Otabek knew of the young Russian skater. He’d watched him, ever since Yakov’s training camp, and his suggestion that Otabek quit.

He’d taken that literally and stopped ballet, but hadn’t abandoned skating. He’d just found a new way to skate. Something uniquely him. Working with his strengths instead of against them.

“Going out to eat alone? Still as odd as ever, aren’t you?” JJ asked.

Since JJ’s definition of odd included preferring silence to small talk, not constantly bragging about his abilities, and disliking poutine, Otabek could roll with it.

“You can join us for dinner if you want,” JJ said, smiling big as he gestured at himself and Isabella. The warmth in his eyes tinged ever so slightly with loneliness.

They’d trained together in Canada, and Otabek had gotten the distinct impression that, while the Canadian skater had a lot of fans, he had very few actual friends.

On another night, before a different competition, Otabek might consider it. But not tonight. Not before the Grand Prix Final.

He held up a hand, simultaneously acknowledging the generosity of the offer and shutting off any further discussion. “Thanks. I’ll pass,” he said.

Unable to resist, he glanced over at Yuri.

He’d seen him perform in the qualifying rounds, as enthralled by the way Yuri moved as he had been five years ago.

And very impressed by his skating. Hard not to be, when talent dripped off of his every move and he was landing jumps that far more experienced skaters struggled with.

Yuri’s eyes met his, that vibrant green as deep and clear as emerald. If you looked close enough, Otabek thought, past the walls and the anger and the bad attitude, you could almost see the complexity simmering in those eyes.

Gaze meeting Otabek’s, Yuri’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Huh? What are you staring at, asshole?” Those words fell from Yuri’s lips, careless and nonchalant, aggressive tone at odds with the slightly vacant, confused expression on his face.

It took everything Otabek had not to laugh, holding his face completely still as his world turned on its axis.

He’d never imagined that those words would be said in a heavy Russian accent.

In a hotel.

In Barcelona.

Before the Grand Prix Final.

By Yuri fucking Plisetsky.

The Russian wunderkid glowered at him, face caught somewhere between annoyance and confusion. This year’s breakout darling. One of the top contenders for the Grand Prix Gold medal.

The boy who once told Otabek to stop dancing was his soulmate.

He wanted to laugh. That dumb look on Yuri’s face -- it already made his chest warm. Something new flickering to life inside of him.

Or--not new, so much as unused before this moment. The potential of something that had always been there, just previously unrealized, now revealed.  

He turned and left in silence.

He didn’t trust himself right now. Had no idea what would come spilling from his mouth if he spoke now.

As much as it hurt to have “asshole” etched on his arm -- and he was quickly realizing there was nothing personal about that, it was just Yuri -- what would it look like if the first thing he did was laugh at his soulmate?

No, Otabek did not want to start their relationship off like that. Especially given Yuri’s reputation.

He pushed through people to get through the revolving door and stepped out into the cool night air. Bracing himself against the chill, he tucked his chin into his scarf as the burn in his arm faded and his stomach rumbled.

Wandering the streets of Barcelona alone, he wondered what he was going to do now.

Yuri Plisetsky had called him an asshole.

Yuri Plisetsky was his soulmate.

What do you say to your soulmate when his first words to you were an insult?

The public practice was tomorrow. He could find out then.

---

All that planning, wasted.

Otabek shook his head slightly, stopping at a traffic light. They’d lost the Angels a few blocks ago, easily outpacing them on the bike.

Yuri clung to the seat behind him. It irked Otabek that Yuri didn’t have his arms around him. It was safer and more secure. And by now Yuri would know they were soulmates. It was Otabek’s job to keep him--

Oh god, he was turning into his mother already. Worrying incessantly about his soulmate’s safety.

Yuri was right there behind him. Otabek could feel his lithe presence behind him. A warm, living, breathing ghost on the back of his motorcycle that he was constantly aware of.

Though he wished he’d been able to say something other than “Yuri, get on.” Something important, or with more...meaning, at least.

But saving your soulmate from his overly rabid fangirls would push anything cool out of your head.

It didn’t matter though, Otabek figured, as they wound their way through the back streets of Barcelona. They’d have forever to figure it out.

They wound up in Park Guell. The landmark far enough away from the arena and the GPF hotel that Yuri was unlikely to get swarmed.

They dismounted and Otabek watched as Yuri pulled off his helmet. Blond hair cascading around his face, sunlight catching the corner of his cheekbone.

This was his soulmate.

Something inside Beka warmed, a small smile creasing his face. This boy, filled with beauty and grace, the one he hadn’t been able to forget for over five years -- was his soulmate.

He hadn’t been sure Yuri would get on the bike when he approached him. Wasn’t even sure if Yuri would talk to him now.

He didn’t look angry, or belligerent or -- anything, really. Aloof. Like his older sister’s cat. Jade eyes cold and a bit haughty; but Otabek could see the wariness they disguised as Yuri turned to face him.

Otabek opened his mouth --

And stopped short.

The sleeves of Yuri’s jacket left his forearms bare, beige canvas rolled up to reveal...nothing. His skin was smooth and unblemished. An unbroken expanse of creamy white.

No marks.

No soul mark.

Nothing.

Otabek’s teeth clicked as he closed his mouth abruptly

Turning with a sharp jerk of his shoulder, he gestured, without words, for Yuri to follow him.

They wandered through the garden, up the stairs. Stopping at the top, he leaned on the ledge, looking out over the city.  

Yuri Plisetsky was his soulmate. But Yuri Plisetsky didn’t have a soulmark. Fuck. That complicated things.

“Why did you save me?” Yuri’s growl was low and harsh. Also belligerent, and mad, and, somehow...confused?

Otabek could feel the confusion underneath everything else, that small little waver of uncertainty at the back of Yuri’s voice quivering around the edges of that new, warm spot in his chest.  

That was interesting.

“It’s not like we have anything in common. We’ve never even met before this.” Yuri spat the words, face scrunching into a sneer.

Oh.

He didn’t remember.

Otabek smiled inside, face still and somber in the evening sunlight, wind ruffling his hair.

“Yes, we did. At Yakov’s summer camp.”

Yuri shot him a blank look -- blank but also alarmed. Twinges of panic flickering along the tense edge of his face.

They were small, subtle. Something Otabek doubted many people -- if anyone -- could see. But he knew they were there. The same way he knew Yuri was his soulmate. Deep inside, part of him just knew. And the precious new bond was so eager to please, flooding him with all kinds of new information.

Yuri didn’t meet his eyes as he spoke, which was probably a good thing, Otabek thought. He had to resist the urge to blurt out the words “you’re my soulmate” and Yuri’s eyes didn’t help. Green and harsh and so utterly complex he could spend a lifetime unraveling them.

Looking out over the city -- yellow sun catching the rooftops of Barcelona, bathing them in a warm glow, it helped. It helped to not look at his soulmate as he told him about their first meeting.

Helped to not look at the boy who didn’t yet realized he owned a part of Otabek’s heart forever. Whether he asked for it or not. Whether he ever wanted it. Whether his heart, in turn, belonged to Otabek or not.

“Really? I don’t remember that,” Yuri said, when Otabek was finished, arms crossed and resting on the wall in front of them.

The fading evening light tinted the clouds above the city a yellow that was already deepening to blood red.

“At the time, I was in my first year in the junior division. But I couldn’t keep up with the Russian junior skaters, so I was put in the novice class.” It was surprising how easily those words crossed his lips. Most of the time, he didn’t mention it, or skipped that part of the story -- on the rare occasion it came up.

It was just too hard. A difficult pill to swallow then. An even harder one to admit to now that he had a career and medals and was internationally known.

But with Yuri, it was different.

It was easy .  

“That’s where I met you.” No hesitation, no stopping. The words just flowed, spoken from some deep, secret part of himself he hadn’t even known existed before last night. “Yuri Plisetsky had the unforgettable eyes of a soldier.”

“A soldier? Me?” Yuri looked surprised when Otabek snuck a glance at him from the corner of his eyes. A little bit taken aback, a little bit awed, as he wind played with his hair, blowing strands across his face.

Inside his gloves, Otabek’s fingers itched to touch it as Yuri looked away, eyes drawn down to the buildings of Barcelona.

“I had just moved my home rink from Moscow to St. Petersburg. I was desperate. I’d decided that I wouldn’t complain until I was good enough.”

A warm feeling moved through Otabek, like the rays of the setting sun. The boy in front of him was cold and harsh to the rest of the world. Did he realize that he’d just shared with Otabek a secret? A part of the inner life the tabloids (and the angels) were dying to learn?

He was so different from the beautiful dancer who’d made him realize he wasn’t cut out for ballet.

But still utterly the same.

But how to say that? Otabek watched the city, eyes tracing slate cobbles on a roof in the distance as he resisted the urge to sneak a glance at Yuri. That didn’t stop him from watching the other boy from the corner of his eye as he spoke, words weighted, measured.

“After that camp, I moved around to train. From Russia to the US and then to Canada. I only managed to return to my home rink in Almaty last year. Now, more than ever, I want to win the championship for Kazakhstan.”

Yuri’s fists clenched against the concrete, and he pushed off the wall, turning to face Otabek directly.

“Otabek, why did you talk to me? I’m a rival, aren’t I?” That undercurrent of anger, that little flicker that told him his soulmate was pissed off. Unable understand what Otabek wanted, and it made him mad. How Otabek knew that, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the bond. Whatever it was, he was glad.

Of course figure skating would be the only thing on Yuri’s mind.

Otabek wasn’t his soulmate. Yuri didn’t have a soulmate...yet. Or maybe ever.

He didn’t have this complex new swirl of someone else’s emotions flooding inside of him. His thoughts were solely on the competition.

Otabek waited for a moment before turning to face Yuri, bracing himself against those piercing green eyes. They were open, and oddly vulnerable. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected the colour that was so bright and sharp, but also, somehow, soft and liquid.

Hadn’t expected that faint, uncertain tremor that ran through Yuri. Proudly defiant, but still unsure and vulnerable.

Looking at Yuri in the setting sun, the words to describe what he felt escaped him in every language.

“I’ve always thought we were alike,” he said, choosing his words with care. His own expression vulnerable, and soft. Matching Yuri’s openness. Eyes like crystallized coffee in the setting sun.  

“That’s all. Are you going to be friends with me or not?” The question slipped out unexpectedly. His mouth moving on it’s own, without consulting his brain.

Yuri probably couldn’t have looked more stunned if Otabek had told him the truth. He waited, the breeze playing with Yuri’s hair while they stood in the setting sun on a Barcelona evening, exchanging tentative smiles.

When they finally shook hands on it, Otabek deliberately glanced down, eyes skimming along the skin of Yuri’s exposed forearms. The contact of their hands alone was electric, even through his gloves, and every fibre of his being vibrated with joy.

And as he thought earlier, there was nothing there. Yuri’s forearms were bare.  

Chapter Text

“Ugh. I don’t wanna do the exhibition.” Yuri whined, sprawled out against the bar in the hotel lounge. Head resting on one hand he took up three stools, despite being the smallest person in the room.

Yakov and Lilia both glared at him.

“Oi, Yuri.” Yakov said.

Yuri knew exactly what was coming. The lecture . Telling Yuri to shut up, to suck it up, when all he wanted to was to vent . Nobody else would listen to his frustration.

Conflicted feelings roiled inside him. Sure, he’d won overall, but he’d screwed up in the free skate and lost to Katsudon there. It wasn’t a clean victory, and he couldn’t enjoy it.

“Ugh. Noooo. So don’t want to. I don’t wanna skate that program.” Yuri slouched further, raising his voice, talking louder and faster so that Yakov couldn’t cut him off.

“If you’re going to complain about your free program performance, then do it in the privacy of your own room,” Yakov said, very pointedly turning back to the bar, blocking Yuri off with a view of his back. “You’re spoiling my drinking with Lilia,” he said, grabbing his flute of champagne and taking another sip.

“Am I to take that to mean you no longer wish to skate to ‘Angel of the Fire Festival,’ the piece that I choreographed for you?” Lilia asked, from the other side of Yakov when Yuri rolled his eyes. Long nails clacked against the screen of her phone, presumably liking articles about Yuri’s win, the way she always did after a competition.

“You’ve been skating it at all the other competitions throughout the season. What could you possibly find lacking in it now ?” Her words snapped in the air, a cold bite as he dared to tell her the program was inadequate. Black hair gleaming under the bar lights, perfect, as always.

Cold, haughty, regal beauty. That’s what she had taught him.

And it felt so...empty. Yuri flipped a few stray strands of hair out of his face.

“It’s not that there’s anything really lacking , just…” he trailed off, not sure how to explain it.

Was Lilia’s program good enough? Yes.

Would the crowd love it? Yes.

Was it him though? ...No.

He wasn’t sure how to tell his coach and his choreographer that his programs were too similar. Wasn’t sure how to say that he felt one relied too much on the other for them to stand alone -- or to be thought of alone. Not sure he could state why the terror of having people remember his failed free program made him so mad -- but it was there all the same.

Agape was sweet and beautiful and, as much as it made him want to gag, it had pushed him as a skater. As a performer. And it had won him a goddamn world record. At 15. He could be smug about that.

But the last two…

They were excellent programs. That wasn’t in question.

They just…

Yuri ran over them in his head, replaying that goddamn fall once more. He couldn’t even think of “Angel of the Fire Festival” without comparing the two.

Guaranteed the audience would compare them as well. And they’d remember that fall.

Yuri clenched a hand, falling into a sullen silence for the moment. Being here with them in the bar was better than being alone on his room -- even if he had to be quiet.

Even with the irritation and the anger threatening to burst out of him as he desperately sought something that he clearly wasn’t going to get from either Yakov or Lilia.

Neither of them got it.

But he didn't want to be alone right now. Not with these kinds of thoughts racing around his brain.

At least there was noise in the bar: other people chatting, silverware clinking, glasses thunking as they were set back down on the various tables. It all helped keep the silence and the thoughts at bay as he glared out at the couples and trios and groups scattered throughout the hotel bar.

Everyone was paired off and it hurt to look at them. A kind of sad longing swirling under the angry scowl under his face as the reality of being alone, with only his coaches for support started to sink in. Katsudon and Victor were off somewhere, being all lovey-dovey and gross. And even if they weren’t, both of them had friends to hang out with. What did Yuri have?

A figure walking past outside caught his eye, shoulders hunched into his hoodie. Even though they’d only known each other for a few days, Yuri would know that compact frame and strong jaw anywhere.

Otabek .

His friend . Friends were supposed to listen to you bitch, right? They helped you deal with problems and shit?

He jerked up to a sitting position, dashing out of the bar with an absent shout over his shoulder at Lilia and Yakov as he struggled to put his jacket on and race after Otabek at the same time.

I always thought we were alike .

Otabek would get it, right?

“Oi, Otabek!” he called, racing after his friend. The night air was cool as his sneakers slapped the sidewalk, lanky legs easily catching up with the other boy.

“You goin’ out somewhere?” Yuri stopped a few feet away and dark eyes bored into his. For a moment, Yuri thought maybe his breath hadn't left him because of the dash.

“Yeah, an acquaintance of mine is DJing at a club nearby, so I thought I’d stop by,” Otabek said after a brief second. It was nonchalant, a slight shrug of his shoulder making it all seem so casual.

Something niggled at Yuri, that this wasn’t as casual as Otabek made it seem, but it was a fleeting ghost of an idea, easily forgotten under the the flood of pure cool .

“Seriously?” Yuri asked, pitch of his voice raising, eyes wide with excitement. “Lemme come too!”

He forgot, for a split second, about how miserable he was, about how he had planned to spend the rest of the evening bitching to Otabek about losing to Yuuri in the free skate. Going to a club with his friend? The excitement tingled along his limbs, face flushing with it.

And he watched as Otabek’s face went very still. Almost like a photograph, or a painting. Some back part of Yuri’s brain -- everything that wasn’t taken over by cool and DJ -- went into red alert. That expression couldn’t be good. Could it?

Very carefully, in a neutral tone, Otabek started to speak. “Yuri, how old are you now?” he asked.

Huh ? It took a second for Yuri to register the question, blinking before answering.

“I’m 15! Gonna be 16 next March!” He stomped a foot and gave Otabek a thumbs up. His age totally wasn’t a problem.

“Sorry, I can’t bring you along.” It took another second for those words to register, in which Otabek practically disappeared, racing down the street faster than Yuri had thought he could move.

If he hadn’t been mad, he would have been impressed. His heartbeat thumped once, twice, before the floaty feeling of excitement bled away into the swirl of emotions from before. Heavy anger filling him once again as Otabek ran.

“Huh? You’re only 18 yourself!” Yuri shouted at the black-clad back disappearing down the sidewalk.

Otabek couldn’t hear him anymore, but Yuri kept yelling, vocal chords straining. “You’re abandoning me on a night when I’m all messed up inside! And you call yourself my friend?!” Yuri swept a hand out through the air, one fist clenching in front of his face as though he were vowing it. “We’re through dammit!”

The anger burned, swift and bright as the boy he’d thought was his friend ran away, leaving Yuri alone on the street in the dark. A chill December breeze sneaking underneath his jacket.

He stood for a moment, breathing heavily with the emotion pouring through him. Then, the anger faded. Bleeding out of his body as though someone had turned on a tap for it all to pour out of him.

What was left was...not pretty.

He was cold. And lonely. And still torn up inside over the competition. The reality of being completely alone crashing down on his shoulders.

Quickly -- too quickly -- he pushed all of that down. Grabbing onto irritation again instead.

“Crap,” he muttered. “If I cut ties with him then there won’t be anyone left to listen to me bitch!”

That’s all it was. He needed to talk to someone. Someone who’d actually listen. Someone who got it . Otabek was that person, Yuri knew it. He didn’t know how, but something inside him just...knew.

“Damnit!” Yuri hissed. “What club did he run off to?” He raced away down the street, following Otabek’s path, ignoring a group of Angels who called out to him.

The competition was over, he was done with his fan duties.

Panting and lost, he pulled out his phone a few minutes later.

Otabek didn’t answer. The dial tone a hollow beep in Yuri’s ear.

A quick search turned up a list of popular nightclubs in Barcelona. One in particular caught his eye -- hadn’t Mila mentioned that one? It was was only a few blocks away. Turning, Yuri dashed down the street, looking for the brightly lit sign of La Barceloneta.

He could hear the heavy don don don of the music halfway down the street. Neon exterior lighting up the night. Otabek could totally be here, he figured, trying to push past the bouncer before getting, well...bounced.

He sprawled out on the cobblestones for a second, before picking himself up and curling into a ball, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk with his arms wrapped around his knees and his head bowed.

How was he going to find Otabek if he couldn’t even get in to the clubs to check?

Through the mix of emotions, a black despair started to surge, breaking through everything else. Maybe he’d just have to skate to Angel of the Fire Festival after all. It’s not like anyone cared, or wanted to help him.

Mila’s voice behind him just made things worse.

Why did he have to deal with the hag now ?

Especially since she was with the creepy Italian twins and the weird Czech guy. Yuri scowled and gripped his knees closer, muttering a vague answer.

“Huh? You’re trying to find the club that Otabek’s at?” Mila asked.

Someone patted Yuri on the head and he bristled. “I don’t think Barceloneta’s the kind of club you’d find him at. It’s more for the hardcore clubbers.” Judging by the voice, it was probably the Crispino girl. At least it wasn’t her creepy brother touching him.

“We didn’t see him inside. Why not just call him? You’re friends, aren’t you?” Mila’s words were like a stab to the gut.

Yuri had thought they were friends. That Otabek would stay and hang and listen to him. And maybe that was his fault for assuming or asking but now Otabek wasn’t responding. He ran away and he was hiding and Yuri...

Yuri couldn’t stand it. If he thought about it too long, the silence of his phone would drive him mad.

“He’s not picking up,” he finally said, voice somber and quiet.

“Ah, I see.” It was a quiet, tactful statement. Offering no pity or compassion -- Yuri would have swatted those away. Only recognition, and support.

“Want to hang out with us then?” she asked.  

“Hell no,” Yuri muttered, burrowing back into his knees. He’d rather sit here, outside the club all night. Stone digging into his butt and the low, incessant pounding of the music beating at his head.

“Fine then.” Yuri knew that tone. It said “ Be that way . Wallow. I don’t care and I won’t stop you.”

Behind him, a heavy Italian accent interjected, belligerent and annoyed. Yuri didn’t really care. He’d rather watch the pools of streetlight shine on the cobblestones for the next several hours while he thought of a plan than listen to that one.

“You’ve got the exhibition tomorrow, don’t ya? Snot-nosed brats need to get to bed early,” Mickey said, as annoyingly, angrily sanctimonious as ever.

“Pipe down,” Yuri shot back, thinking. If Otabek wasn’t at La Barceloneta, then where was he?

Lost in thought, he didn’t hear what Sara said -- something about a pool? He didn’t care.

Except the next second he was being lifted and held over Emil’s head, like he was a doll, or the girl in a pair skate.

“Cut it out! Put me down!” He squirmed and kicked but the hand holding him up didn’t waver, the arm beneath him rock solid. The hell? Did the Czech dude pair skate or something? Yuri wasn’t that small.

Sara strode up to him, a gleam in her violet eyes, long black hair loose around her face. “Will you promise not to be so rude to my brother and friends, then?”

Yuri stuck his tongue out at her. A split second later it registered in his mind that that was probably a bad idea, but he’d done it anyway.

Her next words were mocking, and struck a nerve Yuri hadn’t known existed. “Just how long is the GPF gold medalist planning on playing the grouchy stray cat anyway, hmm?”

Grouchy. Stray. Cat. That was how she saw him?

Yuri slumped in Emil’s grip, relaxing, joints loose as the Czech teen placed Yuri back on the ground. On his way down, he caught the way Mila was looking at Sara in the background. The approving look with the hint of softness to it. Now that was interesting...

But honestly, he could care less at the moment.

He stared at the stone again, trying to call up the anger and irritation that had fuelled him earlier. All he was getting was the sadness. The sadness he’d do anything to avoid.

“Try putting yourself in Otabek’s shoes,” Mila said, talking down to him. Literally, as she was still standing while Yuri sprawled out on the pavement, weight leaning on hands that splayed out behind him. “Friends or not, he just lost to you in your senior debut,” she pointed out. Like that was the point. Like that was the problem.

Like losing was the reason Otabek didn’t want to hang out with him.

It wasn’t. Yuri knew it wasn’t. The kind of rock-solid knowing that was completely unshakable.

All the words he still had to say bubbled up inside him. They crawled up the back of his throat, itching to get out.

But the person they needed to be said to wasn’t here.

“Why not leave him to himself for tonight?” Sara asked, voice gentle.

Yuri blinked, not understanding either of them at all.

“Huh? Why should I have to leave him alone when he’s my friend?!” he asked them. He might be new to friendship, but he knew how it worked.

Friends were there for each other. No matter how bad you were feeling, if your friend needed you, you were supposed to be there. Right? And if they were mad at you...

“If he’s pissed at me he should just come out and say so! I’ve got something I want to say to him, so I’m gonna find him, no matter what it takes!” Yuri said, rising to his feet fists clenched, fire in his eyes and a spark lighting up again in his heart.

Ready, if needed, to push past his fellow skaters and scour all of Barcelona alone until the sun came up. And even then, he’d keep looking.

“And if I can’t find him, I won’t skate in the exhibition!” Yuri declared, defiant eyes meeting the stunned and puzzled expressions of his fellow skaters.

“Huh? Is that your way of demanding that we help you find Otabek?” Mila asked.

Yuri blinked. He hadn’t been thinking that when the words left his lips, but…

What followed was a whirlwind of embarrassing phone calls, getting skaters’ numbers, and a final tip from Guang-Hong about the club Otabek had been spotted at.

Thanking the Chinese skater, Yuri hung up, looking at the group of older skaters around him. He nodded at them once, phone clenched in his hand.

Mila sighed. “Here.” She thrust a fake ID at him. “Use this. And don’t get caught!”  She waved behind her head as the group of them walked off.

Yuri’s glanced from the ID back to his phone, heart beating faster in anticipation. Whether he was excited about the name of the club on the screen, or the possibility of Otabek texting him back, he couldn’t say.

There was a strange mixture of emotions brewing inside of him. Yes, he was torn up about the routine. But this situation with Otabek…so many things were added to it.

He couldn’t name them all. Didn’t want to. Would rather be angry than feel any of this.

Shaking his head, he started off down the street, back towards the hotel.

If he was going to surprise Otabek at this club, he’d at least do it in style.

Chapter Text

Lemme come too.

Otabek could still hear the words.

He’d wanted to. So bad . The breathless excitement, the way Yuri’s eyes lit up -- it had been nearly impossible to say no to that.

Especially since he could probably get Yuri in, underage or not.

(Being a DJ had its perks.) His age was just a pretext -- a way to keep the younger boy out of trouble, to buy himself some time and a reasonable excuse for running away. Leaving Yuri there, alone, on the sidewalk.

There was no way he wanted to be around his soulmate. Not tonight.

Disappointment over his Grand Prix Final showing warred inside him alongside joy and delight and the almost irrepressible need to tell Yuri he was his soulmate.

He knew it was a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop thinking of it as he setup for his set. Checking buttons and cables, headphones on, sinking into the music the way he always did.

He loved the ice, but music? Music was his escape.

He slipped into it again tonight, the whole club roaring and dancing as he threw down the beats. Tension easing from his shoulders, something inside him uncurling...but not completely relaxing, as it had before.

Maybe it was Yuri? Flashes of the other boy’s emotions had been bleeding through the bond over the last few days. Invading Otabek’s head with thoughts of his soulmate at the most inopportune times.

Like right now, on the dais, in a nightclub in Barcelona. Surrounded by dancing people. Playing tracks that made them scream and dance and beg for more. He couldn’t forget the way he always did. Couldn’t slide inside the music and stay there until the next DJ pulled him out.

I bet Yuri’s pissed, he thought, remembering the way he’d left the other boy standing there on the sidewalk. Something had been going on with him, Otabek could feel it weighing on his chest. But he hadn’t stuck around to find out. The guilt of leaving his soulmate -- he pushed it away, scanning the club, gauging the energy of the crowd.

What did they want next?

It was okay that he’d run. He had needs too. Not seeing Yuri…

Otabek’s eyes narrowed as he spotted a slight blond figure leaning against the back wall.

Hm...is that?

Of course it was.

The sunglasses were a challenge. The blazer unmistakable. Shoulders slumped a bit, arms crossed as he looked out over the crowd. Unamused. Unimpressed. Almost bored.

If Otabek hadn’t felt the nerves through his soulbond he wouldn’t have known they were there.

Yuri pulled down his sunglasses, a savage grin crossing his face as he caught Otabek looking at him.

‘Yup! It’s me!’ his expression seemed to say, warming up now that he knew Otabek was here.

How did he…? Otabek felt the room spin, a strange feeling of deja vu making the ground beneath his feet waver. Even though he was positive he’d never experienced this before. Ever .

Yuri flipped his hair over his shoulder and started dancing, sliding the jacket down his shoulders, like some kind of coy striptease.

‘So you noticed, huh?’ his movements seemed to say. The lines of his body saying things only Otabek could detect. ‘This is the outfit we picked out together shopping Barcelona the other day! Remember it?’

Of course he remembered it. He hadn’t been able to forget it, watching Yuri light up, that air of confidence surrounding him when he’d tried it on. The cocky strut that made his leather clad ass look incredible.

Otabek had nearly popped a boner. But Yuri was 15 and his soulbond was unrequited and things were a whole lot more complicated than that outfit -- than even this situation -- made them seem.

The raised finger, the challenging tilt of Yuri’s head, it all screamed ‘Now, throw down a bangin’ song for me, mister DJ!’

Did he tail me? I don’t know how he got here but at least he looks like he’s in a good mood, he thought, flashes of Yuri’s emotions flickering through his body, centered in the soulbond in his chest.

But if that was how his soulmate was going to play it…

Otabek smirked. He was off his game tonight. For good reason. Yuri hadn’t heard anything yet.

And neither had this crowd.

Adjusting sliders, pushing buttons, Otabek transitioned seamlessly into the next song, feeling the guitar screech through his bones.

The crowd screamed.

Yuri freaked out, eyes wide with amazement that Otabek felt ripple down the bond. It echoed through him the same way the music did.

A soul-deep echo. He could lose himself in it forever.

Instead, he ignored the siren’s call of the soulbond, staying in the moment and shooting finger guns at Yuri. Take that, Plisetsky. You asked for cool, and you got it.

“What the hell is this song? It’s so friggin’ COOL! ”

Yuri’s lips were moving out there on the dance floor, but Otabek couldn’t hear him or make the words out.

He could feel it though, the charge coursing through his blood.

Was it always going to be like this? he wondered, underneath the music and everything else running through his head.

Blinking when he realized Yuri was right in front of him, practically climbing over the table and his DJ equipment to get to him.

He could barely make out the words, headphones still covering his ears, guessing as best he could from the few syllables he heard and the way Yuri’s lips moved.

“Otabek! I want to skate to this song for my exhibition!!”

Uh...what ?

-----

The quiet shhh...shhh of waves against the sand was a stark change from the club. Water rippling away into the darkness behind them.

The boardwalk seating area was convenient. Quiet and deserted this time of night, not too far from the club. Or at least, Otabek had thought, before Yuri started shivering in the December air.

That blazer might look awesome, but it was not warm.

With a wordless sigh, Otabek pulled off his sweatshirt and handed it to Yuri. The Russian looked at him, face just on the edge of moving into a glare when Otabek raised an eyebrow.

Their wills battled for a split second before Yuri caved, taking the sweatshirt and sliding it on, meek and blushing as he looked away.

Otabek didn’t say anything, just moved over to the bench and sat facing the breakwall built along the back of the beach.

Yuri’s voice was quiet and subdued when he finally spoke. Arms flopped his knees, body hunched forward as he said something so ludacris, so impulsive and insane Otabek could barely believe it. (And he’d gotten used to believing in insane things ever since his soulmark appeared.)

“Huh? You’re gonna change your exhibition choreography now ?!” Even if it hadn’t been past midnight, the exhibition was tomorrow (or, technically, today). And Yuri wasn’t just talking about changing the choreography, but creating a whole new routine .

“And you want to keep the changes a secret until just before you actually skate in the exhibition?” Otabek was digging, trying to get Yuri to clarify. To say ‘no’ because this idea was fucking crazy…

But if they could pull it off…

(There was no question of if he would help. Otabek was going to help Yuri with this, crazy or not.)

Yuri nodded, wrapping his arms around his stomach for warmth. Otabek itched to throw his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders and pull him close, but that was a bit...much. Friends or no, that was getting dangerously close to lines he wasn’t sure he could -- or should -- cross. Definitely not just yet, and maybe not ever.

“Lilia choreographed the exhibition program I’ve been skating all season to go along with my free skate program.” Yuri spoke quietly, words subdued as he hunched over, engulfed by Otabek’s sweatshirt. “When I skate that, it feels like I’m just riding on my free program’s coattails and I can’t really get into it.”

Otabek sat and listened, trying not to judge Yuri’s words, though his own defeat in the Grand Prix series still stung. But...he could kind of understand what Yuri was talking about.

It was easy, far too easy, to get into a groove with skating. To have that thing you did in competition and to do that over and over. The refusal to do just one thing and his insistence on surprising the audience was what had made Victor Nikiforov a legend.

The insistence on doing the same thing as everyone else had nearly halted Otabek’s career before it began -- killed in a ballet studio in a Russian figure skating summer camp.

Yes, he knew that feeling of coasting. Of needing to fight against the grain.

It was what gave him life as a skater. Why he was here, on a hard, cold bench with Yuri in Barcelona, in the dead of night. A chill slowly seeping through his clothes, as soft as the waves behind them.

“Plus, this time I lost to Katsuki in the free skate. Even though I won in the end, it still pisses me off. If I’m gonna skate feeling all torn up inside, then I feel like I may as well skate to a totally different song.” This quiet Yuri was so different. Subdued, and almost...apologetic.

Somehow, Otabek doubted many people got to see this side of Yuri. A small glow of happiness flickered inside of him, warmth spreading through his core despite the chill slowly seeping into his limbs.

“So, I just wanted to get your advice on it, is all,” Yuri finished, clipped and a little awkward, hunching down even more under the soft yellow streetlight above them, harsh shadows hiding his face from Otabek.

He could feel the yearning inside Yuri. Straining towards something new, something different.

Something that would set his soul on fire.

Had Lilia or Yakov ever listened to him? Otabek wondered. That sense of frustrated creativity just waiting to be unleashed boiling up inside of him -- except it wasn’t his.

It was Yuri’s.

This boy, the world record holder, had never been allowed to show all of himself to an audience, Otabek realized, covering the lower half of his face with a hand and turning his gaze away.

He’d never been allowed to be himself on the ice.

“I see…” he said, voice deeper and more gravelly than he’d intended. “I’m sorry then,” he said, genuinely sorry that he had left his soulmate behind on the sidewalk earlier that evening.

“I didn’t want things to end awkwardly between us...it’s been bugging me,” Yuri said, voice somehow both subdued -- apologetic -- and frustrated. Whether it was with Otabek or himself, Otabek couldn’t tell.

But the thought of Yuri being upset at things ending awkwardly between them...a smile stretched across his face.

Maybe Yuri didn’t have a soulmark yet. Maybe Otabek’s bond would be forever unrequited. Maybe they would never be more than friends.

Maybe Yuri’s mark would show up tomorrow and everything would change.

Otabek didn’t know.

But for this moment, he knew Yuri would have missed him if they’d ended things tonight.

(Not that Otabek had ever seriously thought was a possibility. He’d never even considered the idea that that was how Yuri might be looking at it.)

And that made most of it okay.

He savored the silence for a moment, a quiet falling between him and Yuri that was calm and relaxed. Waves shhh-ing on the sand as they sat side-by-side in the night.

Drawing in a deep breath, Otabek stood, hands in his pockets, still staring out at the waves. Loath to break the comfortable silence between them, but knowing it needed to be done.

They had a lot of work to do, after all.

“All right, but if we’re going to make something, let’s make something so cool it’ll lay everyone flat out!” he said, turning to Yuri and offering him his hand.

“That’s the Yuri I most want to see.” The words slipped out, fierce and low, reflecting the fire burning in Otabek’s dark eyes.

It was true, he thought, looking down at his soulmate. Hand outstretched in both challenge and invitation.

That was the Yuri he most wanted to see. Yuri. Being himself. Skating on the ice the way he wanted to, not the way his coaches wanted him to.

The way Otabek had always had to do.

He wanted that freedom for his soulmate. And even though he knew Yuri couldn’t feel it...knew the bond was one sided...he sent that feeling down the thread between their souls anyway.

Yuri’s head swung up, fire flickering to life in his eyes as he looked at that hand for a moment before seizing it.

He stood up as he gripped Otabek’s hand in his once more. This time, their palms met skin to skin instead of skin to leather. A shiver ran up Otabek’s arm, sparks tingling through his blood, reflected in the fire in Yuri’s eyes.

“Yeah,” the younger boy said, voice low and fierce. The competitive gleam back in his eyes. Sharp and almost threatening. A caution -- and a warning -- to his competitors.  

It was so different from the frustrated anger from before...Otabek wondered how anyone could ever mistake the two. The media and the fans might paint him as an angry Russian punk, but he had so many layers .

How the hell did people miss that about Yuri? Otabek wondered as they found a clear patch of beach and started to sketch out a routine.

----

Working with Otabek was...new. Strange.

Almost like a dream, Yuri thought, as he danced across the sand.

They’d lay down the foundation for the routine here, in the dark and the quiet with no one else around. Later, around sunrise, they’d sneak into an arena to practice.

For now, Yuri spun across the sand, working out moves and sequences. Beka guiding and suggesting, but never directing. Never telling him what to do or be.

Like a second set of ideas. An outside pair of eyes.

He loved it.

I’ve always felt... like I just kept missing my calling, he thought, flying across the beach, music playing through his brain. Remembered -- indelibly etched on his memory -- from that moment in the club earlier tonight.

This...this felt truer to himself than anything he’d ever skated.

He’d wanted to be the best. To win . At all costs.

Somewhere, along the way, between Victor and Lilia, between Agape and prima ballerina he’d lost some part of what made him him.

He turned, a perfect pirouette. Fingers light and delicate, arm arched the way Lilia had taught him. He froze, started. Dropped back to his feet, shaking his head.

“Here,” Otabek moved in beside him, “what about this?” he asked, changing the move and suggesting something new -- not telling him.

I realize that this is probably just one moment, Yuri thought, running the new steps. They were harder, edgier than anything he’d skated before. One brief moment in my long life to come. But like hell I’m gonna let this one moment control me .

This moment...the exhibition...this was his moment. He wasn’t going to let anyone take that from him.

His moment in the spotlight. The moment he’d spent years fighting for already. The moment he wasn’t going to let anyone else dictate to him.

This was his moment. He’d determine how it went. What he did.

What he choose.

He sank to his knees for the final pose, taking one deep breath before pushing himself back up to his feet.

In this mad, mad world, all I have to do is just keep on showing everyone that one moment that I, and no one else, chose.

That had been the problem all along, he acknowledged silently. He hadn’t been choosing. He’d chosen to follow others.

Now this... this was the start of something new.

A new Yuri Plisetsky came to life under the eyes of his only and best friend, rising from the sand.

A new, determined aura about him, visible even in the darkness.

This was the Yuri Otabek had been wanting to see.

Yuri Plisetsky, skating only for himself.

And if I can just trust...that I what I love is the key to my salvation…Then I can be reborn as many times as I like on the ice, he thought, catching those coffee coloured eyes in the dark and shooting him a thumbs up.

They had it.

Now, to practice.

Chapter Text

Standing in the quiet shadow of the stands, haunting the entrance of the arena, Yuri vibrated with excitement.

He tipped his sunglasses down to get a better look out at the rink, dark eyeshadow a startling contrast to the bright green eyes.

This new exhibition program of mine is gonna blow everyone’s socks off! he thought, ready to go. Eager to show the audience this routine.

It was special. Powerful. His .

His and Beka’s, he thought, as the loudspeaker in the arena announced Katsudon’s turn.

A twinge of relief flickered through him, seeing Yuuri wave to the crowd. He’d been scared when Victor had come to him before the free skate, asking -- no, begging him to beat Yuuri. To keep him in skating.

Knowing Yuuri was thinking of retiring…

That fear had slipped his blade during that quad toe loop, and had given him the fire to press on. He’d lost, tripped by worry, but he’d still come first overall.

Apparently 0.12 of a point was enough.

Although if that hadn’t done it, this new routine totally would.

Especially you, Katsudon! Get a damn good look, he thought, the words fierce and ferocious in his head. Not just a challenge -- a declaration. Iron will creating a routine so strong Katsudon would have no choice but to want to skate against him.

It matched the smug smirk on his face, twisting one corner of his mouth upwards.

Only to fall abruptly as the announcer’s next words registered.

“Believe it or not! A surprise guest performance by Yuuri Katsuki’s coach, Victor Nikiforov! Enjoy ‘Stay by my side and never leave me.’ The master-and-apprentice version.”

...What?

Katsudon was skating with Victor?

Yuri didn’t hear the footsteps behind him over the roaring in his ears. He felt like he was four years old again, standing in the kitchen, hugging his tiger, waiting for his grandfather or mother to notice him. That same, strange suspended feeling. Like time had stopped and his skin inflated, but he also couldn’t feel anything.

He was numb. Everything held between one breath and another as the crowd roared, showing no sign at all of slowing or quieting down.

“I guess our surprises overlapped?” a voice asked behind him. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Otabek. Some part of him already knew, as the Khazak skater approached to stand just behind him and off to one side.

Then the rage boiled over. Breaking through the momentary numbness. Yuri latched on to the fire burning within, letting the waves of rage shake him because it was better than that fuzzy stillness. “Those damn pigs!”

On the ice, Victor and Yuuri were moving in unison to the music, the crowd completely enthralled by them.

It hurt. It hurt in ways and places Yuri didn’t know, didn’t think could hurt and he didn’t know why and he didn’t want it to hurt godamn it. They shouldn’t mean anything to him.

Thwarted anger coiled inside him. This was his moment. And they’d effectively ruined the surprise.

(He’d worked so hard on it, too, that small part of him that was still 4 years old and clutching his stuffed tiger cried.)

He had to upstage them. But how--?

Yuri turned as an idea seized him.

“Otabek!! My friend!! Stop!” he yelled, waving one awkwardly with one hand, even though the other skater was only a few steps away, retreating as Yuri’s turn to take the ice approached.

“What?” Otabek asked, hesitant and uncertain. As though he were unsure of what Yuri were asking.

“For my Final exhibition, you be in it too!” Yuri said, stalking over to his friend, rubber mats squeaking under his skates.

“But I’m done performing…?” Otabek said, frowning slightly as Yuri approached. Clearly confused about what was going on here.

It was simple, really. If Katsudon was going to bring Victor on the ice with him to wow the crowd, Yuri was going to bring Otabek and slay the fuck out of this new routine.

“We’re gonna be even more intense than those two!” he said, reaching out and grabbing the collar of Otabek’s jacket in his fist. He pulled the older (taller) boy in until their foreheads touched, pure intensity coursing through him.

“You’re gonna watch me lay everyone flat out, right?” he asked, voice softening, quiet but no less intense. “So? Are you gonna do it? Or are you not gonna do it?”

It was a challenge. A flat out challenge and the way Otabek’s eyes lit up -- somehow going dark at the same time -- thrilled Yuri. He’d known, deep in his bones, that if he asked, Otabek would say yes.

That’s what friends did, right? And after all the work they’d put in last night it would be a shame to be overshadowed by Victor and Yuuri of all people.

The grin that spread across Otabek’s face was savage and controlled. It matched Yuri’s feelings perfectly.

“We’re friends aren’t we?” the Kazhak asked. “Then there’s only one answer.”

Yuri grinned back at him, letting go of Otabek’s jacket and stepping back as he nodded. He had no idea what they’d do. They had no time to rehearse.

But they’d figure it out. And they’d blow everyone away.

-----

If Yuri had to pinpoint the one thing that made Welcome to the Madness different, it would be this: he loved it.

He loved every second, every movement, every jump, every note of music.

He truly loved this routine, and it showed in the wild abandon in his eyes, the loose, free way he skated. The way he and Beka synched flawlessly on the ice, as though there was a psychic connection between them.  

He loved it.

Victor was always talking about how you didn’t think when you skated, you just felt and let that out on the ice. Yuri was finally starting to understand it, even while his performance screamed “Victor, eat your fucking heart out, you gross old man.”

Yuri fell down on the ice as if shot, reeling back from Beka’s fingerblast, chest heaving with triumph and exertion as his shoulderblades touched the ice. God damn that was cold.

The ripped tank top might look fucking amazing (and he looked fucking amazing in it ) but it was not designed for lying on the ice. Definitely not for that.

He climbed to his feet, waving to the crowd, a savage grin on his face. Beka was still on the ice, watching him while he leaned against the boards.

Yuri shot him a thumbs up as he made his way off the ice, the entire crowd still on their feet, screaming.

For the first time in...ever, really, Yuri felt light. Floaty. Buzzing after his routine but in a way that was new -- not just exertion and adrenaline and triumph, but happiness, too. It warmed his chest, a glow inside he’d never felt before.

Katsudon and Victor could suck it. He’d won, hands down. He smirked as he exited the ice, Beka coming up beside him as they left.

“That was awesome!” he said, punching Otabek in the arm, grin threatening to split his face in two.

Otabek smiled back at him, coffee eyes crinkling at the edge, and that warmth inside Yuri spread farther.

Were friends supposed to make you this happy?

“Yuri!”

Yuri was jolted out of his thoughts by a thunderous growl. Yakov’s face was a mottled purple red, and Yuri could swear he saw his coach’s hairline receding before his very eyes. He rolled his eyes, angling himself between his coach and Otabek, braced for the inevitable fall out.

“What the hell were you thinking!?!” Yep. There it was. The Feltsman roar.

“Calm down, old man.” He ignored the flying spittle, brushing past his coach. “They loved it,” he said, waving a hand at the crowd. Yakov sputtered, less impressed with Yuri’s results than he was with how Yuri got them.

That was Yakov’s signature, Yuri thought, surprisingly dark and bitter. Only praising Yuri when he did it Yakov’s way.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” Yakov yelled at his back. Yuri rolled his eyes and kept walking, only to freeze when he heard Lilia’s voice beside him.

“We will have to work on your form. That whole routine was sloppy.” She was standing in the shadows, arms crossed.

Her eyes bored into Yuri, dark pits of disapproving disdain.

His spine straightened as his eyes met hers, refusing to bow down, to apologize. This was his moment. His routine. Maybe Lilia didn’t like it. Too bad.

This was about being reborn, wasn’t it? He’d been reborn into something new today, and she could fuck right off if she didn’t like it, he thought, chin jutting out in defiance.

Something about Lilia softened. That icy edge no longer so sharp. As though she recognized his defiance as something greater than just teenage petulance. Like he was no longer her student, but an artist in his own right. Not yet her equal, but somehow on more even footing than before.

“You will skate The Angel of the Fire Festival at the Russian Nationals while we work on this one,” she said, sweeping away and taking Yakov with her.

Yuri stood there for a moment, blinking. Not sure exactly what had just happened. Yakov was sputtering as Lilia dragged him away, leaving Yuri alone on the mats, confused and shaking.

They just didn’t get it.

Otabek must have approached behind him (again) because Yuri jumped a little when he clapped him on the shoulder. His hand a solid, reassuring weight as Yuri turned to look at him. “You were amazing out there. That was the Yuri I wanted to see.”

Something inside Yuri lit up at those words, happier with Otabek’s praise than any medal or world record so far. Some void inside him filled. Finally recognized, finally seen .

Otabek got it.

Yuri had known that, consciously, ever since Otabek had agreed to help him. But now? He knew it in his bones.

“Skate the way that’s right for you, not the way they want,” Otabek said, squeezing Yuri’s shoulder before letting go. A knife-cold spasm of loss ripping through him at the loss of contact. The removal of a tangible support Yuri could lean against.  

Those words though…

They hit Yuri with the force of a freight train.

Skate the way that’s right for you. Huh. No wonder Otabek was such a great skater and could enthrall the crowd.

That’s what was different about him. He skated differently, because he skated the way that was right for him, not the way everyone else tried to teach him.

He refused to be what anyone told him to be -- his coaches, his country, the ISF, Yakov. Yuri looked at him with new eyes, a deep respect resonating in the depths of his soul. The Kahzak stood before him, tall, strong, resolute. Grounded. That utter certainty, deep in his soul -- you could see it. Yuri could feel it, quietly radiating outward from Otabek. It was soothing, calming.

He took a deep breath.

“Yeah,” Yuri nodded once, firm. Solid. Steeling himself in his resolve. Smiling back at Otabek. Friends were actually a pretty cool thing to have, he thought, heading back to the locker room to change.

He might look amazing but in an ice rink this outfit was damn cold.

Chapter Text

Yuri’s foot tapped the marble floor of the hotel lobby, eyes glued to his phone. The tower of luggage belonging to Yakov’s skaters loomed beside him, almost as tall as he was.

Otabek wasn’t responding to his texts.

They hadn’t seen each other since the Grand Prix Final and now the bastard wasn’t texting him back. There wasn’t even a little checkmark to show it had been read. What the hell was Otabek doing?

Yuri knew his plane had landed -- he’d checked the flight number to be sure. Otabek had arrived in Shanghai three hours before he did thanks to Aeroflot’s incompetence and a spring blizzard. Otabek should be at the hotel already. He should be checked in and waiting for Yuri’s texts the way a good friend would be.

He checked again.

Still nothing.

Mila yelled something at him from the check-in counter and he flipped her off, eyes not moving from his phone.

The World Championships started tomorrow. Why wasn’t Otabek talking to him?

A shimmer of doubt wormed it’s way through Yuri’s stomach, underneath the impatience and frustration, a cold, persistent presence Yuri couldn’t ignore.

Did Otabek not want to talk to him? Things had been great the last time they talked. Unless they hadn’t been? Was Otabek getting bored with him?  Was Otabek--

“Here,” Yuri sputtered as Mila shoved something in his face. “Your room key,” she said, smile sickeningly sweet. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” Yuri snarled, snatching it from her hand. “What room am I in?”

“How should I know?” Mila asked, grabbing her luggage off the pile and wheeling it over to the elevator. “I didn’t ask.”

“Hag,” Yuri muttered under his breath, scowl etched on his face for a second before he realized -- the front desk. They’d know Otabek’s room number, too.

Grabbing his leopard print suitcase, Yuri stomped over to the front desk to terrorize the clerk into giving him both his and Otabek’s room numbers.

-----

Otabek had a pre-competition routine. It included a shower, meditation, visualization, yoga, and an evening spent totally alone.

It did not include someone knocking at his door while he was in the shower.

Although knocking was a mild way to put it…pounding might have been better. The booming sound thundered through his room, loud enough to be clearly heard even under the hot water running over his back.

“Otabek! Open up!”

Was that -- the angry Russian voice was unmistakable. But why was Yuri at his hotel room door?

The pounding continued as Otabek quickly rinsed most of the suds out of his hair and turned off the water. Slinging a towel around his waist, he opened the door, water sliding down his face.

“Yuri? Why are you here?” he asked. Not that he wasn’t happy to see his soulmate. They’d been in near daily contact since the GPF, sharing texts and photos and the occasional skype call. It made the hollow ache in Otabek’s chest hurt less when he talked to Yuri, even if he knew it was just temporary and the missing him was going to come back as soon as they hung up.

Yuri’s jaw dropped, face caught somewhere between astonishment and a sneer. “Why am I--”

Otabek could feel the rising anger before it showed on Yuri’s face, frustration and rage and -- was that a hint of sadness ? -- bursting out of him.

“ Because you wouldn’t answer your stupid phone!” Blond hair flew around Yuri’s face, and the part of Otabek’s brain not involved in this fight marveled at how beautiful he was.

Face flushed with anger, green eyes sparking and bright. Otabek shifted his grip on his towel, making sure everything stayed covered.

His phone ? Otabek turned to look over his shoulder. Had he plugged his phone in? he wondered, blinking. It had died on the plane and he knew he had it with him but had he recharged it.

“Urrgghhhh.” Otabek turned back to see Yuri dragging a hand over his face. “Did you let it die again?” he demanded, like this was something normal for them. (Which it already was. Yuri had yelled at him several times for letting his phone die mid-conversation or overnight and not getting his messages.)

A flash of them, 30 years from now, having this exact same argument flickered through Otabek’s mind, warming his heart before he remembered that the bond in his chest was unrequited.

Otabek shrugged.

“Idiot.” Yuri rolled his eyes and pushed past Otabek and into the room before Otabek could stop him.

He caught an eyeful of Yuri’s black-denim clad ass and had to look away. He’s fifteen, Beka , he reminded himself. Fiftee-- no. Sixteen. Yuri’s birthday had been at the beginning of the month.

That still didn’t change things. He had an unrequited soulbond to Yuri Plisetsky, who was currently rummaging through Otabek’s stuff looking for his phone charger while muttering to himself in Russian.

“I have a routine, you know.”

Yuri waved him off. “So? Go do it. I'm not gonna bother you or anything. Ha!” he emerged, triumphant, from Otabek’s suitcase, charger in hand, and started to hunt for the phone.

Otabek shook his head and went back into the bathroom to finish his shower.

When he came out, Yuri was sprawled out on his bed, browsing Instagram on his phone.

Otabek raised an eyebrow.

“What? I’m not bothering you, am I?” Yuri’s tone was a challenge that hid an edge of soft vulnerability. Otabek shook his head and changed, pointedly ignoring the other skater as he rolled out his yoga mat and sat down.

It should annoy him. It should throw him off, having someone else in the room as he mentally prepared himself for the competition the next day. He always did this alone. Even his coach wouldn’t disturb him, except for important matters.

So it should bother him to have someone else there.

But it didn’t.

Yuri was a quiet, comforting presence in the room. Just being there. Together. In complete silence as he visualized and stretched, getting into his competition zone.

Most athletes had day-of rituals but Otabek had always needed the night before to center and ground himself. To get used to being in a new place.

Most of his competitors thought he was standoffish because of it. Ever since that day in the ballet studio, he’d gone his own way, and always would. The opinions of others didn’t phase him. He went his own way and always had. In skating, and in life.

Except now, there was someone who wanted to come with him. He snuck a peek at Yuri from the corner of his eye.

He sprawled out on Otabek’s bed, fast asleep. Exhausted from hours of long, hard travel. Otabek smiled, heart expanding with gratitude. He might not be Yuri’s soulmate, but Yuri cared about him (in his own... Yuri way) and that was more than he’d ever hoped to ask for.

Chapter Text

World’s was a complete fucking bust.

What sort of fucking score was sixth?! Yuri glowered at his phone, new sites showing what he already knew. Katsudon had somehow -- magically -- managed to beat out Victor for the gold. By fractions of a point.  

Far from being pissed, Victor had seemed almost elated. Kissing Yuuri’s medal on the podium for everyone to see. Looking up at his husband with so much joy.

(They’d gotten married after Yuuri won gold at the Japanese Nationals. Victor had practically dragged Katsudon to the courthouse. The real ceremony was planned for later this summer.)  

This was the first time Victor and Katsudon had been competing together and Katsudon had actually beaten Victor. They were so gross about it Yuri had almost vomited in the arena. Even worse than Victor’s stupid moping two years ago, whining all the time about how his soulmate didn’t want him.

(Okay, so he’d never said that, but that look had been written all over his face and Yuri hadn’t been the least bit surprised when they announced they were soulmates. After all, he’d been at that Grand Prix Final...and still carried scars from seeing things no 14 year old should ever have seen.)

As the final scores rang through the arena, cementing his place not on the podium, Yuri had escaped outside for some air. Slipping away from the main entrance and leaning against the side of the arena so no one could see him.

His fingers tightened around his phone. It was humiliating. The Grand Prix Final gold medalist couldn’t even place at worlds. Only months after he’d set the current world record.

His eyes burned and he told himself it was anger. He was mad . Mad.

“Yuri,” Otabek’s voice broke through his reverie, and Yuri started, gaze landing on his friend. The Kazakh stood a few steps away, hands shoved into the pockets of his team Kazakhstan jacket. His brown eyes popped against the blue, warm and soft.

He truly deserved the bronze medal hanging around his neck, Yuri admitted. As pissed off at himself as he was, he could admit that Otabek had skated flawlessly today. Unlike himi…

“You okay?” Otabek asked, stepping forward until he was standing just at Yuri’s side.

Yuri jerked a shoulder. Going from gold at the beginning of the season, and silver at both the Russian nationals and the European Championships (thanks to fucking Victor), to sixth in World’s hurt.

Plus he’d lost to fucking JJ. Again.

And that Czech dude had come out of nowhere and landed all four of his quads perfectly for the first time all season.

But that wasn’t why he was mad at himself. He’d skated poorly today, he could admit that. One fall, a quad that turned into a triple. Multiple minor technical errors that added up surprisingly fast.

That wasn’t what scared him. That wasn’t the black terror that swirled around his insides, clutching at his lungs and cutting off his air.

He’d grown an inch.

It wasn’t much, not in the grand scheme of things, but he’d grown an inch taller since the Grand Prix Final.

His body was changing. He knew what happened. He’d seen the skaters above him grow and fail and drop out, never able to get back to where they were. Full of promise and potential before they flamed out; epic failures after puberty hit.

And now it was happening to him.

He stared into the distance, eyes not seeing the Shanghai streets in front of him. Fixated on the memory of wobbling in his skates for the first time in years, his center of gravity shifted, everything just slightly off balance.

“Hey,” Otabek’s hand gripped Yuri’s shoulder, warm and reassuring. “It’s okay.”

Yuri scowled. It wasn’t. He could do better, he knew it. And he’d blown it, at fucking World’s .

He shrugged Otabek’s hand off his shoulder, something inside his chest clenching as the warm weight of his hand slid off.

“No, it’s not. I messed up.” The words were bitter and slimy. Yuri could taste them as they rolled off his tongue.

“So do better next time.”

Yuri’s jaw hit the pavement, turning to stare at his best friend. Had Otabek just said...? His best friend. The one he could always count on. Who stayed up late so they could skype. Who always laughed at the cat videos Yuri sent him. Who agreed that Katsudon and Victor were gross.

Otabek had just...Yuri gaped at him in complete astonishment, so surprised he couldn’t feel anything for a moment.

“What the fucking hell, Beka!” he yelled, breaking free from the numbness and shoving Otabek back. Full-blown anger igniting inside of him, eclipsing al lthe other complicated, confusing emotions he was feeling. “I thought you were my friend!”

-----

Otabek stumbled back, catching himself with one hand on the stone wall of the arena, dark eyes wide with surprise.

“I thought you were my friend!” Yuri yelled, blond hair slipping loose from the braids he’d put it in for the competition, small strands flying about his face.

Yuri was...angry?

The surge of anger was there, traveling down the soulbond, tempering Otabek’s own elation at winning. But there was something else underneath it. Something quieter and more insidious. Something that made his heart pound and his throat close as his lungs clenched.

He knew it was Yuri’s. It could only be Yuri’s.

So he’d come, to help his soulmate and his friend. Only to have...this happen.

The younger boy glared at him, face flushed with anger, hands clenched so hard his knuckles turned white as he vibrated with energy.

What the hell ? Yuri had so many more years ahead of him. Losing one competition -- even a major one like World’s -- wasn’t the end of the world. Or even of his career.

Otabek stared into those bright green eyes, glaring anger back at him. Anger...and something more.

Something darker than anger. Sharper than it, too.

Fear.

What was Yuri afraid of ? Otabek wondered as the Russian suddenly broke their staring contest to turn away and yell. A wordless scream of rage that bounced around the concrete and disappeared down the street.

Yuri kicked a stone, long limbs loose, leg flying high, higher than it needed to, in that dramatic, overdone and balletic way Yuri had about him.

It was a small thing, something only a few other people would have noticed. But Otabek was his soulmate, and had watched every routine of Yuri’s he could find. Over and over, late at night, alone in his room. Watching to feel closer to him. Learning every slight shift and twitch and movement of his routines so that the bond would calm down and stop aching enough that he could get some sleep.

But, kicking that stone...Yuri was off balance. Wobbling ever so slightly, hands coming out of his pockets to steady himself.

The same way they had on the ice today.

Oh.  

Otabek moved forward, a bit more tentative this time. Hand gently touching Yuri’s shoulder for a second before he rested it there and turned his soulmate to face him. A broken, sullen beauty on his face.

“You’re gonna have tons more competitions. Just do better in the next one,” he said, tone gentler this time. More sympathetic and understanding. Acknowledging Yuri’s screw ups, but not letting him wallow in them.

Reluctantly, Yuri nodded.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

Otabek stayed silent, feeling something pulse down the bond.

“It’s just...this one mattered. This might be my only chance to skate against Katsudon and Victor -- my only chance ever -- and I messed it up.”

Otabek squeezed Yuri’s shoulder. He could tell it was more than that. There was something else Yuri was afraid of, that he wasn’t saying. Wordlessly, he tried to send something down the bond. Comfort. Reassurance. Even just “it’s okay”. Yuri wouldn’t be able to t feel it, but he sent it anyway. A wordless pulse of trust and safety, telling his soulmate that he was here, that he’d listen.  

“What if I never make it back here?” Yuri asked, green eyes meeting his in a plea. Voice small and quiet as the Shanghai breeze blew around them, Otabek’s nose twitching at the pollen.

The peach blossoms were out. He’d seen them on the way in.

A beautiful soft pink, a delicate flower. They reminded him of Yuri. The way they unfurled, stamens twisting towards the light, petals delicate and paper thin.

Yuri looked like that right now, opening up a part of himself that Otabek knew no one else had ever seen.

For a moment, the bond, ever empty, ever unrequited, hummed in contentment.

Oh. Yuri was afraid.

Otabek smiled. He knew what it was like to skate through a growth spurt. He’d done it in Juniors, when it hadn’t mattered as much. Not a big one, but enough of one.

“Yuri, you’re the best skater I’ve ever seen. Better, even, than Victor.  This is a minor setback. You’ll get through it.” Otabek had to resist the urge to lay a hand on his soulmate’s cheek. Instead he shoved both hands back in the pockets of his jacket, fists balled tight.

The fight was back in those eyes. Emerald green and shining. Cheeks stained pale pink with a slight blush.

“Thanks,” Yuri coughed, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, a small smile creeping across his lips.

The fear was still there, if Otabek looked hard enough and deep enough. But for now, they’d pretend it wasn’t.

“I’m gonna go get something to eat. Want to join me?” he asked, half-turning as if to leave.

Yuri nodded and started walking beside him.

“Oh, congratulations,” he said, eyes flicking down to Beka’s medal. “You deserved that,” he said, jerking his chin towards the bronze disk, heavier around his neck now for the attention.

Otabek slipped it off and put it in his pocket. He’d forgotten he was still wearing it when he left the stadium. “Thanks,” he said. He didn’t want to rub it in Yuri’s face, but he was pleased with himself. He’d performed well today.

“At least you beat fucking JJ, this time,” Yuri snarked beside him as they wandered down the street. Neither of them really knowing where they were going or how to read Chinese.

He probably should have asked Guang-Hong for a recommendation on where to eat, Otabek thought, but they’d find something, he figured.

“Why do you hate him?” Otabek asked, searching down the street ahead for any sign of a restaurant.

Yuri turned to stare at him, mouth hanging open. “How do you not?”

The horror on his face was almost comical, and it was all Otabek could do to keep from bursting out in laughter. A low chuckle slipped past his lips. “We trained together in Canada,” he explained. “He’s really not that bad once you get to know him.”

Yuri glared at him, suspicious, looking him up and down before stepping forward and placing the back of a hand against Otabek’s forehead.

Otabek blinked. What the--

“You don’t have a fever, so why are you talking crazy, Beka?”

Otabek needed to move. Now. Yuri was right. fucking. there. With golden green eyes and soft lips and -- nope. Otabek stepped back and Yuri let his hand fall.

“Did you just call me Beka?” he asked, resuming their walk. He thought he’d heard Yuri use it earlier, too, but hadn’t been sure.

Yuri blinked. “Oh. I guess so?” he held up his hands in an apologetic shrug. “If you don’t like it--”

Otabek cut him off with a shake of his head. “No, it’s fine. My family calls me Beka,” he explained. “You can use it though, if you want.”

He deliberately kept his gaze fixed to the pavement about ten feet in front of him. Not willing to look at Yuri’s face right now. Just the thought of Yuri calling him Beka did things to his insides...

Yuri’s eyes widened with delight. “Really? Thanks, Beka,” he said.

Otabek groaned internally. The bond trilled in delight at the pet name.

He was so doomed.

Chapter Text

Yuri rolled his eyes and slumped deeper in his chair, suit jacket bunching up behind him.

A knife chimed a delicate peal as Victor tapped it against one of the champagne flutes. (And what the fuck was he thinking serving champagne at his own goddamn wedding? Yuri groused. They all knew what happened when Katsudon had champagne.)

Hell, Giacometti had brought something that looked suspiciously like a stripper pole with him…

At the front table, Victor set down his glass, and took Yuri’s hand in his again. They both stood to address the small crowd gathered in the Yuutopia courtyard. Tables and chairs had been set out, and brightly coloured streamers lined the courtyard and wound through the trees.

The afternoon sun shone brightly, a light ocean breeze making the wedding perfect underneath the tent that had been setup. White with gold accents. And the odd splash of colour. Perfect for the pig and the old man to chain themselves to one another forever.

Victor waited for a moment before the noise subsided.

“Thank you, everyone, for making our special day even more special.”

Yuri gagged. If it wasn’t bad enough they’d dragged him back to Japan just for this…(And Otabek, though invited, hadn’t been able to make it to Japan for the wedding and make the whole debacle more bearable.)

Mila kicked Yuri under the table and he shot up, glaring at her. A look from Lilia silenced both of them before they could interrupt Victor’s speech.

All of Victor’s rinkmates had been given their own table at the reception. The idea being, since they hardly spoke Japanese, they’d have each other to speak with, at least.

(What they hadn’t counted on was making it easy for the Nishigori triplets to find their favourite skaters. The terrifying trio had been hovering around the table since everyone arrived, grabbing pictures and autographs until their mother realized they were missing and ushered them away, whisper-shouting at her girls for bothering the guests.)

“Yuuri and I have just one last surprise announcement,” that heart-shaped smile that lit up his entire face hovered around the edges of Victor’s mouth.

Oh god. There was another surprise coming.

“You’d better not be pregnant,” Yuri muttered. Beside him, Mila snorted, unable to keep a straight face.

“Ssh!” Sara hushed Yuri from the other side of Mila. She’d joined them as Mila’s plus one and Yuri was still trying to figure out what was up with that...when he wasn’t too busy being disgusted by Victor and Yuuri.

“Victor and I…” Yuuri faltered, looking at his soulmate -- now his husband. “This has been one of the most incredible years of my life. One year ago, I had returned home and was considering retiring.”

A small, secret smile crossed his face and Yuri clung to the disgust. Underneath it simmered something much darker, more malevolent that he didn’t want to acknowledge. Not just because it was vicious, but because it was also sad .

That empty spot in his chest, the one the rage covered up, echoed horribly inside him.

“And now, I’m a world champion.” With his free hand Yuuri reached down and grabbed his champagne glass, blushing and unable to believe it, even though Worlds were months ago now.

Just hurry it up Katsudon, Yuri thought, sinking deeper into his chair, slouching so that his line of sight was just above the table and he could make the happy couple out...barely.

“Having Victor as my coach has been the greatest privilege of my life,” Yuuri said, turning to look at his husband again. The love shone off of them so brightly...it was sickening.

Yuri had seen soulmate pairs before but none as disgustingly in love and Katsudon and Victor. It was so gross.

And temporary , something whispered at the back of his mind. Soulmates only bring pain. And they were miserable before. How long can this lovey-dovey nonsense last?

His glare skimmed over the tablecloth, arrowing towards Victor and Yuuri, but the two of them stayed exactly where they were, staring deeply into one another’s eyes. Small, secret smiles on their faces.

“Yuuri and I are retiring from singles figure skating,” Victor said, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s waist as they turned back to their guests. “Next year, we will be competing in the pairs competition.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed, that competitive gleam coming into them. “And we’ll be taking gold, of course,” he said, “won’t we Yuuri?”

How did Victor change so fast? Yuri wondered as Victor’s expression flipped back to mushy delight as Yuuri nodded, a determined stare on his face. If they hadn’t trained together for so long Yuri might wonder if Victor was actually super calculating...even though he knew the truth was that Victor was just that clueless. And fickle.

So fickle.

Whatever, Yuri shook his head, pushing himself back up in his seat, clapping along with everyone else. Most of the other skaters looked stunned, and it was hard for Yuri to deny the pang of loss that came with knowing that he wouldn’t get to skate against Katsudon or Victor again.

He’d blown his only chance to beat them this year.

Rage bubbled up, tightening his lips as he plastered something he hoped passed for not-a-scowl on his face. (Lilia was sitting across the table from him and there would be hell to pay if she caught him glaring at the grooms.)

The only one to blame for this was himself. He’d failed. And now, he’d blown his chance.

At least there was food.

--------

Katsudon and pirzohki. Wierdest wedding dinner ever, Yuri thought, leaning over the railing, looking out at the ocean. But delicious. And it suited them. Even as it pissed him off.

Yuri had eaten for the show of it, resistance buckling under Lilia’s sternly arched eyebrow. He wasn’t hungry.

Pork and rice and fried dough still savoury and so good...but underneath the show, anger dulled his tastebuds. Stripped all the joy from his palette.  (Hiroko’s pirzohki weren’t quite as good as his grandfather’s, either, but he’d never say anything like that to her face. He wasn’t that much of a monster...)

“Ah, Yurio, there you are.”

Yuri groaned and flopped his head forward onto his arms. “What do you want, old man?” he asked as Victor came to stand beside him. Music from the reception tinkled in the distance.

“You disappeared. We’d wondered where you’d run off to,” Victor said with a smile, bending down to lean against the rail like Yuri.

“Tell me, how are you enjoying the wedding?”

Yuri shrugged a shoulder. “It’s nice, I guess,” he mumbled. “You and Katsdon are disgusting, but the food was good.”

Victor beamed. “I’ll be sure to let Hiroko know you said that! She wouldn’t hear of us hiring a caterer and insisted on cooking the whole feast! I’m so lucky, Yurio. This family is so amazing.”

Yuri stayed silent. He knew enough about Victor’s family to know that things were bad. Victor didn’t talk about them...ever.

But this was just a distraction. Yuri had come out here for a reason. He needed air. He needed quiet. He needed peace. Before the anger bubbling inside of him spewed out and ruined the entire wedding.

(Lilia would never let him hear the end of that, if it happened.)

So he’d run off to this little corner of the hot springs, where he could watch the ocean and wait for Otabek to text him back. The Kazhak had been one of the few skaters unable to make it to the wedding, even though Victor had practically invited the entire ISF.

Instead, now he had Victor babbling away at him about how happy he was and how amazing things were going to be next year and…

Yuri straightened up, hands clutching the rail, face hidden in the shadow of his hair. The question rose to the back of his throat, unbidden before he finally let it out, unable to hold it back any longer.

“How the hell can you do that?” Yuri growled. Victor blinked at him, confused.

“How the hell can you give up skating for Katsudon?” Yuri asked, vibrating.

He shouldn't be doing this, not here. He knew better. But he was so mad …

Victor he didn’t care about. Victor should have retired ages ago. But Katsudon…

He’d never get the chance to beat Katsudon fairly now.

He looked up, expecting Victor to be mad, in that vacant, cruel way he often was. Instead, the older skater smiled at him, face cupped in his hands.

“But Yurio, I’m not giving anything up!” he said. “This way, I get to skate and be with Yuuri at the same time. What could be better than that?”

“Winning,” Yuri said. His blunt tone carrying the disgust he felt.

Victor smiled, a quiet, shy smile and looked away, out over the ocean, his chin still propped in one hand. “I can’t stand the thought of winning if it means Yuuri loses,” he said.

Yuri shot him a surprised stare, eyes wide.

Victor laughed softly. “I know, right? Me, Victor Nikiforov, ready to give up winning.” He shook his head, silver strands of hair falling into his face.

“On the podium at World’s, when I got a silver medal for the first time in years, I looked up at Yuuri, and he was so happy. He couldn’t believe it. He’d finally done it.” Victor shrugged. “I could never take that feeling away from him. I can’t stand the thought of winning anymore, not if it means Yuuri loses. It’s too bittersweet.”

Victor’s words didn’t make any sense. Yeah, Yuri wanted his friends to do well. And if he skated poorly, or someone else skated better, they deserved to win that day. That was how this sport worked.

But he’d never want them to win more than he wanted to win for himself. For his family. For Russia.

Yuri shook his head. “I don’t understand you.”

Victor stood up, patting him on the shoulder. “You will when you find your soulmate.”

Yuri snorted. “Yeah right. I hope I never get a soulmate. How can you be so happy being tied to someone like that? When they can hurt you so badly?” Yuri swung his arms wide. “Katsudon literally forgot you and you were miserable and you made all of us miserable too.”

He glowered at Victor, a deep scowl on his face. “Why would I ever want that ?” he spat.

Victor grinned, holding up a finger. “Ah, yes. But my Yuuri fell in love with me due to my natural charm!” Victor tilted his head to one side, that obnoxious happy dimple appearing. Yuri wanted to scream.

“He told me he’d pick me, even over his own soulmate.” Victor sighed dreamily as he gazed off into the distance, remembering.

Yuri gagged. “He still hurt you,” he pointed out. That trumped everything, in his mind. People who cared about you weren’t supposed to hurt you. The only ones who’d never hurt him were Grandpa and Otabek. And he wasn’t soulmates with either of them.

“Why do you hate soulmates so much, Yurio? Did something happen?” Victor asked, side-eyeing him. Slipping from lovey-dovey-I’m-talking-about-my-Katsudon to calculated insight in a heartbeat.

Yuri stiffened. How had Victor guessed? He’d never told anyone about his mother. Even Yakov didn’t know the details, only that things had been bad at home and that was it.

“Have you got your mark yet?” Victor asked.

Yuri shook his head vigorously. “No. And I’m glad I don’t,” he added forcefully.

“Not even if it was someone like Otabek?”

Yuri gaped. Where the hell was Victor getting this shit? Did he have an Xray into Yuri’s mind?

Yes he liked Otabek. Otabek was his friend. But Otabek wasn’t his soulmate and he wasn’t Otabek’s and that wasn’t going to change. He stuck his nose up, sending Victor his most intimidating, imperious glare.

“Not even then. Soulmates are stupid.”

“Besides,” he added, “look what Katsudon did to you!”

Victor smiled a little, secret smile, eyes distant as he gazed over the city and out across the ocean. “Yes, look what Yuuri did to me. He gave me back my inspiration. And he showed me what life and love mean.”

Yuri rolled his eyes.

“Whatever,” he muttered, turning his back to Victor and pointedly ignoring him. Victor laughed and clapped Yuri on shoulder.

Yuri listened as Victor’s footsteps faded down the hall, only relaxing when he couldn’t hear them any more. He wasn’t okay with this. He wasn’t okay with what was happening.

But maybe he was a little bit less angry about it.

He jumped when his phone buzzed.

Otabek had texted him back, his response to Yuri’s complaint a series of cat gifs. Yuri couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. Some of the anger fading as he hid away from the reception and texted his best friend.

Chapter Text

Yuri’s summer consisted of three things:

1. Figuring out his routines for next year.
2. Visiting his grandfather in Moscow.
3. Skyping with Otabek.

He’d never had a friend to do that with before. It was kinda...nice. They texted every day, but it wasn’t the same as talking over Skype.

With Skype Yuri could almost pretend they were in the same room and that his best friend didn’t live four thousand kilometers away.

Pretend that there wasn’t the faintest little frown creasing Otabek’s forehead, even when he laughed.

Something was clearly on his mind. Yuri scowled and shoved another spoonful of cereal of into his mouth, bowl balanced precariously on a pillow sitting on top of his lap.

Otabek’s face lit up, hands moving as he talked about his little sister’s birthday, eyes sparkling. (He loved his sisters so much Yuri was almost jealous of them. Almost .) And that goddamn crease was still there. That little fold in his forehead, those faint shadows around the edges of his eyes.

“Spit it out, Beka,” Yuri finally snapped.

Otabek blinked, stopping mid sentence, stunned. A creeping sense that he’d hurt his friend crawled up the back of Yuri’s throat and he scowled harder.

“What’s bothering you?” he demanded, spoon clinking into the empty bowl.

Beka sighed, a little wistful, his mouth doing something weird where it turned up on one side and down on the other. Like he was happy and sad at the same time. That only pissed Yuri off even more.

Just feel one thing and tell him about it already!

“It’s nothing, Yuri.”

“Bullshit. I’m your friend. I can tell when something’s wrong with you. Now just tell me already.” Yuri tossed the empty bowl aside, fists gripping the pillow out of view of the camera.

Beka was silent for a moment, quiet and thoughtful. Yuri almost thought he wasn’t going to say anything until he shrugged a shoulder, refusing to meet Yuri’s eyes.

“I’m having some trouble with my program for next season. It’s not a big deal, Yura,” he said.

The glare Yuri shot him was sharp enough to shatter his computer screen.

He grabbed the pillow in his lap and hugged it to his chest, green eyes burning into Otabek’s as his chest constricted.

“Not a big deal?” Yuri echoed, voice wavering, and quiet. Just on that edge of explosive anger.

Did that mean Otabek didn’t want to tell him? They were best friends! Best friends told each other this kind of stuff! He clutched the pillow so hard its seams creaked.

He was a skater . He could help .

Otabek, at least, had the grace to look shamefaced. “I didn’t want to bother you with it,” he said, running a hand through his hair, black script on his forearm visible if Yuri cared to read it.

Right now, he was too angry to.

“I thought that’s what friends did,” Yuri spat. “Told each other their problems. Asked each other for help.”

He looked down, tucking his chin into the pillow, a sick, twisting feeling in his stomach. Eyes burning with something much, much sadder than anger.

“You helped me with Welcome to the Madness. Why can’t I help you with your routine?” The words slipped from Yuri’s lips unbidden, sad and small and quiet. There was no hesitation, though. No fear, no judgement. This was Otabek.

He could say anything and he was pretty sure Otabek would still talk to him.

Otabek nodded, solemn. Some of the light left his face, but the shadows were gone. That little crease had disappeared.

It hurt. It hurt in ways Yuri couldn’t describe, something tightening in his chest even as it ached and throbbed and made him want to scream with rage.

They were friends.

Friends helped each other with this shit.

“You’re right,” Otabek said. Yuri looked up, caught himself in those warm brown eyes, drowning a little in the soft happiness in them.

“I can’t figure out a theme,” he admitted, looking away. “And I’m having trouble landing my quad loop.”

The muscles in Yuri’s shoulders relaxed, the tension letting go. Skating he could deal with. Skating he knew.

“What’s the problem with the loop?” he asked, skipping over theme for now. Technical was easy to fix. He’d taught Katsudon how to do a quad Salchow, hadn’t he?

“Here,” Otabek started sharing his screen and showed Yuri a few practice videos. “I either over-rotate and land it, or I stumble the landing.”

Yuri nodded, watching the footage intently. Watching how Otabek shifted his weight through the approach, the take off, his footing on the landing. Commanding Otabek to slow down and replay certain clips, rewinding and rewatching, over and over until…

“There!” Yuri pointed at the screen, before realizing Otabek probably couldn’t tell where he was pointing. “Right there, in your take off,” Yuri said, proceeding to detail everything Otabek was doing wrong and exactly how he could fix it.

Otabek, instead of getting annoyed the way Mila would, or shrinking like Katsudon used to, just nodded and started taking notes, serious and intent.

It was cool, Yuri thought, to actually be taken seriously for once. Most people either rolled their eyes because he was only sixteen, or ignored him because he was the “the Russian Punk.”

After about five minutes of explaining to Otabek exactly how to fix his take off Yuri stopped, out of breath and a little winded. He’d never had to give this kind of advice before. He kind of liked it.  

Otabek nodded, the sound of typing stilled as he finished his notes.

“Anything else?” he asked, a wry curve to his lips, but he didn’t seem put out or displeased.

Yuri shook his head, brushing back the hair that fell in his face.

“Thanks,” Otabek said, leaning back and stretching.

For the second time that night, Yuri caught a glimpse of the words on Otabek’s forearm. For a moment, he remembered his own were painfully bare, creamy skin still blank -- an oddity at his age. One he was glad of. Usually.

A twinge of something regretful, and maybe a bit sad started to surface, then he read the words on Otabek’s arm and the rage surged back to the surface.

“What the hell, Beka!” Yuri demanded, surging forward.

“What?” Otabek asked.

“Your mark.” Yuri gestured towards Otabek’s forearm, hands jerky with inarticulate rage.

Otabek’s face shuttered closed. “What about it?” he asked, lowering his arms, hiding his forearm from sight. The words disappearing with it as Otabek’s entire body language changed, becoming cold and shutting Yuri out.

Yuri blinked, stunned. Otabek had never done that before. Maybe he’d hit a nerve? Probably, since his soulmate was a complete jerk.

Yuri scowled at the Kazhak. He’d very clearly seen the words -- all of the words -- imprinted on Otabek’s arm.

“Is your soulmate seriously going to call you an asshole?” he asked.

------

Stay calm, Bek. Stay calm. He thought, exhaling slowly. Holding himself still, not letting himself relax visibly when Yuri didn’t recognize the words.

You already did, he wanted to say, but the words caught at the back of his throat. He couldn’t force them out, knowing that they would probably -- almost certainly -- ruin this friendship.

Yuri scowled at him, green eyes impatient, demanding an answer.

“He already did.”

How he managed to keep his face straight Otabek didn’t know. Yuri’s eyes flew open and he leaned forward, pillow tossed aside to lean into his computer.

“You have a soulmate and you didn’t tell me?” Yuri demanded.

Oh, that hurt. That hurt a lot. It climbed up from his solar plexus, hung off his diaphragm for a moment, and curled around his heart. A coil he could feel with every beat of his heart. The bond, his feelings for Yuri a cage.

It would be the end of them if he said anything now. He knew it in the same way he knew that Yuri was his soulmate. The sensations flowing into him from the bond only confirmation of what he already knew.

He couldn't say anything.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Otabek looked away, unable to match those eyes for long. “It’s unrequited Yura, it doesn’t matter.” He bit out the words, harsher and angrier than he’d intended. Harsher than he had any right to be.

It wasn’t Yuri’s fault that Otabek wasn’t his soulmate.

“My mom had an unrequited bond.”

Of all the responses Otabek had expected from Yuri Plisetsky, it certainly wasn’t that.

He glanced back over, slow and tentative. On the monitor, Yuri’s face had softened. Something resembling compassion -- maybe empathy? -- etched on the young Russian’s features.

The words echoed in the space between them, traveling from Moscow to Almaty in a heartbeat. Soft, and vulnerable.

They carried so much more than just Yuri’s past.

They were an apology. An unspoken acknowledgement of what he was going through. Of how much it sucked.

Yuri jerked a shoulder, clearly uncomfortable with the silence stretching between them. He avoided Otabek’s eyes, fiddling with something off screen.

Otabek nodded. He understood.

Yuri might not have been able to say it, but Otabek could feel the wordless feeling that traveled down the bond. Some kind of remembrance of pain and longing and hurt and deep sadness and not wanting that for anyone else.

“Your soulmate is an asshole,” Yuri muttered, finally, looking offscreen at something, one hand outstretched. Petting Potya, probably.

He couldn’t help it -- Otabek laughed.

“Yeah, he is,” he said.

“Use it.” Yuri said, glancing at Otabek from the corner of his eye. “It’s new right? This season?”

Otabek nodded, not sure where Yuri was going with this. The only thing that kept him from wondering if Yuri was pretending not to know was the bond. He would have been able to feel it if Yuri knew. That wasn’t the sort of reaction you could hide.

Not from a soulmate, at least.

“So use it then. Use the bond as your theme. Just skate what you feel.” Yuri jerked a shoulder uncomfortably. “That’s what Victor does,” he added, quick, almost defensive. Like he didn’t want to seem soft. “It’s worked for him.”

Otabek smiled. “Yeah, that, that helps. Thank you, Yura,” he said.

“Yeah. No problem.” Yuri said.

They changed the subject, going back to talking about Otabek’s sister and Potya’s last trip to the vet. But all the tension that had left Otabek now seemed to simmer inside Yuri.

-----

Otabek’s soulmate was an asshole.

Yuri seethed, flopping back on his head. Bad enough he called Otabek -- Otabek! One of the best skaters and the coolest person Yuri knew -- an asshole, but to also be unrequited? Yuri shook his head, burying one hand in Potya’s fur when she meowed at him.  

Scratching through her fur absently for a few moments, Yuri seethed. How dare Otabek’s soulmate not return the bond!

(Yuri ignored the fact that people didn’t choose their bonds, preferring to blame Otabek’s soulmate, the way he often blamed his father for...well, everything.)

Whatever. Otabek was probably better off, Yuri thought, sitting up. His asshole soulmate was probably someone who thought music wasn’t cool or would have wanted Otabek to continue with ballet.

Yuri flipped his hair out of his face and headed into the kitchen.

His grandfather was making pirozhki.

Padding up beside him, silently, Yuri checked the bowl of dough on the counter. Seeing it risen, he threw down some flour and started to knead.

Nikolai chuckled. “Did that Otabek say something to make you angry, Yuratchka?” he asked, voice raspy and rough.

Yuri shook his head, fists pounding into the dough.

He wished he knew who Otabek’s soulmate was. He’d imagine his fists plowing into their face.

“No,” he grumbled, kneading the lump that would become pirzohki over and over.

“Then what is wrong? You only knead when you are angry.”

Yuri stopped, stilled. Crap . What did he tell his grandfather now?

He snuck a glance over at the older man, eye catching the words printed on his grandfather’s wrist. Not an unrequited bond, but one that died too early.

Yuri took his time, slowing his kneading. Considering his words carefully. Otabek’s bond wasn’t his to tell his grandfather about, but he couldn’t just stay silent…

“Grandpa, what do you do when someone…” Nikolai looked over at Yuri, and Yuri looked away, uncomfortable. Searching for words, voice soft, all the hard angry edges lurking underneath so his grandfather couldn’t hear. (He thought).

“When you find out your friend’s soulmate is...not good for them. What do you do?”

Nikolai let out a heavy sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Good for them or not is not for you to decide, Yuratchka--”

“He called Otabek an asshole!” Yuri snapped, heading off the imminent lecture. Hands waving bits of dough into the air.

“He’d probably want Otabek to do ballet or something.” Yuri muttered the second part, jerking a shoulder in something that was half a shrug when his grandfather raised and eyebrow. “It’s a skating thing,” he explained, plopping the kneaded dough back into the bowl.

“What has you so convinced that Otabek’s soulmate is such a bad fit for him?” Nikolai asked, chopping up strips of breaded pork cutlet. “Have they hit Otabek, or hurt him in some way?”

Yuri shook his head. He didn’t want to say it. Unrequited bonds were a touchy subject in their family. Every time he asked his grandfather about his mother’s bond, Nikolai’s face went steely and hard, and he simply declared that it wasn’t something for Yuri to worry about.

Yuri had stopped asking about it years ago.

“He called Otabek an asshole, and he’s done nothing but make him miserable,” Yuri said, editing the truth slightly.

Nikolai sighed, grabbing the kneaded dough away from Yuri and starting to roll it out.

“It’s not for you to decide other people’s relationships, Yuratchka,” Nikolai said, his tone exasperated and fond, but final.

Yuri started, dropping the bowl in his hands. It clattered on the countertop, loud against the melamine.

“I’m not!” he protested, loud and angry. A surge of rage moving through him. “Otabek’s my best friend, he deserves better than some dickhead who calls him an asshole and leaves him with an unrequited bond!”

He didn’t realize he was shouting, until Nikolai turned to look at him, dark eyes grave.

“Yuratchka, I think it’s time we had a talk,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel before pointing over to the small table, set against the only empty wall in the cramped kitchen.

“I don’t want to,” he muttered, sullenly. He hadn’t meant to spill Otabek’s secret like that. Unrequited soulbonds weren’t that rare, or something to be ashamed of. They just…

They were embarrassing.

Yuri knew why Otabek had kept it to himself and now…

Now he was lowering himself into one of the old, worn wooden chairs as his grandfather made him a cup of hot chocolate, the way they always did when a talk was near.

The same way they’d done when he’d asked to move to St. Petersburg to train.

The same way they’d done when Nikolai had told Yuri that his mother wasn’t coming back.

He sat in silence, watching his grandfather make pirzohki until the kettle started to whistle. Hot water poured into two mugs, stirred, and set in front of him. His grandfather slid the tray of pirzohki into the oven before moving on.

He took a seat in front of Yuri with a sigh.

Yuri stared at the table top, deliberately not making eye contact.

“Yuratchka, I think it’s time we talk about--”

“No.”

“I should have--”

“You never wanted to talk about her before.” Yuri clenched his fists on the top of the table, shaking with rage. Icy-hot prickles racing up his back, down his arms, engulfing his entire body from the inside out.

That strange, fuzzy numbness threatening to overtake him again as he fought it. Clenching his fingers into the wooden arms of the chair.

Nikolai looked at his grandson, the edges of his mouth weighed down with sorrow. One hand stroked his beard for a moment as he looked beyond Yuri, searching for the right words.

“Every soulmate’s bond is different,” he said, looking down at the words on his arm. Remembering a voice, high and clear as a bell, with bright green eyes and white-blond hair.

“Even when it appears to be the same,” Yuri refused to meet his grandfather’s gaze, eyes moving away from him deliberately, “It’s not.”

Yuri jerked a shoulder. “I know that.”

Nikolai gazed at his grandson, eyes shrewd. Do you ? He wondered. His grandson hated the notion of soulmates. Which wasn’t surprising, given what had happened when he was a child, but the young man in front of him was angry, stubborn, and refused to even talk about soulmates.

The fact that his arms were still bare, void of his own marks, was worrisome.

Yuri was an incredible person. It would take someone very strong to be with him. But with the right person…Nikolai could imagine his grandson’s rough edges smoothing out. The soft-heated, happy boy only he saw finally visible to someone else, brought out into the world.

The right person would see that.

Yuri needed someone to see that, Nikolai thought.

“Every soulmate pair is different, Yuratchka,” he said. “What happened to your mother was…”

“I don’t care.”

“Tragic.” Nikolai plowed ahead. Yuri looked like he wasn’t listening, but Nikolai knew he was. He could tell by the way Yuri’s eyes flicked back over to him for a split second, by how the skin around the edges of Yuri’s eyes pulled from one side to another.

“But it was rare. Uncommon. Most unrequited bonds end up as friends. They stay a part of each other’s lives. Just because they’re not soulmates doesn’t mean there can’t be something important and special there.”

Why did those words make Yuri even angrier? The thought of Otabek laughing and smiling with the bastard who had dared to call him an asshole…

(Even though he could be, Yuri would admit. Under duress. Otabek could be moody and snappy and yeah, a bit of an asshole, but only Yuri got to call him that. This other person hadn’t even known Otabek when he called him that!)

Yuri glowered at his grandfather. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he snapped.

“Your mother’s soulbond was a freak accident, Yuratchka,” Nikolai said. A spike of ice drove through Yuri’s heart.

“A fluke of nature. That’s not what soulbonds are.” His right thumb traced the characters on his right arm. “That’s not what they’re supposed to be. And I’m sorry that both of them hurt you.”

Yuri looked at his grandfather, eyes wide and scared. The dark panic inside him, the one he coated with anger, steadily rising as his grandfather’s eyes seemed to drill into his soul.

“Promise I won’t end up like her?” Yuri asked, eyes tracing the wood grain in the table. If he looked at anything else right now, he’d break.

HIs grandfather’s hand wrapped around his. Warm and rough and comforting. The same as when he’d been a child.

“I promise, Yuratchka. I promise.”

Yuri nodded and leaned forward, hugging his grandfather from across the narrow table.

Spasibo, he thought as something inside him, a fragile tightness buried deep under the panic, cracked just a little.

Spasibo.

Chapter Text

This. Season. Sucked.

Majorly.

And they hadn’t even announced the roster for the Grand Prix Final yet.

Yuri punched the ice, knuckles stinging. A frustrated scream vibrating at the back of his throat. Instead, he plastered something that (he hoped) passed for a smile across his face and stood up, waving to the crowd at the Trophee de France.

Cheers from the crowd met him as he moved. Even when he skated poorly, the fans loved him.

With that routine he’d be lucky to even medal.

Hell, he’d lost to JJ after the first fall.

Fucking Minami would probably beat him. The chicken nugget had actually qualified for the Grand Prix series this year, and had one event left after this one. Plenty of time to make up ground or hold a lead when Yuri...

Yuri had bombed at Skate America, coming in fifth. (The only way that could have been worse was if it was JJ atop the podium -- not Leo.)

He’d be lucky if he even got fourth today, he thought, giving the ice a half hearted kick as he stepped off of it, face like a thundercloud.

The ice wasn’t who he was mad at, though. The ice hadn’t betrayed him.

His body had.

The growth spurt that had started at World’s last season had continued throughout the summer. He’d largely ignored it while staying with his grandfather, preferring to pretend it wasn’t happening when he stepped on the ice with Yakov or into Lilia’s ballet studio.

He trained just as hard, until his joints ached and his muscles cramped, panting and covered in sweat. Unable to tell where the training pain ended and the growing pains began.

He’d shot up four inches since last year. Four. Inches.

Everything was off. His balance, his timing.

He accepted a towel and a water bottle in the kiss and cry, wiping his face. Ready, for a moment, to scream into the terrycloth.

Except people could hear him and he’d never hear the end of it from Lilia if he did that in public. He’d wait until he was back in the hotel room. Alone. Where he could rage and scream and cry and be an unholy mess--

“Yurio!”

Oh dear god.

Shoot him now.

Victor and Yuuri had -- miraculously -- also pulled the Trophee de France for their first year in the pairs division. Which meant they had plenty of time to watch him before their skate tomorrow.

Yuri’s face morphed into a scowl, hiding his internal flinch.

Those two were the last thing he needed.

“What the fu--”

“Language,” Yakov growled at him, acutely aware of the fact that they were on camera at the moment, waiting for Yuri’s score to be announced. Hoping against hope that it wasn’t going to be that bad.

The sound that issued from the back of Yuri’s throat was a strangled growl, like his vocal chords didn’t quite know which angry, frustrated sound to make, so they made them all. At the same time.

It was a lot like his body right now. Limbs too long, center of gravity off and continually shifting. The added muscle mass he was starting to put on was useful, but mostly just a hindrance.

For some reason, competition made it worse, Yuri thought, ignoring Victor’s pointless chattering to stare at the ice. Seeing the patterns cut into it by his skates, and those of everyone who had skated before him as the arena staff cleared the pile of cat plushies off of the ice.

He could get most of it in practice. Running his routines cleanly, no matter how much it hurt. He wobbled most of the time, though. And his grace was gone. He could do the movements, but the smaller nuances, the refined skill, the little flair he’d put into everything before, was just ...gone.

He could skate, but he couldn’t perform. Never before had Yuri appreciated the difference between the two of them.

Never before had he realized there was a difference between the two of them.

As much as he hated to admit it, maybe Victor was smarter than Yuri had given him credit for.

At least his fans still loved him.

Hopefully his score wasn’t--

It was.

83.46.

Ugh.

Yuri didn’t even bother waving. He just stood up and walked out.

Do they have personal worsts? he wondered darkly, making his way back to the locker room. Ignoring Yakov and Lilia as they called out behind him.

He’d skated poorly, he knew that. But a short program score like that was a slap in the face when he’d set a world record last year.

The locker door slammed closed, rattling loudly in the empty room. Rummaging in his bag, Yuri pulled out his phone.

He ignored the notifications from Instagram and Twitter, the missed calls and good luck texts from his rinkmates back home. He only wanted to see if…

Nope, no new texts from Otabek.

Why did that only make Yuri feel madder? He slouched against the bank of metal lockers, anger covering up a hole in his chest comprised of all sorts of emotions he didn't want to acknowledge or name.

Ignoring the void Otabek’s lack of message left inside him, he focused on the metal, cold and hard against his back. So different from the ice when he'd fallen. These were cold and unforgiving, red paint a garish, hilarious cover. Ice, as hard as it was, was still water. Was still, somehow, soft when you landed on it compared to metal. Like when you hit it, it remembered, for a split second, it was water, and it shivered a little just as you landed, before solidifying again.

Thumb tapping his phone screen on a reflex, Yuri started scrolling through Instagram, well aware that he’d have to face the music eventually.

Except there was a new message in his DMs.

“Davai.”

One small word that, somehow, drained all the tension from his shoulders.

So Otabek had been thinking about him.

Had he been watching? Yuri wondered as he opened up his contacts, biting his lip. Finger hovering over the call button beside Otabek’s name.

He was probably still awake. Despite the time difference in Almaty, Otabek liked to watch the competitions. They all did.

And Yuri had only gone third.

His finger punched the button before he was aware of it, only realizing what he’d done when his phone started ringing and Otabek’s voice came through the speaker.

“Yura?”

Hastily, Yuri moved the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Yuri stood in silence for a moment, not speaking, just breathing, leaning into the lockers, shoulders back and resting against the metal.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

“For what?” Otabek’s voice was soft, genuinely puzzled.

“I’m not going to make the final,” Yuri said. “That was our only chance to hang out before World’s. And the way things are going, I probably won’t make that either.” His voice cracked at the end, a tremulous quiver that betrayed the sadness and hurt underneath the anger.

“Is the great Yuri Plisetsky giving up?” There was something in Otabek’s voice, an incredulous tone that both warmed Yuri’s cold, dead heart, and made him madder at the same time.

“I can’t fucking skate, Beka!” he bit out, fierce. Savage. The rage and anger hinting at an unnameable grief.

Otabek snorted and Yuri clenched his fist, nails digging into his palm. The small bite of pain enough to keep him exploding...for now.

“Yura, you’re still one of the best skaters in the world. I couldn’t even rank in Juniors during my growth spurt.”

Yuri sucked in a breath, sharp and uncertain. He hadn’t known that. His elbow bumped against the locker, rattling the metal. The echo was loud in the silence around him.

“And here you are, competing,” Otabek continued, voice softening, words laced with admiration and something softer, something Yuri almost didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Sometimes I think I can feel my skin stretching,” Yuri confessed, anger draining out of him, replaced by a quiet kind of warmth. Not a feeling, but rather a thought of warmth. Soft and gentle in his chest. Leaving him...not cold, but just right.

“Everything hurts, all the time. I can’t even land a toe loop cleanly, and this--” Yuri’s voice broke. The crack even louder for the silence around him.

But it was Otabek on the other end of the phone. And that made it okay.

“This was supposed to be my year. Victor and Katsudon are gone. It’s just you and me and fucking JJ and…” the sob rose out of nowhere, coming from some place deep inside. A place smothered by anger, one Yuri hadn’t even known existed.

Otabek waited, the patient silence comforting. Soothing. If it weren’t for the phone in his hand, Yuri would have sworn his best friend was standing there beside him. He could feel Otabek’s presence, silent and solid and reassuring. No judgement.

“What if they forget me?” Yuri gasped out, the words ripped from the deepest part of himself. A fear he’d never acknowledged, never voiced before, emerging now in a French locker room, the site of his greatest career failure to date.

Otabek’s laugh was soft and gentle. Yuri’s hackles wanted to raise, purely on instinct. Purely on reflex. Except…

There was nothing in that laugh that could be taken as vicious or mocking. And then Otabek was speaking before Yuri could process what, exactly it was that that laugh contained.

“You’re already unforgettable, Yura.”

Yuri’s jaw dropped. What? A confused, half-strangled sound escaped his throat, conveying all of his bewilderment.

They weren’t Skyping, this wasn’t a video call, but for a split second Yuri swore he could hear Otabek shrug.

“I couldn’t forget you when you were 10 years old,” he explained. “I’m sure the skating world won’t forget you that easily. Not once you get through this.”

Tension slipped out of Yuri again. (When had it crept back in? Or had it just always been there?)

“Beka,” he said after a moment. “Thanks.”

Yuri could hear the grin on the other side of his phone, could picture the way Otabek’s mouth turned up at the one corner. “Anytime.”

“Just, one last thing.”

“Name it.”

“Fucking kick JJ’s ass for me in the final.”

Otabek burst out laughing. “I promise.”

“Giving up already, kitten?” a voice asked as Yuri disconnected the call, clearly listening in on Yuri’s private conversation.

Yuri glared at JJ in the locker room doorway. “When did you get here?” he asked ignoring the Canadian’s questions.

JJ shrugged, rolling out his shoulder. “Long enough.”

Ice ran down Yuri’s spine and he glared at the Canadian. Had JJ heard him and Beka? That had been a private moment. One that Yuri was still feeling raw from.

“You know,” JJ said, moving over to his locker and pulling out his bag. “I went through a hell of a growth spurt in Juniors,” he said as he sat down on the bench and started changing out of his costume.

Yuri blinked. That had been the last thing he’d expected to hear.

“What?”

JJ nodded, gulping water from his water bottle. The obnoxious maple leaf on the side winking at him. Bastard had gone second. And he hadn’t stormed off the way Yuri had.

“Yeah. I was fourteen. I shot up some but it was the balance issues that got to me,” he tilted his head, looking at Yuri. “You probably were still in Novice at that point. But I couldn’t land anything cleanly for like, a year.”

Yuri’s jaw dropped. His knees felt weak and wobbly, like they wanted to give out on him. (Granted they had ached throughout his entire routine, and then had been doing most of the work of holding him up against this locker for the past twenty minutes…)

“I know it’s frustrating,” JJ said, unlacing his skates. “But try not to let it get you down, eh?”

The cocky grin was back, and Yuri glowered at the arrogance in JJ’s tone.

“You’re a great skater, Yuri. I look forward to the day you’re at full strength again.” JJ winked, shooting Yuri a finger gun as he left the room.

What.

The.

Actual.

Fuck.

Yuri gaped at the door. Had JJ just complimented him? While also being not completely insufferable?

Yuri shook his head. Today just kept getting worse. Next thing he’d wake up in the hospital. (Though a concussion might explain that weird shit with JJ.)

Even though Yuri knew it was real. Could feel the sweat on the palms of his hands, the edges of his phone digging into his palm, the door of the locker pressing against his back.

It was as real as the ache that still lingered along his bones. A phantom ghost that screamed of despair, and that his time was up, even as everyone around him -- including fucking JJ -- told him otherwise.

Yuri just didn’t know who to believe.

Chapter Text

“Ugh, this sucks that I’m not there with you,” Yuri said, watching Otabek pace around his hotel room.

Skype was a beautiful thing, but it couldn’t take the place of hanging out in person. In Barcelona.

Where Yuri was supposed to be.

Where he would have been if his goddam body had cooperated .

He could still recover in time for the European Championships. And there were months before Worlds for him to get in shape. But the Grand Prix Final was his event. He’d made his mark there last year and he should have been there to continue his legacy, taking home gold again.

Instead, he was sitting in his bedroom in St. Petersburg, watching his best friend stretch out and pace around his Barcelona hotel room as he prepared for the Grand Prix Final the next morning.

“Yeah, it does,” Otabek said, “but there will be other competitions. I’ll definitely see you at Worlds.”

Yuri rolled his eyes and slouched back in his chair. “It’s not the same,” he whined. “We could be hanging out now. Except I screwed it up.”

He glowered at a point just off to the side of his screen, staring at the far corner of his mattress. As though his bed was responsible for all of this, or could have stopped it.

“There will be other competitions,” Otabek said. Calm. Patient. Like he just accepted the space between them.

It pissed Yuri off.

“But I want to be there now!” Yuri could hide behind the impatience and the anger. It masked the doubt and the fear and the whispering voice that said what if there aren’t any more? What if that was your only Grand Prix Final and it’s all over for you now? What if you’re done and they all forget you?

He shook his head, banishing the voice. “We haven’t hung out in almost a year.”

Yuri blinked. Holy shit. It had been a year since the Grand Prix Final. Since he won gold. Since that night on the beach when they created Welcome to the Madness.

(It was still Yuri’s favourite routine.)

Otabek’s laugh was rich and warm. “Fine then, how about we hang out over the summer?” he asked, tilting his head to one side, dark hair skimming over his forehead, not quite long enough to cover his eyes.

Yuri blinked, staring at his friend. The invitation not quite sinking in.

“You can come visit me in Almaty,” Otabek said. “I’ll show you around, introduce you to my family. If you’re lucky I might even have another gig lined up.”

“Yes! Of course!” Yuri punched the air, irritation morphing into excitement in a heartbeat, except…

“Yakov,” Yuri said, slumping back. Arms crossed over his chest as his joy turned into a glower.

Otabek raised an eyebrow. The verbal “huh?” no longer needed. Yuri had seen that expression enough to know what his friend was thinking.

“Summers are for training.” Yuri lowered his voice, attempting to mimic Yakov’s deep, intimidating rasp.

Otabek laughed.  

“There’s more to life than skating, Yura.” Why did Otabek’s voice do funny things to his stomach? Yuri wondered. It slid inside him, silky and smooth and beautiful and all of the soft, vulnerable things Yuri didn’t ever want to feel. For anyone. Let alone his best friend.

His best friend, who had an unrequited soulbond to someone who wasn’t Yuri.

He had to remember that. Even if he wanted to go there (which he didn’t. Relationships never worked. Soulmates were dumb.), he couldn’t.

“Says the guy who has a second career as a DJ lined up and ready to go when he retires.” It was supposed to be a sarcastic drawl, but it came out tinged with venom and envy. A bitter jealousy that Yuri hadn’t known was there swirling to the top.

He just couldn’t imagine doing anything other than ice skating. The hours on the rink, the days spent at the barre: they had come to define him. They were everything . He couldn’t imagine ever giving that up. Not for anything.

Hell, if he even had a soulmate (because he still wasn’t sure and kinda hoped he wouldn’t get a mark), he’d even give them up if that meant winning.  

Beka’s sharp gasp chilled Yuri’s blood, eyes zipping up to meet Beka’s. Soft brown eyes wide and cold with shock.

Oh. Shit.

Had he said that out loud?

Blood drained from Yuri’s face, leaving his skin as pale as St. Petersburg snow outside his window.

“Shit. Beka, I didn’t mean--”

“You didn’t mean it like that?” Sarcastic venom was Yuri’s thing, not Otabek’s. But apparently Otabek could do it very well when he chose to.

Yuri’s eyes narrowed. What the hell? Otabek was supposed to be his friend. He’d made his views about soulbonds clear. Why wasn’t he backing Yuri up? He could at least get where Yuri was coming from on this.

He knew Yuri thought his soulmate was an asshole.

“No, I did mean it like that,” Yuri declared, defiant. The air around him hardening as he stared Otabek down. “I don’t have a soulmark and I hope I never get one. I’ve seen it, over and over again. Every adult I know is miserable because of their soulmate.”

He left out the part about Victor and Yuuri finally being happy together. Those bastards were in Barcelona right now, celebrating their “anniversary”. But they’d made each other miserable in the beginning and that’s what counted.

“Every adult you know,” Otabek shot back, face dark and intense and extremely hard for Yuri to read. “You don’t know everyone. Just because you haven’t had good role models is no reason to--”

“Soulmates bring nothing but unhappiness, Beka. I figured you of all people would know that.” Yuri snapped at him, ending the call before Otabek could retort. The last flash of his friend’s face, shocked and hurt and tinged with something even deeper than sadness flickered across the screen before it went black.

Yuri logged out of Skype, pissed that he couldn’t stab the button on his computer like he could on his phone. It may be a touchscreen, but at least it gave him some outlet for the anger bubbling inside of him.

He curled up in a ball, pulling his blankets up over him, trying, desperately to shut his mind off and slow his heart rate, bringing his blood down from a boil back to a simmer. He didn’t want to run this late at night, and Lilia had locked up the ballet studio for the day.

He might break in anyway.

After that conversation all he wanted was oblivion.

---

Soulmates bring nothing but unhappiness.

There was something fierce and dark in Otabek’s performance this time. Something violent and a tad...vengeful.

He’d always been an intense skater. Dedicated. Complete commitment to and confidence in a routine was his hallmark. It had won him bronze at Worlds twice in a row now. And it was going to keep him at the top of this year’s Grand Prix Final.

But this time…

This intensity…

It was more.

The audience could feel it as his blades sliced into the ice, movements crisp and clean, and somehow still ragged around the edges.

Soulmates bring nothing but unhappiness .

If only Yuri fucking knew.

He landed another quad, absorbing the shock through his leg, reverberating through his thigh, knee loose and open.

This routine was called “Meeting Rejection.” Let the judges think it was about previous losses, failed competitions, all the times when he’d lost.

It was about that moment in the hotel lobby last year. The moment Yuri Plisetsky had called him an asshole and changed his life forever. He’d thought this routine was about that moment when he’d looked down and saw that Yuri’s forearms were completely bare.

That his soulbond was unrequited.

Except…

Soulmates bring nothing but unhappiness.

Otabek slipped into a spin, mind whirling. Not really here as he skated, but also achingly present. The routine more suited to his mood than ever.

Chasing Greatness -- his free skate -- looked like it was about picking yourself back up after a fall, about that winding, up-and-down path to success.

It was also about Yuri. Chasing Yuri. Waiting for him. The little dance they’d been doing, where Yuri opened up and Otabek held back and the bond vibrated in his chest, a never ending stream of information, showing him just how dynamic Yuri really was, even if his exterior never changed from anger.

All the little nuances that was his budding relationship with his soulmate, skated in a way the rest of the world could understand.

His face was grim as he stepped off the ice. It’s impassivity remarkable on any skater except him. Having a reputation for being stoic was useful, sometimes.

Especially when the blank expression didn’t waver during the rest of the competition, or the medals ceremony. The silver medal around his neck heavy and cumbersome.

Weighed down less by the medal itself than by what it represented. Him and Chulanot and JJ on the podium. Giacometti might have been there if he hadn’t retired. But Yuri should have been there with him. Either above or below, Otabek didn’t care.

Yuri should have been there.

Even if it was just so he could see Otabek’s routines in person. Maybe he’d catch on then, but he doubted it.

He doubted almost everything right now.

Soulmates bring nothing but unhappiness.

“Hey Otabek, you okay?” Leo’s bright, smiling face broke through his reverie.

“I’m fine,” he said, pushing past the other skater. Leo had finished fourth, missing the podium by a handful of points this season, debuting his new quad and keeping up his tradition of extremely high technical and artistic execution.

Leo raised an eyebrow, watching Otabek’s back for a second as the Kazhak retreated down the hall, towards the locker room. Following his gut and dashing forward, he pulled up beside his friend. “You sure? You don’t look too happy, even with...” Leo waved at Otabek’s medal, words not needed.

Otabek sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The worst part about being friends with your former rinkmates was running into them in competition and having them know you well enough to spot when something was wrong.

All Otabek wanted was to be left alone. He’d even turned his phone off last night after calling his parents.

“It’s not skating related, Leo, I’ll be fine.”

He might be cheerful and happy go lucky, but Leo de La Iglesia was no fool.

“Uh huh.” Leo crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. “You sure about that?”

That was the thing.

Otabek hesitated in front of his locker. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t know if he’d be okay. If Yuri’s feelings would ever change. If he’d ever get a soulmark. If there could ever be anything more between them than just friendship. If Yuri would even be open to the soulbond if it ever appeared.

(Because some tiny corner of Otabek’s heart was still holding out hope that Yuri’s mark would show up one day, and it would be his. Split marks were rare, very rare, but not unheard of. So long as Yuri’s arms were bare, they still had a chance.

At least...that’s what hope would have him believe.)

And he was so fucking tired of not being able to tell anyone about it.

Otabek sighed, shoulders slumping. “No.”

He glanced over at Leo before running a hand through his hair. “Not here though. Let’s grab a drink after the banquet.”

Leo smiled. “Deal.”

------

The next morning Otabek woke up with a splitting headache. His mouth tasted like cotton and his stomach was on permanent strike. One foot dangled off his mattress, toes touching the floor. He wondered why until he tried to sit up and the room spun violently, waves of nausea churning his insides. It settled a bit once his toes were back touching the carpet, contact with the floor enough to stop the violent rocking.

Mostly.

What the fuck had he done last night?

After the banquet was a blur of strobe lights and drunken laughter. He remembered staggering down a cobblestone street, singing at the top of his lungs, arm in arm with JJ and Leo, one on each side propping him up. Swaying back and forth as they made their way back to the hotel.  

And was that his head pounding or the door? He groaned, a pitiful, wretched sound which the person at the door evidently took as an invitation to enter.

It was JJ. The Canadian strode in, entirely too chipper for...Otabek tried to turn his head to read the clock beside his bed, but the room moved again and he groaned even louder.

A grin split JJ’s face and Otabek glowered as well as he could. He even felt sweaty and pale, strands of hair sticking to his forehead. No doubt he was a pitiful sight right now instead of an imposing one.

“What do you want?” he croaked.

“Isabella wanted me to check on you. She thought you might need these.” JJ held up coffee and rattled a bottle of aspirin.

Otabek groaned and weakly reached a hand out, not able to lift his head from the pillow. JJ’s soft laugh -- not mean, just amused -- grated across his nerves as he fed Otabek coffee and painkillers, watching his friend gather his strength against the raging hangover and the soft buzzing in his ears.

Except maybe the buzzing wasn’t all just in his head. JJ walked over to the corner of the room where someone had thrown his clothes last night. Had he done that? Maybe it was Leo?

Otabek didn’t know. Like most of the other details, how he made it into his bed was fuzzy.

Rummaging around, JJ eventually fished out what looked like Otabek’s phone. (Had he plugged it in last night? The last thing he remembered was turning it off. Shit, had he even called his parents yet? Please tell him he didn’t drunk dial Yuri last night.)

Something bitter twisted JJ’s mouth as he looked at the screen before handing it over to Otabek.

“Here. You might want to answer some of those.”

Otabek blinked, squinting to bring the screen into focus, dialing down the brightness so that the bright glare didn’t hurt his eyes and make his head pound quite so much.

The lock screen was littered with notifications. Missed calls and voice mails and a dozen different texts, Instagram DMs, and mentions. Some from his parents and some fan messages from his social media accounts. But most of them were from Yuri.

A quick glance though his call history showed he hadn’t drunk dialed or drunk texted anyone

It was surprising. And it also wasn’t.

The sigh that slipped out of his lips was half confused and half despairing.

Soulmate or not, he really didn’t want to deal with this right now. His thumb hovered over the lock screen, ready to put in his passcode and answer, but...

“You know, you don’t have to answer just because he’s your soulmate,” JJ said.

In that moment, Otabek discovered a great hangover remedy: adrenaline. It flashed through him, coursing through his veins, hot and fluid, energizing and relieving all of the alcohol-induced aches.

He sat up, room spinning only slightly.

“What?” he asked, watching JJ warily, eyes somehow both narrowed in suspicion and wide with shock.

JJ shrugged. “You told us last night.”

“Us?”

“Me and Leo,” JJ explained. “You told us in that club after you got wasted on vodka shots.” The Canadian’s wrinkled nose told Otabek all he needed to know about how the night had gone down.

It made sense. He’d been upset, but due to the competition, he’d refrained from drinking. Tamping everything down. Shutting himself down emotionally just to function. Using what he could to fuel his routines.

Last night, he’d sought oblivion, the carnage worse for having repressed it in the first place.

And apparently he’d spilled his guts to both of his former rinkmates. Great.

The last thing he needed was anyone knowing about his situation with Yuri. And now two people did.

He took a another gulp of the coffee before setting it on the nightstand. “Have you told anyone?”

JJ shook his head, dark hair flying around his face. “Just Isabella.”

Otabek grunted. Of course JJ had told his soulmate/fiancee. The two of them were utterly inseparable. Though, truth be told, he probably trusted Bella more than he did JJ.

“Leo hasn’t told anyone either. I checked in with him this morning,” JJ shrugged. “It’s the least we could do.”

“Thanks,” Otabek sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I appreciate it.” He glanced at his phone again, cringing slightly.

He really wasn’t up to dealing with Yuri right now. Hangovers sucked. And this one felt more like the flu than a hangover.

JJ sat down on the end of the bed, leaning forward, hands laced together, elbows resting on his knees.

“Look, Otabek, I know I’m probably a bit out of line here but…”

Otabek raised an eyebrow. While it was true that once you got past the Canadian’s annoyingly large ego and boundless self-confidence, he was a nice guy. He was just also a bit...clueless. Most of the time.

(According to JJ’s parents, Isabella was the best thing to happen to him. Ever.)

“Take it from someone who knows. Requited or not, soulmates aren’t easy.” JJ’s voice was grim, heavy. Far heavier than it should be for someone who (supposedly) had a happy relationship with his soulmate, Otabek thought, trying to focus on what JJ was saying instead of the toe pick hammering at his temple.

Eyes locked on his wrist, tracing the words there, JJ kept speaking. “Remember last year at the Final, when I choked on my short program?”

“And somehow still managed to beat me out for the bronze medal?” Otabek’s voice was tart and acidic. He didn’t blame JJ for that at all. That was solely on the judges.

It still stung though.

And even JJ had been bewildered by it. Happy, but bewildered.  

A small smile, like a sour memory turned sweet with time, crossed JJ’s lips. “Yeah, that one.”

The sigh that left the Canadian skater was heavy, his head bowed. Voice, thankfully, loud enough that Otabek didn’t have to strain to hear. “That was one of the most terrifying moments of my life.

“I wasn’t sure, when I got off that ice, if Bella would still be proud of me. If she’d still want me around.” JJ ran a hand through his hair, strands falling perfectly back into place, reminding Otabek of the snarled rat’s nest on the top of his own head.

“Even though I could feel how much she loved me through the bond, I still wasn’t sure. Yeah, she’s my soulmate and I’d do anything for her. But it’s not always easy. Loving someone that much.” JJ looked up, out the window with a view of Barcelona, roofs gleaming in the morning sun as they peeked through the curtains.

“You’re always thinking about them, wondering what they want. What you can do to make them happy.” JJ smiled over at him. Not his camera friendly competition grin, or his winning smirk. This was something small, a natural curve of his lips. No arrogance or show taking place here. Just a smile full of knowing and tinged with sadness.

“I’m lucky Bella likes to travel, otherwise we’d probably have a few more issues.” He laughed, but it was wry and dry and Otabek’s head throbbed. Noticing his flinch, JJ lowered his voice and kept talking, getting to his point.

“It’s hard to remember you have needs too, when they’re unhappy and you want to fix it. I can only imagine it’s worse when that’s unrequited.”

Otabek looked away. He knew what JJ was saying. He got the point.

Yuri might be his soulmate, and more important to him than anyone else in the entire world, but he had to take care of himself first.

His thumb hovered over the screen for a second. Should he wait? Maybe just until he got to the airport. Maybe until after he landed back in Almaty.

Shaking his head, he swiped his phone open and typed out a brief message letting Yuri know he was fine and heading to the airport before he turned off his phone again.

They could talk when he was feeling better.

Chapter Text

They finally talked after Christmas, when Yuri was done with Russian nationals.

Otabek had liked the selfie of him sporting the bronze medal -- his first of the season -- on Instagram as soon as it went up. But he still waited until the day after to call.

Yuri always took the day off after a competition win. It was his reward from Lilia and Yakov. And frankly, during this season, even a bronze was a win for him.

They’d exchanged texts a few times, liked each other’s photos on Instagram. But they hadn’t really talked -- not about anything of substance -- since the night before the Grand Prix Final.

Part of Otabek missed Yuri so much it ached. Day and night like a rotten tooth that just wouldn’t heal. The bond, at times, felt like it was bleeding. This open, empty thing in the middle of his chest. Not quite a wound but not yet a scar. Time a thin membrane across the opening, too easy to jostle and rip open.

All it took was the mention of Yuri’s name. One of his photos on Instagram. News about his latest competition ranking. (Usually not good.)

He’d been waiting, like JJ said. Lounging around his Almaty apartment in sweats, not texting or talking to Yuri anywhere near as much as he had before...Training and training and training some more. Being with his family as much as he could.

He needed to take care of himself first, and he had. Taking time away, focusing on himself, on the competitions, on his music. Losing himself for hours in new mixes.

But at some point, taking care of himself had morphed into avoiding and running away.

So now it was time to face the music.

His phone rang for an awfully long time before Yuri answered.

“Hey.” The Russian’s voice was soft and quiet. Unexpected, for Yuri. But also not. Just hearing his voice, that single syllable...it felt like coming home.

And Otabek hated himself for it. Hated that Yuri meant so much. That he couldn’t stay away, even when he hurt him.

“Hi.”

He didn’t know what to say, he realized, throat closing up. In the weeks since the Grand Prix Final, he’d done his best to not think about this. About Yuri. About the words that still haunted his sleep and kept him up at night.

Figuring out what he wanted to say? That involved thinking about all of this stuff.

“How are you?”

The small talk would have done it. Would have been enough to piss Otabek off if it hadn’t been for the small quaver in Yuri’s voice. The little hiccup that said he was just as scared, just as nervous as Otabek.

Everything about this felt precarious, he thought, running a hand over his face as he sat down on his sofa. He didn’t want to be standing for this. Just in case.

Otabek grunted in response. Not sure how to deal with being here .

He hated small talk.

And he’d never had to do it with Yuri before. They’d always just...talked. Somehow. Conversation flowing between them as though they were completely in sync.

Or maybe that was just the bond, syncing Otabek onto Yuri’s wavelength.  

“Beka…” Yuri trailed off. Otabek waited for him to begin again. Listening to his soulmate’s breathing in his ear.

Thank god he’d called instead of Skype. He couldn’t bear the thought of looking Yuri in the eye right now. Seeing his face would be just...too much.

“Congratulations on--”

“I’m sorry,” Yuri sighed, cutting Otabek off. “I know I can be….weird when it comes to soulmate stuff. And I probably hurt your feelings. A lot. And your bond is unrequited and your soulmate is an asshole for that--” Yuri kept rambling, diving into words like he was trying to find the right ones to say. Realizing they were wrong as they spilled out of his mouth, losing the point entirely as he backtracked to fix it.

If it wasn’t so amusing Otabek might have cried.

Yuri thought his soulmate was an asshole. Yuri was defending Otabek from his soulmate. From the asshole who dared to have an unrequited bond with him.

The heated wrench in his heart -- soft and loving, but still cruel and violent -- wasn’t a sensation he’d ever get used to.  

“Thanks,” Otabek said, leaning into the cushions of the couch, a genuine smile crossing his face for the first time in almost a month.

“Yura, why do you hate soulmates so much?” It slipped out before Otabek could stop it, ringing in the silence.

------

Yuri’s stream of apologies stopped, cut off abruptly. He could hear Otabek’s smile on the other side of the phone and something inside him shifted. A tightness in his shoulders that he hadn’t been aware of eased off. Noticeable only in its absence.

For the first time in almost a month, Yuri felt like he could breathe.

And then Otabek’s next words punched him in the gut.

“Yura, why do you hate soulmates so much?”

His throat closed and Yuri remembered…

Tears on his cheeks, freezing in the winter air. His mother’s face as she drove away.

A sneer on a cold, haughty face. Eyes as green as his own staring down at him in disdain.

That was the day the anger started. When he’d decided he’d never be hurt again. And that he wouldn’t allow anyone else to ever do that to him again.

“Yuri?” Otabek’s voice brought him back to reality, snapping him out of the flashback. An ache in his bones that had nothing to do with his (hopefully) nearly finished growth spurt. “What’s wrong?”

Why did his voice have to be so soft and kind and caring? Didn’t he know what he was doing? That he’d poked at a wound that would never heal? Ripped the scab off and sliced over it with a rusty skate blade?

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Yuri bit out. Fierce and angry, clipped syllables snapping into the receiver. His fingers were white where he gripped his phone.

“Yuri, did something happen?”

“It’s none of your business, okay?” Yuri shouted, angry tears pricking at his eyes. He got up and started to pace, breathing hard, voice on the verge of cracking.

“You keep insulting my soulmate because of it, so yeah, it kind of is my business.” Otabek’s retort was swift and sure, cutting right through Yuri’s bullshit.

How. Dare . He.

Otabek was the reason they hadn’t talked. Otabek had been the one who ignored him after the Grand Prix. Otabek had been the busy one.

And now he wanted in? He wanted to know what had happened? Like he had a right to know what Yuri had been through?

The rage burned pure and clear. Searing up from his stomach and vibrating along his limbs. His hands shook.

He stood at the window, looking out at St. Petersburg. Eyes not seeing anything.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know your soulmate was so important to you. It’s not like your bond is one sided or anything.”

The words left Yuri’s mouth before he could think twice. His voice a lash of anger that had more to do with that quiet, quivering place inside him that never stopped being afraid than with Otabek.

There was silence on the other end of the phone. A silence so cold, so powerful, Yuri actually stopped talking.

There had been an ice storm in St. Petersburg a couple of years ago. When Yuri had woken up the morning after it stopped, the entire city had been still. Deathly, unearthly quiet. Suffocating under the weight of the ice that encased everything and made it hard to even breathe.

A silence that, under the beauty, whispered of a frozen death. Cold and terrifying.

Otabek’s silence was worse.

After last year’s Grand Prix Final, Yuri had shouted at Otabek, threatening to stop being his friend unless Otabek took him to a club with him.

This silence was Otabek’s version of that. There was a tightening in Yuri’s chest, a panicked knowing that, if he didn’t say something -- right now -- Otabek would never forgive him.

He’d never get his best friend back.

Throat spasming, Yuri tried to speak. Tried to say something -- anything. But nothing would come. It physically hurt to speak and his heart…

His heart may as well have been ripped from his chest when the dial tone sounded in his ear. A fuzzy blankness creeping in around the edges, like he was feeling nothing and everything all at once.

Otabek had hung up on him.

Pulling the phone away from his ear, Yuri stared at it, conflicting urges running through his brain.

Hurl it at the wall and watch the glass shatter.

Toss it aside and go about the rest of his day. Lose the only friend he had, inside or outside of skating.  

Or...his finger hovered over the call button.

He had no idea what to say. Would Otabek even pick up?

The screen dimmed as Yuri stood there, staring at it. Searching for words that wouldn’t come. Something emerging from under the pain and the anger.

Sadness? Regret? Crushing grief?

His throat was so tight he could barely breathe.

A ghost of... something moved in his chest. A feeling he couldn’t name or ignore. A memory he’d tried so hard to forget of... something. It made him mad. Rage boiled through his blood, itching along his skin.

Fiery, but somehow removed.

How long he stood there staring at his phone, paralyzed by a fear that eclipsed the rage, Yuri didn't know.

The afternoon sun moved, shadows lengthening in his living room. Waiting for his phone to ring. For Otabek to call, to reach out and fix this ...again. The way he had before.

Finally, his screen lit up, a text popping through the blackness. Yuri opened it, ready to respond before he realized it wasn’t Otabek.

It was Victor, blabbering on about how Katsudon had found some Japanese ingredient in a shack at the wharf and was going to be making authentic...something Yuri couldn’t pronounce. Or recognize. And he should really join them for dinner.

Teeth gritted in annoyance (and to guard against the pang of disappointment) Yuri grabbed his coat. “Stay here, Potya,” he said to his cat, ignoring the fact that she was curled up on her tree wasn’t moving anywhere.

Victor might be as annoying as fuck but Katsudon…

Katsudon might know how to fix this.

Chapter Text

Yuuri answered the door with a smile, an apron wrapped around his waist. “Come on in, Yurio.”

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered. A reflex now that he only half meant. He scowled and stomped his feet on the mat, looking around for Victor. Except for the in-use kitchen, their apartment could have come directly out of some home decorating magazine.

“Where’s Victor?” he asked, realizing that the apartment was too quiet. No matter how quiet he was being, Victor Nikiforov always seemed to bring noise with him wherever he went.

It was annoying.

“He took Makkachin for a quick walk,” Yuuri said. His smile didn’t waver as he strode back into the kitchen and resumed chopping and cooking. “They should be back soon.”

Yuri scowled and slouched his way over to one of the chairs at the kitchen island. His black mood radiated off of him, but Katsudon seemed completely oblivious to his pouting. That only made Yuri even madder.

He and Victor kept saying they were there for him. That they were friends.

Friends noticed you were upset.

Cradling his cheeks in his hands, elbows propped on the counter, Yuri watched as Katsudon cooked, moving calmly and competently around the kitchen. Preparing what was no doubt some Japanese delicacy whose recipe he’d gotten from his mother.

Just the thought of Hiroko -- and her cooking -- made Yuri’s stomach rumble.

Something simmered on the stove as Katsudon chopped more vegetables, the scent of the spices and ingredients just starting to ripen and fill the kitchen. The stark, beautiful apartment instantly seemed more like a home filled with scents like these.

Thoughts of home and domesticity and everything that came with a partner and a soulmate made Yuri’s scowl deepen.

“Yurio, are you okay?” Katsudon asked as he wiped his hands on a dishtowel. He leaned against the counter, brown eyes watching the younger Russian skater.

Yuuri’s eyes were brown but they were nothing like Otabek’s. Otabek’s were rich and deep, a darker, velvety shade of brown. Like coffee. Yuuri’s were lighter, brighter, honey amber tones glimmering through them. The colour was all wrong.

“I’m fine,” he snapped back. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Yuuri shrugged. “You just seem mad today. Did something happen?” he asked, voice soft and not threatening. Carefully neutral in that way that meant an adult was trying to get you talk to them.

The glare Yuri aimed at Katsudon was sharp enough to leave him bleeding on the floor.

“You just seem...out of sorts,” Yuuri offered, calm and steady but a little nervous. Like he was trying to pretend that Yuri didn’t want him dead on the floor.

It was so different from their first meeting, blubbering in the bathroom. Yuri’s snarls and yelling bringing out only more tears and terror.

He didn’t like this new, confident Katsudon who withstood his glare with ease.

“I’m fine, just hurry up and feed me.”

The entire kitchen held its breath for a second. A flicker of time where everything around him seemed completely unconvinced...and then Katsudon turned around, tending to the pot on the stove and everything moved on as normal.

Yuri glowered at the back of his head.

“I used to respond to everything by getting scared,” Yuuri said after a moment, his back still turned to the grumpy teenager behind him. “It didn’t matter what it was, or if it was my fault or not. I’d get scared.”

He turned back now, and something in his eyes made Yuri sit up, the glower slipping off his face, giving way to a trepidation that made him seem younger and more vulnerable, despite the anger that still coiled along his shoulders, ready to strike at any moment.  

“You don’t get scared. You get angry. And right now, you’re really angry.” Yuuri pulled the pot off the heat and turned off the burner.  Walking around to the other side of the breakfast bar, he pulled out the other chair and sat so that he was facing Yurio.

Yuri shook his head, hiding his gaze behind his hair as much as he could. “It’s nothing. Otabek’s just being stupid.”

“Oh?” Yuuri asked. They sat in silence after that, each one waiting for the other to say something more. But the quiet wasn’t heavy or oppressive. It didn’t feel like it expected anything from him. It wasn’t trying to force words out of him.

It was just there. Quiet and comfortable.

And that scared him even more.

Slowly, trickling out one by one, building in speed, the words came, and Yuri told Katsudon about the fight and how strained his friendship with Otabek had been in the past few months and how he’d apologized and then got mad and fucked everything up again because Otabek’s soulmate was an asshole and he didn’t deserve Otabek and…

Chest heaving, Yuri realized he’d been shouting. Words spilling from his lips fast and furious, angry tears tracking down his cheeks.

The look of sympathy on Katsudon’s face almost shattered him, his reserves of anger burned out. Pyres of rage burnt down after simmering for the last month. Now, there was only the sadness left.

“What happened?” Yuuri asked. Head bowed, Yuri told him about the phone call. How he’d apologized and then…

“Wow, yeah that’s...pretty bad,” Katsudon chuckled awkwardly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. The sound wasn’t a laugh, just that stuttering expulsion of air that came when things were too bad to really be believed.

“What am I going to do?” Yuri asked, slumping forward onto the counter, cheek mashed into the cold granite.

“Why do you hate his soulmate so much?” Yuuri asked, gaze intent on the despairing Russian teenager in front of him, keeping half an eye on supper.

Yuri sat up, narrowing his eyes at the Japanese figure skater he’d been so simultaneously enthralled and frustrated by before he got to know him. “Why do you want to know?”

His guard was back, voice edgy and defensive.

Yuuri shrugged. “Well, I mean, you do need to apologize. It sounds like you hurt Otabek a lot. But it seems like your hatred of his soulmate is the problem. So what happened?”

Yuri hugged his knees to his chest, grateful that he’d retained enough flexibility to fold himself into the bar chair that way. He sighed, blowing his bangs out of his face. He really shouldn’t tell anyone, but…“Don’t tell him I told you, okay?”

Katsudon’s solemn nod took some of the surly edge out of Yuri’s voice. “His bond is unrequited and the first thing his soulmate said to him was to call him an asshole.”

“Wow,” Katsuki blinked. “That’s...unpleasant.”

Yuri nodded, opening his mouth to agree, but Yuuri cut him off. “But you know, Yurio, that a rough beginning doesn’t always mean things will end badly, though, right?”

Yuri stared at the Japanese skater, completely dumbfounded. His entire body went numb, like he was completely frozen for a moment. Then the rage surged forward.

“What the hell, Katsudon! You’re supposed to be on my side!” he slammed his fists down onto the countertop. Rage a visible halo around him.

Yuuri held up both hands, both as a defensive gesture and as a placating one. “Now, Yurio, just calm down a bit, okay?”

The glare Yuri shot him was sharp enough to skin him alive, one green eye glinting out from behind his hair.

Suppressing a shiver, Yuuri gulped, but forged ahead. “Just because a relationship starts badly, doesn’t mean it will end badly. Look at me and Victor,” he said, waving a hand at the apartment around them, clearly meaning the relationship it represented.

Yuri’s scowl deepened. “That’s exactly my point!” he spat. “You two made each other miserable . For months . Otabek doesn’t deserve that!”

Yuuri’s smile was small and soft and completely disarming. Like he knew something that Yuri didn’t, but not in a smug way. In a kind, knowing way that said he’d get it eventually. The anger receded a little, perplexed and unsure of what to do in the face of that smile.

“Yes. But we figured it out eventually. Otabek will too.” Yuuri stood up, filling the kettle with water and pulling out cups for tea.

“He’s your friend, Yurio, I get that. I know you don’t want to see him hurt. But just trust him a little.”

The nod Yuri gave to the older skater was tight and abrupt. He couldn’t speak. His throat had closed. Katsudon’s understanding and compassion somehow completely defusing the rage. Even though something inside of him still ached at the thought of Otabek in pain. Still wanted to break things at the thought of Otabek’s soulmate rejecting him.

“You know, my parents redecorated the inn once,” Yuuri said.

Huh? The look of dumbfounded surprise on Yuri’s face was comical.

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Yuri asked, sipping the cup of tea Yuuri slid in front of him.

Yuuri smiled at him gently. “I’d never seen them fight before.”

Tea sloshed over the rim of the mug as Yuri’s hand jerked. Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki? Fighting ?! He’d met them. He’d been to their inn. He could never imagine the two of them fighting over anything .

Yuuri’s soft laugh was, somehow, reassuring instead of insulting. “I know, I can barely imagine it either,” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the counter in front of him. “But they did fight.”

Yuuri looked down at his hands for a moment, gaze soft as he got lost in the memories. “My parents are what I like to call life partners,” he explained. “They’d choose to be together even if they weren’t soulmates.

“It was a shock for all of us to realize that even they fought. Mari and I weren’t even sure it was possible before that.”

“Okay, so your parents fought while redecorating the inn. I still don’t see what the big deal is,” Yuri muttered, glowering at the pot Katsuki had moved back to the stove. It smelled good, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

The gentle smile Yuuri gave him made Yuri want to gag. “Even people who you think have perfect relationships -- perfect soulmate relationships -- fight. It’s a part of being human.”

“You and Victor don’t fight,” Yuri pointed out.

Yuuri laughed awkwardly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, we don’t really fight but...we don’t always agree either.”

Yuri glowered but he knew what Katsudon meant. Victor ran away from serious emotions and Katsudon just assumed everything was his fault and retreated.

The small touches around their apartment, the way they communicated at the rink, though, that all pointed to the two of them learning how to talk to another another. God knows they needed it.

They could have avoided months of pain if one of them had just fucking said something.

“Your soulmark still hasn’t appeared, has it?” Yuuri asked, pulling out bowls and ladling the...whatever it was into them.

Yuri, unnervingly aware of the unmarked skin of his forearms, crossed his arms, hiding the unmarked skin from view.

“What of it?” he asked, guard up as Yuuri slid a bowl of something steaming and vaguely fishy smelling in front of him. His stomach growled in response to the delicious aroma.

“You know it’s okay to care about people, right? Especially your friends.” Yuuri said, sitting down across from him.

Yuri glared harder even as something inside him shifted, loosened. Not everyone was his mother. Not all fights were bad.

As they ate, not waiting for Victor, the silence around Yuri strained, burdened by things he didn't want or know how to say. Katsudon, however, smiled away. Completely content in the silence.

Yuri cared. He cared about Otabek a lot. He was his best friend after all. And if there was the slightest inkling that he cared maybe more than a friend should, he ignored it.

“I should go apologize to Otabek,” he said, setting down his spoon. His stomach choose that exact moment to gurgle.

Yuuri laughed. “Finish eating first. You’ll be less grouchy.”

“I’m not grouchy.” It was an automatic snap back, but then Yuuri smiled and tilted his head as he said “sure”. And at one point that would have been enough to infuriate Yuri as he fought against the soft feelings that welled up at Katsudon’s smile.

Except now they were dwarfed, utterly annihilated by the thought of Otabek’s smile. Soft and dreamy as they Skyped, watching Yuri through softly lidded eyes -- something unnameable in his gaze that made Yuri’s heart swell and the center of his chest warm.

(The same spot that he hadn’t realized had iced over when Otabek had looked at him, eyes shattered with anger and pain. Pain Yuri had caused.)

He opened his mouth, ready to ask Katsudon about this feeling, wanting to know if it was how the Japanese skater felt for Victor, when the old man himself burst through the front door, shaking off snow and shivering. Limping just ever so slightly on his right knee.

The question died on Yuri’s lips as Katsudon got up to greet his husband. He pulled the requisite, disgusted faces as they embraced, all mushy and kissy, but that wasn't enough to cover up the pang underneath the disgust.

A pang of what someone else might recognize as jealousy. Jealousy at having someone so devoted to you, so willing to work through all the pain and the fights and still look at you like you were the most amazing thing in this world.

Deep down, even if he couldn't yet admit it to himself, Yuri wanted that.

Chapter Text

It was late when Yuri got home. Later still in Kazakhstan.

Would Otabek answer if he called now? he wondered, sinking into his couch. Jacket still on, sock feet wiggling on the carpet, stretching out his toes. He'd have to get new shoes soon (again). These ones were starting to pinch his feet.

He looked at his phone. The glossy black glass stared back at Yuri. He could see his face in it if he really tried. Unlocking his phone, pressing the button, would do nothing. Potya was his lock screen photo and wallpaper. He'd changed it from a picture of him and Otabek in Shanghai after their first fight.

Speaking of Potya, she jumped into his lap, promptly curling up and falling asleep. Not caring that she lay on the hem of his jacket.

With a sigh, Yuri opened his phone and dialed a number he knew almost as well as his own,

He listened to the call as it rang.

Once.

Twice.

Otabek wasn’t going to pick up.

Yuri could feel it in his bones, screwing his eyes tight and chanting under his breath.

“Please please please please please you bastard please.” Something like dread filled him, a terror Yuri couldn’t name but remembered from years ago.

Ice crackled down Yuri’s spine when the call went through. Otabek didn’t say anything. Yuri wasn’t even sure he was there. There was no sound coming from the other side. But he hadn’t hung up, and the phone didn’t keep ringing.

He gulped, fear strangling him now instead of anger.

Losing Beka...things had been strained between them before, but it had never felt like Otabek would actually walk away. But now...the possibility stood there, huge and glaring, staring Yuri right in the face.

“My mom had an unrequited soulbond,” Yuri said, voice cracking as he forced the words past his lips. His fingers twisted into Potya’s fur where he’d been stroking her before. Grateful for the warm weight of the cat on his lap. “She would come and go whenever my father asked her to. She’d drop me in an instant if he showed up again, and then come crawling back in tears weeks or months later whenever the asshole was done with her.”

Yuri sniffed, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his sweater. His entire face felt puffy as he wiped at tears he hadn’t known he was crying. “Grandpa tries to talk sense into her but she keeps going back every time and all he does is hurt her.”

HIs reflection in the window caught his eye. Blond hair disheveled, green eyes bloodshot. Pale skin even more colourless than usual.

He was a fucking wreck.

Cool glass met his fingertips as he lay his palm on it, needing something to ground himself with.

“Your soulmate already called you an asshole. And the way you talk about him, all he does is make you miserable.” Yuri hiccuped, tiny sobs -- more like shudders, but bouncier -- wracking his body. “I don’t want that to happen to you, Beka.”

The sigh on the other end of the phone…

Yuri had never heard such a beautiful sound.

“Thanks,” Otabek said. Those few syllables contained so much: relief, acceptance, a touch of forgiveness. And something else that Yuri couldn’t name.

He waited, expecting Otabek to start talking again, but nothing came.  

One word. One word? That was all he was going to get? Yuri blinked. This was the part where Otabek was supposed to explain his side. To tell Yuri what was going through his head.

Wasn’t that how apologies worked?

“Okay. I should go. Feed Potya.” Yuri looked out the window, focusing his eyes on the rooftops in front of him instead of on his own, wrecked reflection.

“Beka?” his voice broke, cracking somewhere between a sob and a hiccup. “I’m sorry.”

----

Otabek had been waiting for those words.

He’d promised himself he wasn’t going to bend until Yuri apologized. Both times he’d promised himself that, as much as he needed to make things better with his soulmate, no matter how much it hurt, he wouldn't bend until Yuri apologized. He needed to hear it, for the sake of his own self respect. He needed to Hear Yuri acknowledge what he’d done. How deeply he’d shoved a spike into Otabek’s heart.

Otabek sighed again, incredibly weary. Worn down by exhaustion and emotion. Both his and Yuri’s.

“People hurt each other, Yuri. Soulmates or not. It happens.” He sat down on the edge of his bed, sheets tangled behind him. He’d been trying to sleep when Yuri called. Emphasis on trying.

“You can’t stop it. I’m sorry you went through that. What your mom did…” Otabek didn’t even want to think about it. It was terrible.

“It’s unforgivable. But unrequited or not, my soulmate isn’t like that. We talk. A lot. He’s a big part of my life. And he knows it. Even if the bond’s unrequited, I’m still glad it’s there. I’m still glad he’s my soulmate.”

Even though every word was true, the irony of talking about his soulmate, to his soulmate, was not lost on Otabek.

“Okay.” Yuri said. He was probably nodding on the other side of the phone, Otabek thought. That was that affirmative-apologetic tone Yuri got. He always nodded. He'd seen it on Skype too many times to keep count.

“Are we…” Yuri’s voice cut out, hesitant and uncertain “...okay?” he finished, voice quivering. The real apology conveyed not by Yuri’s words, but by the tone of his voice, and the flickering of regret and guilt down the bond. A balm that soothed the wounds Yuri’s earlier words had inflicted, even if it didn’t entirely fix them.

Otabek cocked his head to one side, considering. The bond urged him to say yes. Just say yes. Just make Yuri happy.

“I think we will be,” he said after a second. Acknowledging how hurt he still was. That he needed time to heal.

He'd been stewing about Yuri’s remarks all day, unable to stomach It, but refusing to talk. To tell Yuri what was wrong.

For things to be equal, Yuri would have to come to him.

And he had.

The relief Otabek had felt, seeing Yuri’s name on his phone, was indescribable. It was a relief that went right through to his soul, that echoed down the bond that tied him to Yuri.

“But I think it would be best if we don't talk about my soulmate from now on,” Otabek said, fingers whitening on the phone as he spoke. Talking to Yuri about Yuri was hard enough.

Talking to Yuri about Yuri when all Yuri was doing was bashing Yuri...the glow in his heart, knowing Yuri cared about him wasn’t worth the pain of Yuri’s cluelessness.

Yuri made a sound -- part way between a gulp and a sigh, his voice still tight with tears Otabek could feel in his chest.

“Okay. I can do that.”

Relief slipped through him, everything lightening.

So long as Yuri didn't talk about his soulmate they wouldn't have to go through this again. And Otabek wouldn't be tempted to slip out that Yuri was the problem.

He'd been so tempted earlier, the words on the tip of his tongue. Hanging up had been his only option to avoid saying it.

Otabek knew he probably wouldn't be able to keep it a secret forever. But he'd try.

Especially after what Yuri had just told him.

“Thanks. I'm gonna go to bed. Good night Yura. Talk to you tomorrow?”

The question was soft, Otabek the one hesitating now.

There was sound of vigorous agreement and shaking on the other end of the phone. Yuri was probably nodding.

“Yeah,” the young Russian rasped out. “That sounds good.”

Crawling back into bed, Otabek fell asleep almost instantly, worn out emotionally from the day, but with the ghost of a smile on his face.

Chapter Text

Yuri landed the Salchow with a thump, coming down harder than he needed to. His knee would probably pay for that later, but the heavy landing was satisfying in a visceral way that nothing else could be.

Spinning to a stop, he took a moment to breathe against the boards, grabbing his water bottle as he caught his breath.

Months later and he was still taking his feelings out on the ice: the nagging tension and the simmering fury that still plagued him. Even though he and Otabek were talking again, something didn’t feel quite right between them.

It didn’t help that they hadn’t seen each other since World’s last year, and they wouldn’t see each other until the World Championships in a few weeks.

It bothered Yuri, knowing there were certain things they couldn't talk about now. Like thin spots on pond ice that they had to skate around. They’d talked every day since they made up, either via phone or Skype or something. They were texting more and more, and things were, albeit slowly, getting back to normal.

But something about the whole arrangement felt off.

He didn’t want to have secrets from Otabek. And he didn’t want Otabek to have any secrets from him. You weren’t supposed to have secrets from your best friend, right?

This tension, this...thing had driven him. He’d managed to secure bronze at the European Championships, his growth-spurt inspired slump looking like it was (finally) over.

But he attacked his training even harder as a result. Endlessly repeating the routines and the jumps he was having trouble landing. Throwing himself into the ice with abandon.

(Which was completely unsuited to the emotional tones and arcs Lilia had selected for him this season but that mattered less than the fact that he was barely able to land the fucking things.)

He was finally starting to get the hang of this new body with the elongated limbs and the shifted center of gravity. Finally.

“Is something wrong, Yurio?” the one voice that never failed to annoy him asked.

Huh? Yuri looked up to see Victor gliding over to him, stopping a few feet away.

“You’re attacking those jumps like they personally offended you. You know, that doesn’t really fit with your program theme this year.” Victor held up one finger, head tilted to the side, like he was trying to get on Yuri’s nerves.

“Try to relax more, be softer through your lines. Like this,” he demonstrated with his arms, flowing through the motion.

Yuri shot Victor a glare, pulling his water bottle open with his teeth. “I’m fine,” he spat, impressed with how he hadn’t snapped at Victor.

Victor tilted his head to one side. “Are you really sure? You’re not fighting with Otabek again, are you?” The bright clueless smile was back, and Yuri could feel his temperature start to rise, hair standing on end despite the cool rink.

Bad enough that...whatever this was, was nagging at him. Itching away like a burr stuck under his skin. But for Victor to be able to see it? He scowled, the sneering frown an automatic defense.

“Mind your own business, old man,” he snapped, grabbing his water bottle and skating to the other end of the rink. Away from the silver haired nuisance.

Things were fine. He and Otabek weren’t fighting.

But there was still a layer of reserve between them, and it pissed Yuri off.

For the first time in his life, he couldn’t talk to Otabek about something. And that...it didn’t piss him off. That wasn’t the right word. Part of him was mad but part of him was always mad. The rest of him was equal parts disappointed and relieved and annoyed. Because now he didn’t have to talk about these things with Otabek...but he also couldn’t talk about them either.

And if there was anyone he’d actually willingly talk to about this stuff...it was his best friend.

Focusing on the ice beneath his feet, leaning into the motion, feeling for the little shifts and wobbles and tremors that told him his muscles were unhappy or his center of gravity was off. Everything was--crap.

A muscle twitched in his ankle as he slid out of a spin. The inevitable wobble, fuelled by his momentum sent him staggering, nearly colliding with Mila, who dodged at the last moment, pulling to an expert stop as he caught himself on the boards.

“Watch it, hag,” he snapped. Mostly angry at himself...mostly.

“Aww, still not getting your spins back? Don’t worry, Yurio. I’m sure you’ll recover...eventually.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled at him.

Yuri narrowed his eyes at her, trying to determine if her smile was wicked, or teasing. It might be both. He couldn’t tell.

Smile fading from her face, Mila straightened, leaning back on the boards beside Yuri, looking out at the ice with him. Yakov had his back to them, watching the rest of their rinkmates practice, going over something with the other Yuuri while gesturing to Victor.

“Seriously, though, are you okay?” she asked. “You’ve been skating better but you seem…” she trailed off, unable to quite put it into words. The simmering tension they’d all noticed inside Yuri, both on and off the ice.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, glancing away. Bad enough that Victor, of all people had guessed there was something going on with him and Otabek. Mila already teased him enough about their relationship. The hag would be relentless if she knew what was going on…

“Are you fighting with your boyfriend?” she crooned.

“Otabek is not my boyfriend.”

“Not yet. But if neither of you has a soulmate…” her voice rose at the end, trilling in a way that made Yuri want to drive his skate picks through her eyeballs.

“He has a soulmate,” Yuri snapped at her, wanting to end the teasing once and for all. She pulled back, surprise mellowing into something...deeper.  More contemplative. And deeply, uncomfortably penetrating.

Yuri looked away, ignoring the shivers that ran down the back of his neck under that gaze. Like the witch was looking into his soul and casting a spell on him.

“Sometimes you have to fight for the things you want, Yuri.” Yuri whipped his gaze back to her as Mila spoke. The dark, determined sadness something he’d never heard in her voice before... and her eyes were a million miles away, staring at the ice like she was watching a ghost skate.

“I know that,” he snapped at her, but she shook her head and cut him off.

“It’s not like in skating,” she said. “Sometimes, fighting for something can look a lot like doing nothing. Or waiting. Or standing still.”

She pushed off the boards, leaving Yuri standing there. Stunned. Had he been so wrapped up in what was going on with him and Otabek that he’d missed something with Mila?

Pfft. No. That couldn’t be. She loved rubbing stuff in his face, and while she didn’t quite match Victor in the drama department, her relationship drama was nearly constant. If Mila had found her soulmate, he’d know about it.

Yuri shook his head, staring down at his skates for a second before Yakov yelled at him. “Yeah, I’m coming” he shouted back. Blades gliding smoothly on the ice this time, hyper aware and watching his ankle for any more wobbling.

When did Mila get so wise?

And why did her words feel like someone had simultaneously punched him in the stomach and taken an incredible weight off of his shoulders?

----

He was still thinking about it when he got home late that night. What could he do to mend this distance that had sprung up between him and Otabek? He’d already apologized.

Friends were supposed to forgive each other and move on, right? But if Yuri were being really honest with himself, he’d have to admit that he hadn’t entirely forgiven Otabek. And Otabek probably hadn’t entirely forgiven him.

In their own way, both of them were too passionate, both of them cared too deeply to just let things go.

Yuri need to do something to break through this reserve, to get things back to the way they were...but what?

A brown package waited for him at his apartment door, stuck there by the building manager earlier that day.

Yuri flipped it over between his hands, puzzled. The return address was Kazhakstan, which meant it was probably Otabek, but his birthday wasn’t until next week?

Shuffling inside, Yuri tossed all of his stuff down, giving Potya a distracted stroke before sitting down at the table as he tore into the package.

A card fell out, followed by a white cloth bag containing something long and vaguely rectangular.

The urge to just open the bag and look at whatever was inside made his fingers twitch, anticipation a potent force to be reckoned with. Lilia’s disapproving stare, however, had (nearly) trained that impulse out of him last year.

He flipped open the card, glancing at it first, even though Lilia wasn’t here, his free hand fiddling with the drawstring of the white bag.

“Happy Birthday, Yura,” was all it said, Otabek’s signature scrawled at the bottom.

Okay, so his best friend had sent his birthday present early. No big deal. Yuri couldn’t stop the flush of warmth that suffused him, though.

Dropping the card, Yuri tore the bag open and up-ended its contents, spilling them out onto the table.

What the--

Skate guards. A pair of skate guards lay on the table in front of him, molded golden plastic glittering under his kitchen lights.

Yuri frowned. Why would Otabek send him skate guards?

He picked one up, going in for a closer look, and saw the open black spots embedded in the golden plastic.

Otabek had sent him leopard print skate guards.

Yuri stared, unable to breathe for a moment before the excitement overcame him.

He whooped, dancing around the kitchen, spinning and shoving his new skate guards in Potya’s face. “Look, Potya! Look at my awesome new skate guards!”

She meowed once, clearly annoyed before swishing her tail and sashaying off to the other.

“Hmph. Stupid cat,” Yuri muttered. “Otabek would--Otabek!”

He grabbed his phone and dialed his best friend, not bothering to check the time in Almaty. Foot tapping when Otabek didn’t pick up right away.

“Ohmygod Beka! They’re so cool!!” Yuri yelled when his best friend finally did pick up. Too excited to realized that his best friend’s voice was gravely with sleep.

“Where did you find them? These are the best things ever!” he kept going, ranting and waving his arms around the kitchen, over the moon about a simple pair of skate guards.

When he finally ran out of breath, Otabek chuckled.

“I’m glad you like them.”

“Thank you,” Yuri said, calming down a bit. “I love them.”

“I’m glad,” Otabek said. “I know your birthday’s not till next week, but…”

“It’s fine,” Yuri said, catching the undercurrent. It was and wasn’t a birthday present. The same way it was and wasn’t an apology present for how things had been between them for the last while.

“Thank you.” The gratitude in his voice was so deeply genuine, coming from that place inside him that was Otabek’s and Otabek’s alone.

“You’re welcome.” Otabek said. “Do you mind if I go back to sleep now?”

“Oh crap,” Yuri glanced over at the clock and did the mental math. Almaty was three hours ahead which meant…”I woke you up. I’m sorry.” He deflated, excitement tempered momentarily.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you like the guards.”

“I love them.” Yuri hugged them to his chest. He was never going to let them go. He must have said that out loud because he swore he could hear Beka smile on the other end of the phone.

“Good night, Yura,” he said.

“Night, Beka.” Yuri hung up, a huge smile still on his face. Grinning even bigger than Victor when he was being super embarrassing, he went to put his new guards on his skates. Ignoring the warmth in his chest, and how it was deeper and bigger than ever before.

He snapped a picture and put his new guards on Instagram, tagging Otabek before making dinner. The smile on his face refused to fade for the next week.

Chapter Text

Boston was Boston. One more international arrival gate among the hundreds of arrival gates Yuri had passed through in his career already.

Except Otabek would be exiting this gate soon, he thought, tapping his foot. His flight had only landed about 15 minutes after theirs.

“Yuri, let’s go!” Yakov’s deep growl snarled behind him.

“Nyet. I’m waiting for Otabek,” Yuri snapped back at his coach. He crossed his arms and planted his feet, facing the arrivals gate, forcing the traffic to stream around him.

Yakov’s indignant squawk behind him almost made him smile. Almost.

His coach wasn’t moving him. Yuri was determined. And he could be even more stubborn than Victor when he wanted to--

Victor appeared in front of him, that cluelessly happy smile -- the one that always spelled danger -- on his face.

Yuri blinked.

“Here you go, Yurio.” Victor thrust a scrap of paper at him and Yuri took it, glancing between the paper and Victor.

“What is this?” The one good thing about his growth spurt was that Victor didn’t tower over him as much when he frowned at him, flipping the paper around so he could read it.

“Directions to the hotel!” Victor held up one finger, smiling broadly. “Enjoy your date with Otabek!”

“It’s not a date!” Yuri yelled at Victor’s disappearing back, face red with anger as his team mates scurried away. Fuming, he turned back to watch the gate. At least they saw fit to leave him alone. But how had Victor talked Yakov into letting him stay? Yuri only had a minute to wonder before he spotted a familiar undercut peeking through the crowd, followed by a flash of a blue and white team Kazakhstan jacket.

His pulse quickened, heartbeat pounding at the base of his throat as he pushed forward through the other people waiting. They didn’t matter and he didn’t care.

“Beka!” he shouted, waving a hand above the crowd.

Otabek’s head whipped in his direction, searching through the crowd before he spotted Yuri and smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Yuri burst forward through the last few people separating them and threw his arms around his best friend.

“Oof.” The air audibly left Otabek’s lungs as Yuri flung himself at him, rocking back on his heels.

Otabek was shorter than him now, Yuri realized as he pulled back, though he must have grown a bit as he was only a smidge shorter than Yuri’s five nine. Something else must have changed -- Yuri didn’t remember him smelling this good and had to resist the urge to bury his face in his best friend’s neck.

Which wasn’t strange or creepy at all. He was just surprised by the smell. That’s all.

“Hi,” Otabek said, arms coming up to wrap around Yuri’s back.

They stood there for a moment, the crowd flowing around them before Otabek’s coach cleared his throat behind them. They pulled apart, and Yuri’s fists clenched. A defensive response. Yakov let them have their reunion. Why wouldn’t Otabek’s coach?

Otabek raised an eyebrow, and his coach tilted his head, before finally shrugging a shoulder and moving on through the crowd, leaving the two of them alone. A silent exchange that completely mystified Yuri.

He blinked. “What was that about?” he asked.

Otabek chuckled. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s good to see you, Yura.” He smiled and it was Yuri’s turn to be suddenly breathless.

He didn’t look like this on Skype , Yuri thought, flushing and turning away under the pretense of grabbing Otabek’s bag.

“You too,” he said gruffly, hefting the duffle Otabek had dropped earlier.

“Where’s Yakov?” Otabek asked as they started moving through the airport.

“He went ahead with Katsudon and Victor,” Yuri said, digging the scrap of paper out of his pocket and waving it in the air. “He left me directions.”

Otabek laughed and why was his stomach fluttering? Yuri wondered.

“I don’t have to be at the rink until tomorrow morning, so I’m hanging out with you tonight,” he declared, adjusting Otabek’s bag and striding forward for about 2 steps before deflating slightly as he realized that Otabek and his coach might have different plans.

“I mean, if you want?” Yuri asked, suddenly unsure. Glancing back to look at Otabek over his shoulder.

“Sounds good to me,” Otabek said, a soft, fond smile on his face.

Yuri’s shoulders relaxed and he shot his best friend a smile, ignoring the fluttering of his insides and the warm spot in the center of his chest.

It was probably just the airline food.  

-----

Given his showing and placements earlier in the season, 4th was a very respectable finish for Yuri.

That didn’t mean he’d be happy about it, Otabek thought, shifting his jacket to accommodate for the weight of the silver medal around his neck. The ones this year were heavy .

That made three world championships he’d medaled in now. Three in a row, and still no gold for Kazakhstan. The thought was slightly bitter, but he knew Almaty loved him just the same. At this point, having proven that he could compete with the best, it was more a matter of pride.

He wanted that gold.

At the same time, seeing Yuri finally make his comeback…

His skating this year was beautiful. Lines that were already long and lean were now longer, leaner, and even more beautiful. There was a maturity to his grace that hadn’t been there before. A complexity to his skating that spoke of trials overcome, of an art mastered, but not yet perfected.

It took his breath away watching Yuri skate. Giving up his blades, his skating career, any hope of ever winning gold...yeah, he’d do that just to watch Yuri continue to skate, he thought, catching his soulmate’s eye from where he stood on the podium.

Yuri glowered among the rest of the audience. Clapping along with them, but clearly furious. Anyone who didn’t know him would say he was furious at the other skaters.

Otabek didn’t need the bond to know that Yuri was furious at himself.

Yuri smiled when he caught Beka’s eye, though. Genuine happiness for his friend shining through, a gentle flicker against the bond.

At least JJ wasn’t on the podium again, Otabek thought. That would have infuriated Yuri.

The Canadian had taken a nasty fall during one of the warm ups. Rumors were swirling that he’d sprained something, but more likely he’d bruised or strained a muscle. He’d skated, but dropped the difficulty of all of his jumps, fumbling a few to come in 8th.

He shot Yuri a thumbs up behind the bouquet, trying to be discreet about it. Yuri responded with one of his own.

(The distance was too great for Otabek to be sure, but he thought Yuri’s face flushed. Or maybe that was just the lights. They kept taking photos, leaving him blinded by the flashes.)

Their little ritual was the thing he’d missed most this season. Other people cheered him on, other people called “Davai!”, but there was nothing like hearing it in Yuri’s voice, Otabek thought as he fought his way through the crowd after the medal ceremony.

They still had the banquet to get through. All the formalities of being a figure skater and playing nice with their sponsors.

Honestly? For tonight, Otabek didn’t care.

Dodging the press and his fans, he grabbed Yuri’s wrist, a startled cry leaving the Russian’s lips as he pulled him away from his teammates.

“Come on,” Otabek said, looking over his shoulder, making sure their coaches weren’t around. He was pretty sure Yakov and Lilia already carried grudges against him after the Welcome to the Madness incident and he didn’t want to find out whether that was true or not.

A savage grin split Yuri’s face as he caught on to Otabek’s plan, jogging to catch up to the older skater.

Reluctantly, Otabek let his fingers slip from Yuri’s wrist, an ache humming in his chest at the loss of contact as the Russian strode up to walk beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

They navigated the back hallways, dodging reporters and competitors and fans, before disappearing into the streets of Boston. Together.

-----

“America sucks,” Yuri declared, kicking a stone on the pathway. Otabek laughed.

He laughed in a way he hadn’t laughed in ages, head thrown back, sides and stomach spasming.

Yuri’s pout and that tone ...Otabek’s soulmate glared at him and crossed his arms in a huff, stomping his foot. Otabek leaned against one of the bollards lining the waterfront as he laughed, one arm holding himself up, the other clutching his stomach.

Yuri glared down at him.

“It’s not that funny,” he said.

Truth be told, Otabek couldn’t even really say why he found it so funny. Just that it was.

City lights glimmered on the water behind them, an indistinct, wavering mirror image of the skyscrapers that lined the sky. Black water streaked with yellow and white and orange and a green as bright as Yuri’s eyes.

Otabek finally regained his composure after looking away from Yuri. He straightened, taking a moment to ensure he wouldn’t dissolve into giggles again. That look on Yuri’s face…

Add a beach and they could be back in Barcelona at last year’s Grand Prix Final. Except Yuri had successfully snuck into a club with him that time. The first eighteen plus club they’d tried had spotted and confiscated Yuri’s fake ID. And sneaking in had proven...unsuccessful.

Which left the two of them wandering the Boston waterfront. Alone. After dark.

Their coaches were probably pitching fits but Otabek didn’t care.

Being with Yuri again, in person, after a year apart…

These last few days had been a balm on his soul. The bond finally quieted, knowing that Yuri was close. The ache in his chest finally fading. He’d lived with it for so long that he’d almost gotten used to it.

Yuri’s eyes, his smile, the way his hair fanned around his face.

And now Otabek could reach out and touch the grumpy pout that made Yuri look even younger than he was.

If Yuri had been any older, any wiser, Otabek would have been afraid that he could see the love shining from his eyes.

Cuz, yeah -- there was no denying that he loved Yuri.

All he could do was hide it, and hope that Yuri never found out. Or, at least, if Yuri ever did find out, it wouldn’t ruin their friendship.

The smile must have slipped off of his face, because Yuri’s frown morphed from petulant anger into a furrow of concern.

“Beka?” he asked, tone confused and questioning. Like he saw what was going on in Beka’s head but didn’t quite understand it.  

Otabek shook his head, looking back out over the water. “It’s nothing,” he said.

Yuri came forward then, standing beside him as they stared out over the water. The spring evening carried a chill on the air, remnants of winter like a memory. The snow had all melted, though. Fed back into waters that Otabek was sure were probably a dingy brown in the daylight, instead of metallic black under starlight.

Funny, how water was so close to the ice they skated on and yet so, so different. Ever changing. Yet, if you knew it, still predictable.

Like Yuri.

“Have you ever thought about what you’ll do after retirement?” Otabek asked, the question slipping past his lips before it even registered. He hadn’t been thinking about it, not consciously.

But something inside of him wondered...did Yuri not have a soulmark because he was so dedicated to the ice?

Otabek had chosen figure skating. Yes, he loved the sport. But Yuri...Yuri had been born to skate. As graceful as he was as a dancer, he had been born for the intensity of figure skating. The rigorous training and fierce dedication the ice demanded. He thrived on the intensity it demanded.

As much as he used to hate practice, he loved the ice. Loved competing. Loved it in a way that Otabek had never seen before or since.

Maybe Yuri didn’t have a mark because the ice was his soulmate. Would that change when he had to retire? When he was eventually forced out of the sport by age and fatigue? Muscles and bones no longer able to take the extreme strain they had to go through?

“Nope.” Yuri shook his head, blond hair flying around his face. And I don’t plan to , his body said, the set of his shoulders saying more than words could. The distance in his gaze saying exactly what Otabek figured he’d been thinking: That’s a long way off .

“You could coach,” Otabek offered. It was the obvious solution, after all.  

“No way.” Yuri sat down on the chain that ran between the bollards. His back to the water, feet scuffing the cobblestones. Long legs splayed out in front of him.

One good push and Otabek could probably send him into the harbour. But that water was probably freezing cold at this time of year.

“You were great when you helped me with my jumps last summer,” he said instead. Truthfully, Yuri’s comments had been almost as insightful as his coach’s. Which had surprised him. Being a great skater was one thing -- actually being able to explain it to someone else was another.

“Yeah but I like you,” Yuri flushed and looked away. The bond in Otabek’s chest fluttered and for a moment he thought Yuri was...embarrassed? No that couldn’t be right.

“You’re my friend. And you listen. Most people are dumb. I hate teaching.” He said ‘teaching’ the same way he often said Victor’s name -- like the very thought was something traumatic, distasteful, and horrifying all at once.  

Otabek smiled.

“Besides, it’s not like I have to worry about it soon, or anything,” Yuri mumbled, looking off into the distance. Something sad and lost in his gaze. Otabek didn’t need the bond to tell him Yuri was thinking about something.

He sat down on top of the bollard, arms crossed over his chest, following Yuri’s gaze into the wooded park behind them. Paved stone walkways an eerie bone-white under the streetlamps.

“One of the reasons I waited to move from Juniors to the Senior division is because I injured my ankle,” Otabek said. It wasn’t something he thought about often, or talked about. The injury was years old at this point, and fully healed so there was no need to talk about it.

“Huh?” Yuri’s head swung around to look at him, surprised.

Otabek jerked a shoulder, mouth a thin line. “It wasn’t anything major but I was off the ice for a few weeks. That’s when I got into DJing,” he said.

“I didn’t know that,” Yuri said, his expression softening.

“It made me start thinking.” Otabek rubbed a hand along the back of his neck.

“I can’t imagine doing anything other than skating,” Yuri confessed, feet stilling against the stone walkway, gently swinging back and forth on the chain, careful not to lose his balance.

“I know.”

There were no other words. Otabek didn’t need any others. Everything he knew about Yuri, his admiration, his conviction, his knowing that Yuri was going to be the champion to beat some day…it was all summed up in those two words.

Yuri stood abruptly, springing forward, hands shoved into the pockets of his leopard print jacket. It matched the guards Otabek had sent him as a birthday present.

(If his heart had flipped seeing them on Yuri’s skates every day before he took the ice these last few days, he’d ignored it. He needed to concentrate on his own skating, not his soulmate. Yuri could handle himself. And no matter what the guards had meant to him when he’d commissioned them, they probably meant something different to Yuri.)

“My mom was a figure skater,” Yuri said, voice low and rough. Shattering the silence of the night like a stiletto breaking a window pane.

Otabek stayed very still. For once, he was glad of the bond. The turbulent swirl of emotions going on inside of Yuri...they were hard to read. Hard to name. But in feeling them, Otabek instinctively knew what Yuri needed.

Right now, he needed Otabek to listen as he talked to the forest, his back to his best friend. Unable to speak the words if he had to look at anything but the shadowy trunks of trees wrapped in darkness.

“She was good, too. Really good. She could have been great.”

That figured. Yuri had to get his talent from somewhere. Otabek wasn’t surprised it was from his mother.

“Did she have an accident?” Otabek asked when Yuri stopped. Words venturing into the silence, said normally, but with a tentative energy behind them.

Blond hair flew in every direction as Yuri shook his head. “No. She hit puberty.”

Those green eyes were miles away. Back in Russia, Otabek figured, as Yuri stared into the night, facing the wrong direction. Looking the long way around the globe back to his homeland.

“She was never the same after that. She kept skating, but it was like she burned out. She never got that magic back.”

Fists balled into his pockets, Yuri stood with his feet planted wide, body braced against the night. Against the silence. Against anything Otabek might say.

Against the memories.

Against the possibility that he might end up like his mother. A forgotten, burned out star.

“Everyone forgot her,” Yuri said, a spark of deep anger slipping through the blank facade. An ember, hidden deep in the ashes, needing only a little stoking, a little prodding in the right places to flare back to life.

“I’ve seen her skate, Beka. I saw the tapes. She was good. Really good. But then she just…”

Yuri faded off, words escaping him.

Beka’s throat tightened with Yuri’s. The odd combination of grief and regret and fear -- bone-deep fear. Of being forgotten. Of being like her.

Otabek stood, moving forward so that he could lay a hand on Yuri’s shoulder, green eyes turning to meet his brown ones. The glinted like a cat’s in the reflected street light, piercing and shiny.

No wonder Yuri avoided thinking about the future if that’s what he thought awaited him.

“No one’s who seen you skate could ever forget you, Yuri. You made history last year. And you’ll make it again.”

Otabek’s chest eased -- somehow, for some reason, Yuri believed him.

It was a luxury few people were granted, he knew. But Yuri believed him. That made his heart light.

“Come on.” Yuri knocked their shoulders together, linking his arm through Beka’s and Otabek was suddenly glad for the night around them. It (mostly) hid his blush. “Let’s go back to the hotel and get room service.”

His smile was blinding. And genuine, even if the memories remained in the air behind them, stirred up like dust motes, ghosts haunting the spaces between street lights as Otabek pulled out his phone to check the quickest route back to the hotel.

He stopped dead in his tracks seeing the notifications on his screen. Dozens of them from Instagram and Twitter and Facebook. He’d expected that, since he’d won. Articles reporting the winning scores always went up right after the competition ended.

But it was the name attached to notifications that shocked him.

Victor Nikiforov to Retire declared one.

Nikiforov Announces Retirement; Katsuki Returning to Men’s Singles stated another.

“Yuri.” Otabek said, hand catching Yuri’s jacket. He would have kept moving on ahead if Otabek hadn’t grabbed him.

“What is it?” Yuri’s voice was blank. Curious, but no inkling whatsoever about the media storm that was going on.

“Did you know?” A sinking sensation started up in Otabek’s stomach. This wasn’t going to be good.

“Know what?” Puzzled confusion flashed across Yuri’s face.

Wordlessly, Otabek handed him the phone.

Yuri rolled his eyes. “What has Victor done now?” he asked, snark dripping from his tongue before he started reading. Eyes widening, as he read more.

His fingers turned white where he gripped the phone. Hand shaking. “What the fuck?!” he demanded, flinging his arm like he was about to smash the phone, before pulling up short at the last minute.

He went back to the screen, frantically scrolling. “What the fucking hell does he mean he’s retiring?”

The anger was expected. Anger was always expected with Yuri.

But the stab of Yuri’s feelings of betrayal creeping through Otabek’s chest -- that was unexpected.

The loss of Victor Nikiforov would be a blow to competitive figure skating, for sure. But for Victor to not tell Yuri…That would be a blow to their relationship. One Otabek wasn’t sure they’d recover from.

“Come on,” Yuri snarled, thrusting the phone back at Otabek before grabbing his arm again -- this time in a rough, fierce grip instead of the light, playful clasp of earlier. “I’m gonna go talk some sense into that stupid old man.”

As Yuri dragged him back to the hotel (not because Otabek needed dragging, but rather because Yuri needed something to drag) fuming, Otabek wondered…why was Victor retiring now? And more importantly, how was it going to impact Yuri?

Chapter Text

A torn meniscus.

More specifically, a micro tear in the meniscus of his right knee.

That was the reason Victor had given Yuri for his retirement.

Frankly, as reasons went, it fucking sucked.

(And Victor only explaining it to him on the plane ride home sucked even worse. Yuri stewed about it the whole way home. And ignored Victor on the rink for weeks afterward.)

Surgery was an option, but the chances of it working were 50/50. And at Victor’s advanced age (for figure skating at least) even just resting it for a season could end him. Even if it did work, surgery and the associated recovery time would force Victor into retirement for sure.

How he’d managed to skate on it for most of the season dumbfounded Yuri. What sort of idiot would risk it, knowing that one wrong move could tear it wide open and bust his knee forever?

Sure, Yuri loved skating. But never being able to walk again would be worse than never setting foot on the ice again.

Idiot.

Yuri shook his head and looked at his phone. Victor didn’t matter right now. In approximately 47 hours he’d be on a plane to Almaty to hang out with Otabek.

So long as he kept up with his workouts, Yakov had given him permission.

Frankly, since he was still dealing with the media circus that was Victor’s retirement -- the Legendary Victor Nikiforov! Retiring for real! The world seemed unable to handle it and the press was completely unwilling to let it go -- having Yuri out from under foot was likely to be a blessing for Yakov.

Besides, it meant Yuri could actually practice in peace. The arena had been staked out by reporters, all wanting sound bites from Victor and Katsudon and the other skaters and basically anyone they came into contact with.

Victor’s retirement was the biggest announcement figure skating history had seen in a while. Especially since this time, he was retiring for good.

Yuri flopped back on the floor, running a hand over Potya’s back when she walked up beside him.

“You be good for Lilia while I’m gone,” he said, rubbing her ears. She purred and leaned into the touch.

Yuri smiled. For all the she could be a moody, grumpy bitch, Potya did love him. In her own way.

Sometimes Yuri wished she could just be his soulmate. A little paw print showing up on his arm, or a meow.

His skin was still unmarked, and he was glad. But part of him was uneasy. The longer he went without his soulmark showing up, the more he became convinced he didn’t have one.

While at the same time, a sensation of foreboding dread arose within him. Stretched a little further in anticipation of the day when one might show up and shatter his entire world.

Because if it was someone he hadn’t met yet, that would be a disaster waiting to happen. And if it was someone he already knew...Yuri shook his head at the thought. Split marks happened. Especially for soulmate pairs who knew each other in childhood. One got their mark, then the other got theirs and both showed, not their first words ever, but the first words they spoke to each other after the marks appeared.

It was a rare. And stupid.

And it didn’t matter anyway, because soulmates sucked and the only person that could ever be remotely tolerable with was Beka. And he already had a soulmate.

If Yuri could just know that his soulmark would never appear, he could move on. He could forget about the soulmate crap and just live his life and skate and hang out with Beka and his cat.

But that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

Yuri flung one arm over his eyes, lying on the carpet of his living room floor. He should really do some laundry, especially since he needed to pack.

Tomorrow he was heading to Almaty to hang out with Otabek for a week. It was kinda insane that they’d gone a year without hanging out and now would be seeing each other twice in a month.

Excitement roiled inside of him. Beka apparently had the entire week planned. Which Yuri found secretly cool, even though he’d called Beka a dork over Skype. That warm glow he’d associated with their friendship spreading through his chest and flushing his cheeks. (He was never reserved or embarrassed around Otabek anymore. If anything, after the Victor debacle, Otabek was the only one he truly trusted.)

But packing required moving.

He stayed there till his phone buzzed. When it kept buzzing, Yuri realized it wasn’t just a text message, but an actual phone call.

He reached out for it, slapping his hand on the carpet in the general vicinity of where he’d left his phone, eyes still covered.

“Yeah?” he said, not looking at the caller ID before he answered.

“Yuri,” Mila’s voice on the other was a surprise. Mila never called him. They texted. Always.

Yuri sat up, arm falling away from his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, voice tight.

“It’s Coach Yakov,” she said, voice trembly and wavering. “He’s in the hospital.”

-----

Yuri had missed his flight. Otabek knew because Yuri had texted that he wasn’t coming.

The sinking feeling in Otabek’s gut had started early, a few days before Yuri was set to arrive. A tight, clawing panic that wasn’t his.

He’d tried to shake it off, getting a in few extra on-ice practices before Yuri arrived. Pushing his body even further in an attempt to get rid of the building tension.

He’d known it was Yuri’s. He’d known that something was wrong. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it.

It was a hard dance, a fine line to balance between being there for his soulmate-slash-best-friend, and keeping his distance.

The urge to protect Yuri was nearly overwhelming at times. But Yuri hated soulmates...and checking in on him, just because Otabek thought there might be something wrong…

What if there was? What if there was something wrong and Otabek wasn’t there for Yuri? What if there was something wrong and Yuri didn’t want to share it with him?

What if Yuri figured it out?

The weight of it bounced in his chest as he jogged, a heavy weight that shifted only when he did. Not pinning him down, but not something he could ever escape from.

Yuri couldn’t know.

And the way the bond sliced at his chest instead of warming it in those moments when he was harshly, abruptly reminded that, while Yuri was his soulmate, he wasn’t Yuri’s…

That wasn’t worth the risk. He couldn’t text.

He’d have to wait for Yuri.

His phone buzzed, stopping Otabek dead in his tracks on the street of Almaty, on his way home from another grueling workout. He should probably stop with them. The risk of injury was higher. Plus being sore and exhausted (at least, more than usual) when he had to go pick Yuri up from the airport wasn’t a good idea. Yuri would chew him out if he caught on to how hard Otabek had been training.

Except he didn’t have to go pick up Yuri now. The short and curt “Missed the plane. Will call later.” was both a blessing and a curse.

He’d known something was wrong. The confirmation was a relief, and another wound.

Yuri wasn’t coming.

They’d been talking about this trip since last year and now Yuri. wasn’t. coming.  

He shoved his phone in his pocket, continuing his run. Anger and hurt roiled inside him, mixing unpleasantly with disappointment and concern.

What had happened?

Once he was home, Otabek called Yuri, leaning against his apartment’s door. He had a feeling that having something solid at his back was a good idea.

Yuri answered on the first ring. “Yakov had a stroke.” Even on the verge of tears, he sounded angry. Voice high and thin. Choked off but still pissed. At the situation. At his own reaction.

The knot in Otabek’s chest eased a bit, hearing those words. It was a terrible thing to be relieved that Yakov Feltsman had suffered a stroke, but Otabek’s knees weakened with relief.

Yuri was okay. And he wasn’t ditching him for no reason. (Both thoughts were completely irrational, but they were there, nonetheless. And Otabek had to deal with the doubt they sowed, no matter how convinced he was otherwise.)

“They said it was minor, but they’re holding him for observation.”

Otabek almost reacted to the timid waver in his soulmate’s voice, the barely contained fear eliciting an automatic response.

“Stupid old man. They said his blood pressure was a problem and he hadn’t been doing anything about it,” Yuri groused. Underneath the grumble was affection. And fear. Lots of fear.

Otabek almost laughed, sliding down his door to sit behind it. What should he say? Which feeling should he address?

“I mean, he was coaching Victor,” he said, opting to lighten the mood, hoping it would lift Yuri’s spirits. He refrained from pointing out that many of Yuri’s antics wouldn’t have helped Yakov’s blood pressure either, because that was beside the point. No matter how much it wanted to slip off of his tongue.

The memory of the colour of Yakov’s face after their joint Welcome to the Madness routine surfaced, and Otabek wondered that the Russian figure skating legend hadn’t had a stroke sooner.

Yuri laughed, before it eventually cut off into a strangled sob.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was supposed to come hang out with you, and--”

“Yura, it’s okay. If my coach had been in an accident would you blame me for cancelling?” Otabek’s voice was low and soft. Compassionate without being condescending.

There was a swooshing sound, like hair moving over the microphone. Otabek wished, for a moment, that they were on video so he could actually see Yuri. The world might know him as a Russian prodigy rage child, but Beka...Beka could read every shift and nuance of Yuri’s face. Muscle twitches mapped to bond movements over the last year and a half.

He’d know so much more about how Yuri was doing if he could just look at him.

And he’d know what to say, too.

“No,” Yuri said eventually, after a delay. Like he’d realized he was shaking his head and Beka couldn’t see him.

Otabek couldn’t, but he could. Instead of the walls of his hallway, he could see Yuri, phone to his ear, shaking his head instead of answering because he forgot he was on the phone. Again.

“I just really wanted to see you.”

God, those words were a knife in Otabek’s chest.

“Next summer,” he said, voice hardening in determination.

“Huh?” Yuri’s little squeak was adorable.

“Next summer. Promise you’ll come.” Otabek’s throat was tight, surprisingly. Why this meant so much to him, he couldn’t say. Only that it did.

“I promise,” Yuri said, sounding incredibly drained. Exhaustion ghosted along Otabek’s bones, telling him exactly how tired his soulmate was.

“Get some sleep.” It slipped out without warning, the urge to take care of his soulmate completely taking over, even though they were miles apart. “Yakov needs you right now.”

More slight wooshing, like Yuri was nodding. Except this time he stayed silent.

“I’ll see you at the Grand Prix Final,” Otabek said, both commanding Yuri to be there, and promising that he’d do the same.

They had no control over which events they got assigned to. But they could control whether or not they made the final. And with Yuri’s growth spurt over, they were both in top form to make it this year.  

“ Da, ” Yuri said, voice thick with gratitude under the tears.

Otabek waited for Yuri to disconnect the call, listening for the dial tone. The bond wouldn’t let him hang up first.

The empty beep of a disconnected call faded as he let his arm fall away from his ear, thumb swiping over the disconnect button.

He sat in front of his door and watched the empty walls of his apartment. He should really hang some photos. He’d lived here for two years now, and had no plans to leave Almaty in the near future at all.

What would he hang though? Art? His family? Skating pictures?

Yuri?

That last one appealed too much and a wry smile crossed his face, as he continued to sit at the foot of his own door, phone dangling from one hand. Staring at the empty walls and thinking about nothing.

Trying, as much as he could, to shut down the bond. To stop feeling so much. To stop feeling...anything. Nothing would be better than the hollow ache of Yuri’s worry and fear.

Nothing would be better -- much better -- than the knock on his door.

Raya.

He sighed. Of course his older sister would show up now.

Hauling himself to his feet, Otabek opened the door to stop the incessant pounding that had started behind him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, moving into his living room and flopping down on the couch. Running shoes still on his feet, he propped them up on the coffee table while resisting the urge to wrinkle his nose at them.

He normally took them off but his older sister was nosy at the best of times. Better not let her see that anything was different now. He’d just have to clean later.

Raya flopped down on the couch beside him, long dark hair spilling around her shoulders as she mimicked his slouch. They shared a few features -- the same square shoulders, the same jaw line. The same colouring. The same eyes. But the shape of her nose was all wrong, something she’d been teased for at school before learning to own it.

She eyed him side ways, taking in his still-disheveled state. “Are you going to pick up Yuri looking like that ?” she asked, layers of meaning in her voice.

Both: you look horrible and you’re going to pick up your soulmate, who you love beyond all reason, looking like that?

And: you look horrible and you’re going to pick up the asshole on the other end of that unrequited soulmate bond looking like that? I approve because I’m petty but our mother would be ashamed.

But also: you look horrible and there’s a look in your eyes...are you okay ?

Otabek turned away, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Yuri’s not coming. His coach had a stroke,” he said.

Raya whistled, long and low. The sound both amazement and sympathy, all at once.

They sat in silence, absorbing the gravity of the situation. The week-long vacation that before had seemed so full and bright now stretched ahead of him, bleak and empty.

“At least you know it’s not for another dude,” Raya finally offered after a few moments.

Otabek shot her a look. The flat, expressionless one that his competitors hated at competitions. (Leo had mentioned something before about it psyching them out.) Part of him did want to laugh, but that would only encourage her.

“You’re not helping,” he said.

She smirked. “That’s what big sisters are for, Beka.”

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m sorry he’s not coming. I know how much you were looking forward to it.” She lay her head on his shoulder, sitting with him on the couch.

He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close.

“I wouldn’t trade Yuri for the world.”

She rolled her eyes. “We know how much you love him. I just wish he loved you back.”

Otabek sighed. “That’s part of the problem. He does love me back. Just...not like that.”

She nodded, solemn. “How much longer do you want to do this, little brother?” she asked, burrowing into Otabek’s shoulder.

“Huh?” he looked at her askance.

“You two are in a holding pattern, Beka. Something needs to happen. Something needs to change.” She looked up at him, concern filling her eyes. “You can’t keep going like this.”

Even as he shook his head, Otabek knew she was right. He could keep going like this for now, but indefinitely?

It had been over a year already.

He knew his parents were worried. His entire family was. It was a unique kind of hell to be best friends with your unrequited soulmate. And what if Yuri never got his soulmark? What if Otabek was never the most important person in his life?

What if things never changed?

Could he live with that? he wondered, alone in his room later that night. Staring at his ceiling and picturing the smile on Yuri’s face as they’d run through the streets of Boston.

The problem was, he didn’t want anything to change.

Guaranteed, if things changed, it would be for the worse.

Otabek traced the words on his arm, fingertip following the ink that marked his soul and his skin. Arms held in the air above him, text backlit against the overhead light.

Yuri hated soulmates. And the rage that had radiated off him after Victor had announced his retirement…

It had been hard to determine what Yuri was more angry about: Victor retiring, or Victor not telling him he was retiring.  

For Otabek to keep something bigger than retirement from Yuri...something like a soulbond that impacted Yuri directly...there wasn’t a universe in which Otabek could see that conversation going well.

Because he didn’t know which Yuri hated more: that a thing happened, or being kept in the dark about it happening.

Words from a Boston pier drifted into Otabek’s mind, Yuri’s voice low and rough with emotion as he spoke: they forgot her.

Like it was the worst thing that could ever happen to her.

Like it was the worst thing you could ever do to him.

Every cell in his being knew that Yuri was unforgettable. But Yuri...Yuri didn’t know that. Not yet.

Chapter Text

Yakov’s return to coaching was painfully slow.

Emphasis on painfully.

Thankfully, it coincided with Victor’s “retirement,” so Yakov, in a fit of frustration-induced rage, decided to take on Victor as an assistant coach.

More accurately: Victor had stepped in to coach all of them immediately following Yakov’s stroke, saying that, since he’d coached Katsudon on his own for half-a-season he was more than qualified to coach the rest of Yakov’s team. Yakov had come back to find Victor playing “pretend-coach” again, and proceeded to nearly send himself back to the hospital.

“I’ll teach this idiot how to coach properly, ” he’d muttered from his wheelchair at the side of the rink when Yuri had stomped up, demanding to know why Yakov thought this was a good idea.

And that had been the end of it, so Yuri was now spending his on-ice sessions getting yelled at by two annoying old men. One with a scowl on his face and the other with a clueless smile.

His other option -- finding a new coach -- held no appeal. Yakov was the best in Russia. And Russia was the best in the world.

So Yuri would stay here, and endure Victor’s annoying brightness, while Yakov shouted at Yuri about how terrible his form was and then at Victor about how terrible a coach he was.

“Isn’t Yakov supposed to be reducing the stress in his life?” Otabek asked one night over Skype. They were waiting for the Grand Prix Final assignments, staying up to talk to one another when they came out.

Yuri snorted. “Apparently this is ‘reduced’” he made air quotes around the last word, the boat-neck of his sweatshirt slipping off of one shoulder. His best friend laughed, brown eyes soft on the computer screen

Absently, Yuri refreshed the assignments tab. He could sit and talk with Otabek all night (they’d done it before) but they both wanted to know their assignments in the GPF. Since Yuri had bailed on him at the last minute, this was their first chance to see each other since World’s.

He knew Otabek didn’t see it that way, but he did. And he’d been looking forward to it, too.

Hell, if he didn’t have any events with Beka this year he’d throw another fit. Yes, he was going to get to the final reclaim his gold -- and this time, he’d beat Katsuki (and Otabek and JJ) with clean routines damnit.

The cold might have faded from his fingers from when he’d touched down on the ice over a year and a half ago, but he’d never forget that moment.

Except --

The assignments were out.

Yuri blinked, straightening from his slouch on his bed. “Beka.”

“Hmm?” Otabek looked at him and Yuri’s stomach did a flip. He had such pretty eyes. Heat rushed to Yuri’s cheeks and he looked away, frantically scrolling down the page to find his name.

“The assignments--” he didn’t even have to finish before Otabek was clicking through and reading on his own screen.

Yuri had Skate Canada and the NHK trophy. Otabek had...Skate America and the Trophee de France.

Fuck.

Yuri punched the pillow beside him.

“God damn it!” he swore. “Stupid organizers couldn’t put us together at least once?”

The scowl on his face crowded out the blush that had been there just moments ago. Thankfully, Otabek didn’t seem to have noticed.

He shrugged. “You’ll just have to make the final this year,” he teased. Yuri’s season -- Yuri’s growth spurt -- was still a sore spot for the young Russian. But when Otabek teased him, he felt only warmth. Not malice or anger or like he wasn’t good enough.

Most people probably couldn’t tell but that slight arch of his eyebrow, the barest curve of his lip, the intentionally deadpan tone? Yeah, that was Otabek teasing him.

And Yuri -- Yuri loved that he could joke about stuff like this. It made all the pain and frustration of the last year just go away. All the work he had to do disappeared and everything was just a little bit...lighter when Otabek teased him.

“Just you wait, Altin,” Yuri shot back, fire sparking to life in his eyes. “This year, I’m going to beat you all .” His grin was savage. Infectious. He meant every single word.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were becoming almost as extra as Victor.” Yuri’s jaw dropped.

Otabek held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I mean, he is your coach now. You need to be careful he doesn’t rub off on you.”

The twinkle in his eye -- when was the last time they’d bantered like this? Yuri wondered. Boston, maybe. But before that...Barcelona?

He’d missed this. The ability to banter, to trade barbs, to just...be. He’d always been able to just be with Otabek. Moody and changeable and Otabek had never minded.

He really was a great friend.

And right now Yuri had two options: snipe back, or beg for sympathy.

He chose to beg for sympathy.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” he said slouching again and making a face like he’d swallowed one of Potya’s fur balls.

Yuri eventually signed off when Otabek started yawning. The three hour time difference was often a pain in the ass.

Now he had to figure out what he was going to do for the rest of the evening.

Maybe he’d go bug Victor and Katsudon -- wait. Katsudon. Katsudon was back in singles.

Yuri reopened the assignments page. He’d forgotten to check and see where the other Yuuri was assigned.

-----

Otabek signed off, but he couldn’t sleep. Lying in bed, staring at his ceiling. Ted standing guard from his chair in the corner.

He’d be seeing JJ at the Trophee de France, and Yuuri Katsuki at Skate America.

But to see Yuri…

He’d have to make the finals.

Not that he wasn’t capable of it -- he’d done it twice. And Yuri was coming back better than ever.

But in professional figure skating, nothing was guaranteed.

Picking up his phone, Otabek texted a number he rarely spoke to, but who always replied immediately if she was awake.

JJ see the assignments yet?

He’s already booking dinner reservations in France :eyeroll emoji: Isabella texted back. And he’s excited about having a rematch with your little russian at Skate Canada .

She rarely used Yuri’s name, preferring to refer to him as Otabek’s “Russian” or his “little Russian” before his growth spurt. Isabella and Yuri would be about the same height now, so the little was particularly annoying.

Why do you call him that? he asked, putting to rest the mild curiosity he’d felt for a while. Sleep stripping away his inhibitions enough to admit that he did care. And it felt disrespectful that she kept referring Yuri that way.

(Anyone slighting Yuri had to deal with him. Unrequited bond or not. Yuri was his soulmate. His to protect. His to defend.)

Mom had soulmate issues. Wasn’t sure if saying his name was a good idea.

What kind of soulmate issues? Otabek asked, even more awake now. Did Isabella’s mother have an unrequited bond? Was something going on there? Did she have any insight for him?

(Because the damn bond didn’t feel unrequited. It felt whole. Complete. Like the bond went both ways, not just one, and Yuri just wasn’t sending anything back.)

Delayed bond appearance. Didn’t show up till she was 30.

Otabek flinched. 30? That was...insane. He’d never heard of anyone’s bond showing up that late. But a spark of hope filled his chest. If Isabella’s mother’s soulmark could appear at 30, Yuri still had ages for his to show up, right?

We think it’s due to a few things she went through when she was younger.

Isabella was rarely vague, but Otabek was smart enough to read between the lines. Something had happened to Isabella’s mother. Something that was horrible enough to delay her bond appearance, and made Bella cautious of mentioning the name of his own unrequited soulmate, in case it upset him.

Damn. Otabek’s respect for Isabella rose a few notches.

Whatever her mother went through, it couldn’t have been good.

You can say Yuri’s name. It doesn’t bother me. He texted back after a moment, rising from his bed.

His phone buzzed, Bella’s thumbs up emoji flashing on the lock screen in the dark. Otabek ignored his phone, however, maneuvering his way through his apartment in the dark, over to the small balcony just off his kitchen.

He stood in the darkness and watched the lights of the city below him. The lights of home.

But home was also Yuri. His eyes and his voice and his laugh. The ache of the empty bond somehow worse, tonight. Was it because he’d seen Yuri in Boston? Or was it because he now knew it was going to be so long before he saw him again?

Otabek didn’t know, and Almaty didn’t have any answers for him.

Chapter Text

Skate Canada was a complete bust.

Yuri lost again to that asshole JJ.

(In that moment, standing on the podium, Yuri had wanted nothing more than to be assigned to the Rostelecom Cup next year, with JJ, so he could humiliate that smug dick on his home turf.)

But, on the bright side, he’d won silver. With a dumbed-down version of the new routines Victor had designed for him. Heck, Yuri hadn’t even done it with the alternate, higher-difficulty jumps they had planned for later in the season.

Though he would never actually say it out loud, maybe Victor actually did know what he was doing, Yuri thought as he took the ice for his short program at the NHK trophy.

His theme this year was beauty. His routines an ode to the ice and to the sport, outlining his struggle, his turn as an “ugly duckling” and his triumphant return.

Or some crap like that that Victor had come up with. It had sounded good so Yuri had gone with it, trusting Victor’s choreography once again. It was easier than coming between Victor and Lilia when they fought about themes and choreography. Much easier. (Though when they were on the same page they worked together eerily well.)

This routine was all about softness. The gentle side of beauty. His costume was a long, flowing tunic, shredded “sleeves” hanging from his shoulders. Soft and wispy. Ethereal. White edged with blue crystals, glimmering in streaks across his chest, on the tops of his shoulders, all the way down his arms.

His long program was all about strength. A harsh, icy beauty. Haughty and regal. The summation of everything Lilia had taught him over the years, and a perfect counterpoint to this routine. Where his free skate was a rising crescendo -- triumphant -- this routine was an exquisite sigh.

Like the kind you gave when you just knew you’d won.

Arms rising to his start position, Yuri waited for the music.

The Nishigoris were in the crowd somewhere. As were Katsudon’s family. Tiny blobs with signs cheering him on, despite the fact that Katsudon was competing as well (he’d gone first this round, the sucker).

No . Now’s not the time to be brash. Be beautiful, he thought, sliding into the routine with an effortless grace that took more effort, somehow, than the rapid fire pace of his Allegro Appassionato in B Minor.

The choreography was complex, made even harder by the fact that he was supposed to float through the routine. Through the music. Effortless beauty and ethereal grace at all times through this routine.

Even in the jumps.

He only had two quads in the less-difficult version, but he was doing those with at least one arm raised for the extra points. (He’d finally gotten his body and his balance back to the point where it he didn’t tank the jumps every time he tried that. Finally .)

As the last notes faded, Yuri stood at center ice, a frozen, beautiful statue, still and perfect under the screams and cheers of his fans.

He waved at the crowd, gulping in air as he scanned for Katsudon.

That routine had been flawless. He’d bet anything he’d beat the other Yuuri’s score.

The grin faded from his face when he saw Victor at the edge of the boards, looking pale and grim. Cellphone clutched in white knuckled fingers.

Yuri’s heart dropped out of his chest. Something was wrong. He knew it. Victor never looked like that -- not glum, but grim. And sorry. So so sorry.

Mouth open, Yuri started to ask -- was it Yakov? Had he had another stroke?

Victor shook his head as Yuri stepped off the ice.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Victor’s fingers tightened around his cellphone. He looked like he’d rather slit his own throat with a pair of skates than tell Yuri about whatever was going on.  

“Yuri,” he said. Every hair on the back of Yuri’s neck stood straight up. Victor never used his name. No matter how many times he told the older man to stop, he insisted on that stupid nickname.

Except for right now.

Victor’s eyes met his, blue to green, and the grief in them nearly knocked Yuri over.

“I’m so sorry. It’s your grandfather.”

He couldn’t have heard Victor right. His ears were ringing. The roars from the crowd must have been making him hear things.

But the thin set of Victor’s lips told him the truth.

No . Yuri shook his head, something inside him shattering. The snap should have been audible as it reverberated down his bones, cracks spidering out to every part of his being.

But Victor’s eyes -- blue and full of so much sympathy.

Victor wouldn’t lie about this.

Yuri ran. Pulling his skates off, not listening for -- not caring -- about his score any more.

He had to get to Moscow.

-----

The car that had hit Nikolai Plisetsky had run a red light after hitting a patch of black ice. Unfortunately, the old man had been T-boned, pieces of green twisted metal caging him into the car, shattering bones and compressing his chest so that he had a hard time breathing.

Even if he pulled through, with two broken legs, at his age, he likely would never walk again.

When Yuri arrived at the hospital, the doctors weren’t hopeful.

Nikolai could hear them, outside in the hall, as he drifted in and out of consciousness. The faint murmur of voices nearly drowned out by the beeping of the monitors around his bed, words indistinct, but the tone carried through. That was enough.

And of course it was Yuri sitting at his bedside when he finally surfaced. His grandson’s face pale and haunted, dark circles beneath his eyes. Exhaustion. And grief.

Nicolai winced, trying to sit up before falling back into a coughing fit.

Strong hands supported his back, propping him up. Slim and cold, but stronger than anyone knew.

Stronger than they should have ever had to be.

“Grandpa, take it easy.” Yuri’s voice was rough. From lack of sleep, from tears, from worry. Nikolai could hear all of it in his grandson’s voice and it tore at his heart.

His little Yuratchka had already dealt with so much.

Coughs wracked his body, pain shooting through his side, his limbs as he coughed and coughed. Blood flecked his hand when he pulled it away from his mouth.

Yuri’s lips thinned even more, his frown deepening. “I’ll get a nurse,” he said, arranging the pillows so that Nikolai could lean back against them.

He did so with a sigh, wincing at the aches and pains. Everything was still fuzzy around the edges. Harsh hospital fluorescents leaving a halo of light around the edges of the room.

Aches and pain twinged throughout his body, dulled by the pain medication he assumed they had him on.

That didn’t matter. The pain didn’t matter. He’d make it through this. For Yuratchka.

---

The doctor’s prognosis wasn’t good, and Yuri refused to accept it.

Two shattered legs, a punctured lung, internal bleeding.

If NIkolai came out of this alive, the chances that he’d walk again weren’t good.

That didn’t matter. He was going to make it. He was going to come out of this.

Yuri stood at his grandfather’s bedside, tight lipped and quiet. Green eyes wide in his pale face. Whiter now with strain and worry.

“He’ll be all right, Yurio.”

Yuri didn’t jump when Victor lay his hand on Yuri’s shoulder. He’d flown with him back to Moscow, leaving Katsudon in the care of Celestino Cialdini for his free skate. Having Victor here with him should have been terrible.

And it was.

Not because Victor was being extra about everything -- he was being normal.

That scared Yuri even more than the doctor’s words. Even more than coming in and seeing his grandfather’s face, cut and bruised and so so pale underneath the bandages.

She had yet to appear -- and it had taken Yuri a full day to make it back from Japan.

“You’d think, after everything he did for her, she’d come back for him,” Yuri said, startling Victor. Shrugging the hand off of his shoulder.

“Some people don’t treasure family,” Victor said. Yuri glanced at the older Russian over his shoulder. Victor’s face was...sad. Very sad. Creases around his eyes and mouth showing a deep pain. And an even deeper sadness.

Blue eyes -- like the ocean in St. Petersburg on a steely winter afternoon -- looked at Yuri. “Which means those of us who they leave behind build our own families.”

Yuri swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. As much as he wanted to resist it, Victor was here. He might be annoying as all hell, but he was here.

Like Katsudon would be as soon as he could.

Like Lilia and Yakov and Mila who had all been ready to come out here at the drop of a hat before Yuri yelled at them not to come. (He didn’t want them to see him like this.)

Like Otabek would be if Yuri just picked up the phone and called him.

-----

Nikolai drifted in and out of consciousness. Spending more time asleep than he did awake over the next several days, despite the pain medication. (And they had him on the good stuff, according to Victor.)

Everything was heavy and sore, pain a dull ache running along all of his bones, even the ones that hadn’t broken. People came and went from his bedside, but he didn’t keep track of them, except for Yuri.

Yuri was always in the chair when he woke, sleeping. Or awake and scrolling through his phone. Dropping it as soon as Nikolai’s eyes opened. Young, cool hands clutching at his old, tired ones and squeezing as tightly as he dared.

A feeling of deja vu crept in as this routine repeated itself over several days, the worry in Yuri’s eyes slowly backing off, but never dissipating entirely.

Victor’s husband arrived, spelling off the older Russian who’d been there on and off, watching over Yuri. Bringing him changes of clothes. Making sure he ate.

By this point, Nikolai knew. His naps were getting longer, and harder to awaken from. The lassitude and pain only increasing, despite increased doses of painkillers. He was probably still bleeding inside, somewhere. A slow leak stealing his will to live.

It was mid afternoon and Yuri hadn’t eaten. Nikolai murmured his assent as NIkiforov and his husband whisked Yuri away to get something more substantial into him than a protein bar.

Yuri’s worried glance over his shoulder wrenched Nikolai’s heart.

He’d been coughing up blood this morning. And though Yuri remained steadfastly optimistic, Nikolai was too old and had seen too much death to deny that his time was near.

How could he say goodbye? Swallowing against the tears that threatened to rise, Nikolai spotted Yuri’s phone on the chair, unlocked, and open to the home page. Reaching out, careful to not jostle any of his tubes or monitors, Nikolai grabbed it.

Missed calls from a Kazhakstan number littered the call history, all dating back to the day of his accident. The day his little Yuratchka had left in the middle of a competition to be here with him.

It was probably that boy -- Otabek. The one Yuri had been so upset about all those months ago. The one he always mentioned on their phone calls.

Pressing his large thumb down carefully over the small print on the phone screen, Nikolai let the phone dial. Half a ringtone passing before a low voice answered.

“Yuri?”

Nikolai coughed. More blood in his hands.

“Not quite,” he rumbled.

“Mr. Plisetsky,” Otabek’s voice was surprised, but still respectful.

“Otabek, right?” He coughed again, air wheezing through his lungs.

“Yes, sir.” If he hadn’t been short of breath, Nikolai would have chuckled.

“You care about my grandson.” It wasn’t a question. Rather, it was a statement of fact. He’d heard so much about this boy from Yuri. He knew Yuri’s feelings ran deeper than his grandson wanted to admit to himself.

The silence was awkward, hesitant. Like Otabek wanted to say something, but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Or was debating if he should.

“Very much,” he finally said. And that tone -- careful, hesitant, not wanting to give too much away. Like he knew what people would say about his feelings for Yuri, given the fact that Yuri didn’t have his soulmark yet.

“My grandson cares for you,” Nikolai rumbled, shifting the phone his hand. Even holding the device to his ear was sapping his strength. The pain in his side building even through the pain medication. “A lot. He mentioned you have an unrequited soulbond.”

There was a resigned silence on the other end, before a very neutral “yes” came down the line.

“Yuri’s mother had an unrequited bond. Her soulmate was a cruel man. He never hit her, but he broke her heart many times. And she let him, because she wanted to believe.”

Nikolai closed his eyes, inhaling as deeply as he could before his lungs spasmed again. If he breathed shallowly, it was mostly okay.

“Yuri worries that you’ll end up like her. If you won’t listen to him, listen to an old man who watched his daughter fade away and break her son’s heart.”

“Yuri is my soulmate,” Otabek said, stealing what little air was left in Nikolai’s lungs. “I could never do anything like that to him. And I know he’d never do that to me.”

Breath rattled in Nikolai’s lungs as he let out a sigh. Ever since that day in his kitchen, he’d worried about Yuri, worrying about this boy. His grandson was rash and impulsive, quick to anger, but not because he was vicious. His kind heart cared far too much, and had been broken too many times already.

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” he asked the young Kazhak, thinking of his daughter. Of nights spent comforting her, picking her up from drunken benders, temper tantrums and screaming fights. Losing her soulmate after losing the career she’d loved with all her heart.  

“Even if my mark disappeared tomorrow. Even if I’m not his soulmate. He’s my best friend. I could never leave him.”

Nikolai sighed again, hearing this catch in Otabek’s voice.

He meant it. He really meant those words.

And Yuri was young yet. There was still time.

“You have my blessing,” he rumbled, “and my gratitude.”

Another cough wracked his body, long seconds passing before he could speaking again. The boy waited for him. (His manners, Nikolai would admit, were impeccable. He’d be a good influence on Yuri.)

“Take care of him.” He might not have asked, but they both knew it wasn’t a question: it was a promise.

A request.

Otabek’s sharp inhale told Nikolai everything he needed to know about the boy’s character. He knew what Nikolai was asking, and he understood the gravity of the situation.

“I promise,” he said, voice quiet and tight.

Nikolai relaxed, leaning into the pillows behind him. “Thank you.”

He let his arm fall back onto the bed, disconnecting the call before Yuri returned.

He smiled when his grandson walked back into the room, settling back into his chair. Nikolai reached for his hand, and held it in both of his.

He listened to Victor and the two Yuuri’s chat softly, waving them on when they would have stopped. He might be going, but his Yuratchka would never be alone.

They had one last afternoon together. He spent it mostly in silence, drifting between words, waking one last time to see those fiercely bright eyes looking at him, so full of love.

His lips moved, sound barely passing through. A whisper more than speech. Oh, Yuratchka.

Dasvidanya.

Then, Nikolai slipped under, falling into black sleep for the final time.

Chapter Text

The snow was cold. Flat, fluffy snowflakes drifting to the ground, sticking wetly. Like the sky wanted to cry, but it couldn’t.

Cold mother Russia, freezing it’s grief.

Yuri stood outside as the flakes fell, not caring that they were collecting on his shoulders, slowly soaking through the material of his suit.

He couldn’t feel the cold anymore.

The cracks that had appeared inside him, spidering through his soul at the NHK trophy, had burst wide open when his grandfather’s heart monitor had flatlined. Wiping out everything; leaving behind nothing but emptiness.

He didn’t care about the cold anymore. Only the aching emptiness inside him.

If this was how his mother had felt…

And then she’d had a glimmer of hope that this would end if his father loved her back...

Maybe he could understand why she’d acted the way she did.

It didn’t change the fact that she wasn’t there when he died, though. Or that she wasn’t welcome at the funeral.

But even the anger felt empty. A blank, empty shadow -- like a word, rather than a feeling.

Looking up to the steel-grey sky, Yuri blinked. Snowflakes fell on his nose, catching in his eye lashes.

If they melted, maybe he could start crying.

He’d screamed and raged in the hospital, cursing out the doctors who hadn’t been able to save his grandfather. Begging his grandfather to come back.

But the tears hadn’t come. Frozen somewhere deep inside him. Shattered, along with the emptiness.

“Yuri,” Lilia called from the doorway. “Come inside. It’s almost time.”

He stood in the entry hall, beside the priest, flanked by Lilia and Yakov, nodding to people as they came in. Faces blurring together into an endless stream of people dressed in funeral black. Occasionally he could pick out a face -- a friend of his grandfather. Someone his mother knew. A fellow skater.

Nikolai had been loved, not just by Yuri, but by his community, and many people came.

The biggest surprise, though, was Isabella Yang. Wrapped in multiple layers of black to ward off the Russian chill, she stopped in front of Yuri and hugged him.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, squeezing tight before letting him go. “JJ really wanted to be here, but...” she trailed off and Yuri knew what she was trying to say. Flying. Skating. Training. The logistics were a nightmare sometimes.

“Why, so he could rub my face in it?” Yuri’s voice was toneless. Words lacking the crisp snap of anger and wit that usually infused them. A mechanical response rather than true venom. He was so empty he couldn’t even hate JJ at this point.

“Because you’re his favourite rival and he hates seeing you out of competition,” she said. Yuri blinked, a sliver of surprise making it through the numbness.

“And he knows how much it hurts to lose a grandparent you’re close to.” Bella squeezed his hands. “He’s so sorry.”

Yuri didn’t know what to say, nodding instead and turning back to the line. Letting the faces blur together once more.

Until one of them peeled out of the crowd and stood beside Yuri, giving his shoulder a brief squeeze before turning to greet the line with him.

A solid presence that wasn’t obtrusive or pitying -- just there. Quiet strength for Yuri to lean on.

Otabek .

Yuri’s eyes stung and he swallowed against the tears that -- suddenly -- were there.

He hadn’t called. Hadn’t spoken to him -- god it must have been before the NHK trophy. That had been years ago, hadn’t it?

His only reality for the last few weeks had been hospitals and funerals and the gaping hole his grandfather had left in his life.

Otabek was here now.

Yuri hadn’t even called, and Otabek had come.

He leaned his head on his best friend’s shoulder for a moment, sniffing back the sobs that wanted to break free.

Crying was almost worse than the emptiness.

A hand stroked his hair, and Yuri grabbed the other one, interlacing their fingers where they hung down between the two of them.

He didn’t let go until they had to get in the car to leave.

-----

The tears came when they got back to the apartment. Nikolai’s apartment. Yuri’s childhood home.

The blond seemed to crumple before Otabek’s eyes, whatever invisible force of will that had held him up suddenly removed. All strength, gone. Leaving only grief and exhaustion behind as he braced himself against the wall with one hand, the other covering his face. Shoulders shuddering as he finally fell apart.

Otabek gathered Yuri in his arms, leaning back against the wall, cradling his sobbing soulmate in his arms as the dam finally burst and all of Yuri’s pent up grief flooded out.

Sobs turned to howls and wails as Yuri wrapped his arms around Otabek and clung to him.

He clutched Yuri tighter, his own heart heavy. Grief stabbing at him through the bond. He could feel exactly how wrecked Yuri was, all the hurt and pain and the overwhelming, aching emptiness.

Eventually, Otabek moved them to the couch, where Yuri fell asleep in his arms. Exhausted from days of holding all of this inside.

Otabek stared down at his sleeping soulmate. Face streaked and blotchy from tears, puffy and swollen underneath the redness. Stoic and strong. But he’d gripped Otabek’s hand so hard during the service, he could still feel the press of his bones against one another.

This was probably a terrible idea, Otabek thought, resisting the urge to drop a kiss on the top of Yuri’s head.

But Yuri was his soulmate, and Otabek could feel the grief ripping Yuri apart inside. Feel how shattered the other boy was.

And more important, even than the soul bond, Yuri was his best friend.

He couldn’t leave him alone. Not now.

Sighing quietly, Otabek shook Yuri awake. A gentle jostle to bring the younger boy just awake enough that he could stagger into the bedroom, pull off his clothes, and crawl into bed.

And if he dragged Otabek down beside him, curling into his best friend’s chest, making a pitiful, pleading sound when he tried to pull away -- how could Otabek say no?

------

Yuri’s grief was intense.

He wandered around as if in a daze, vision hazy with tears, memory blurred as time became something surreal -- something that passed outside of him as he stood there, stuck. Waiting for himself to wake up. Waiting for someone to tell him it had all been a cruel joke.

A joke he could take.

The truth he couldn’t.

Victor had hired a company to take care of packing up Nikolai’s apartment when Yuri couldn’t handle it. Then they (plus Otabek) had flown back to St. Petersburg, where Yuri had wandered around like a ghost. Eating only when Otabek fed him. Clutching Potya like a security blanket. (When Potya let him.)

The only time Otabek left him alone was when he went to go practice. Sometimes he’d come back late at night to find Yuri already in bed, crying. Strong, warm arms would slide around him, holding him until he finally drifted off to sleep, dreaming of walking hand in hand with his grandfather through the snow.

Otabek’s presence, quiet and reserved and just there , was everything to Yuri. He didn’t talk, didn’t ask, didn’t demand like everyone else. He was just there, wordlessly offering everything Yuri needed, like he was psychic or something. Like he could just sense what Yuri needed.

It was probably the only thing that kept Yuri from truly falling apart.

A week after they arrived back in St. Petersburg, Yuri woke up to pale, icy-white sunlight filtering through the windows.

A fresh coat of snow dusted the city around them, resting on tree branches and building tops, hiding trash bins from sight and topping off lamp posts. The kind of soft, magical, untouched snow warm parts of the world dreamed of.

The kind of magical morning his grandfather would have taken him outside on, all bundled up to play in the snow when he was a child.

It hurt, looking out his window and knowing those days were gone. But the hurt, this time, was clean. Clear.

Like the ice on the window.

Not the murky haze he’d been walking through this week.

Yuri sighed and heaved himself out of bed.

He’d probably still cry today. Once the tears had started he hadn’t been able to turn them off. But he had better things to do than cry.

Stumbling into the kitchen Yuri started making breakfast...if you called pop-tarts breakfast. (Lilia would throw a fit if she knew he was eating them and that’s why he kept buying them, even if he didn’t like them that much.)

That was just to tide him over, however. He wanted something different today.

Prepping his ingredients, he let Otabek sleep. Even during the grief haze, he’d known how much his friend had been doing for him. Time to return the favour.

-----

When Otabek woke up, the bed was cold beside him and the smell of coffee drifted out from the kitchen. Stopping briefly to pull on socks (because no matter how high they turned up the heat, it was still too cold to go barefoot -- he’d learned that lesson the hard way) he padded into the kitchen to see Yuri furiously beating a mixing bowl of...something.

“Hey” he said softly, cautiously. Greeting Yuri the same way he would a skittish cat. Green eyes turned to meet his. They’d been clouded with grief and barely suppressed rage ever since Otabek had arrived in Moscow for the funeral.

Now, they were sharp and clear. Haunted and heavy behind them, but still brighter than they had been.

Progress, he supposed. Yuri must have turned a corner. Maybe he’d be okay leaving him alone soon.

Maybe.

The bond recoiled at the thought of leaving his soulmate alone like this. Hurt and grieving still, even if he was better.

But Otabek would have to -- and soon. The Grand Prix Final was next week. He’d been keeping up with his training, thanks to the generosity of Yakov Feltsman and Victor Nikiforov. (Though he knew “generous” was a word hardly anyone would associate with the gruff, ill-tempered Russian.)

Yakov hadn’t batted an eye when Otabek told him he’d be staying with Yuri and asked for permission to train at the rink. Simply handed him a key and told him when to be there.

Yuri, of course, was out. Running out in the middle of the NHK trophy meant he’d forfeited his place.

Like he cared right now, Otabek thought walking into the small kitchen. Yuri smiled at him, small and wan. But it was still a smile.

Otabek cocked his head at the ingredients laid out on the counter in front of Yuri.

“Pirzhoki,” Yuri murmured, turning away slightly. The curve of his mouth straightening. Not falling into a frown, but evening out into a flat line. Caught somewhere between good memories and bad ones.

“Need some help?” The offer was probably superfluous, but Otabek made it anyway. Blond hair flew around his face as Yuri shook his head, floury fingers leaving white streaks behind as he wiped them on his sweatpants.

“There’s coffee,” he said instead. The way they often did. Switching subjects, changing the topic. Apparent non-sequiturs that they both knew were more. Peace offerings. Apologies. Or, in this case, a request to stay.

Gratefully, Otabek grabbed a mug and watched Yuri prepare the filling and the dough, moving gracefully around the kitchen. Dancer’s limbs moving with precision and grace.

If you didn’t look at his face, you could almost believe he was happy.

Otabek sat at the table, hands wrapped loosely around his mug as Yuri worked. Saying nothing. Lost in his thoughts and enjoying just being with his soulmate for the first time in a long time.

Moments like this were what he missed the most when they didn’t see each other. Due to competition assignments or just living several thousand kilometers apart.

It sucked.

Yuri set down a plate of golden brown pirzohki in front of him, still steaming and warm.

Otabek’s stomach rumbled. That wan smile appeared on Yuri’s face again.

“Eat,” he said, voice gruff as he grabbed one for himself and dug in. Eyes closing as he chewed, pure pleasure creeping over his face for a moment.

The bond hummed in Otabek’s chest, happy at seeing Yuri so happy for a moment before he dug into the pirzohki.

Egg and rice and pork exploded on his tongue, the flavours blending together masterfully, surrounded by crisp, warm dough.

“Yura,” he breathed, unable to stop himself, jaw hanging open in wonder as he looked at the pastry in his hand.

Yuri laughed.

A bright tinkle of bells on a cold winter’s day.

For the first time since the funeral, Yuri laughed.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” he asked, almost shy. “It’s grandpa’s recipe. He invented them after I told him about Japan. The Katsudon Pirzohki.”

Yuri grabbed another one, handing one to Otabek as well -- who was fighting the urge to just swallow them whole.

But that would give him indigestion and be a horrible waste. He forced himself to chew, slowing down instead of inhaling the pastry the way he wanted to.

They were just so good .

(And Yuri could apparently cook which was both reassuring and attractive, somehow.)

“You two were really close, weren’t you?”

Yuri nodded, looking down. One fingertip tracing patterns on the tablecloth.

They’d never talked about his grandfather, Otabek realized with a start. At least, not about Yuri’s memories of him. Things that were happening now, sure. The past...not so much.

How much of that had been Yuri, hiding a painful past...and how much of it had been Otabek not wanting to go there? Otabek wondered, eyes drawn to the rounded hunch of Yuri’s shoulders as he folded his arms on the table.

“He was more of a parent to me than she ever was,” Yuri said. The way he said ‘she’ Otabek instantly knew Yuri was talking about his mother. He didn’t need the bond to know that. Yuri only got that tone when she was involved.

“What did she do, Yura?” Otabek kept his voice stable and soft, quiet. He’d always wondered why Yuri hated his mother so much. But they’d made a deal.

A deal it looked like Yuri was ready to break. Emotions unlocked in the wake of his grandfather’s passing spilling forth.

“She left me behind.” Yuri wasn’t here as he stared at a spot on the wall. Eyes distant, like he was seeing the past play out like a movie projected on to the wall before him.

“She was supposed to pick me up from school one day. Grandpa was working. But she never came so I started walking home.”

The wrench in Otabek’s heart was enough to make him flinch. He kept his face neutral, though. For Yuri. Any sympathy and he’d clam up and Otabek...Yuri would probably never trust him with this again if that happened.

“I was waiting at a stoplight for the crossing signal when they pulled up. I could see both their faces. He was driving and she was in the car with him. She looked over at me and she didn’t care. Or she didn’t recognize it was me.”

Lips thinning into a firm line, Yuri breathed in. Anger straightening the slumped lines of his body. Anger that, Otabek knew, was a reaction to remembered hurt.

“They drove off when the light turned green. I walked home by myself and we haven’t heard from her since.

“I think he dumped her,” Yuri added after a moment of silence. “After a few years. He never stayed more than a few months. I can’t imagine he’d change.” Toying with another pirzohki, Yuri looked up at Otabek, eyes clear now, present again.

“I remember hearing Grandpa on the phone one night, arguing with someone. I think it was her. I think he was telling her she couldn’t come back. Not after that.” Yuri shrugged.

Otabek nodded. Who wouldn't be mad if their daughter abandoned their grandchild to galavant off with a callous, self-absorbed asshole of a soulmate?

“How did you get home?”

Yuri shrugged. “I walked. Nearly got frost bite, and almost got run over a few times but I made it. Grandpa was furious when he got home. I didn’t have a key so I asked one of the neighbours to let me in.”

Yuri’s lips quirked. Not a smile, or a twitch. Some rueful reflection. “I think she must have called my grandfather, and then he called the school. Or something. They didn’t leave me unsupervised after that. Ever.” He sipped his coffee, hands curling around the mug.

“So that’s why you hate soulmates,” Otabek said.

Yuri nodded. “Kind of hard not to, after that.” Teeth gnawing at his lower lip, he shot Otabek a nervous glance.

“I know I said I wouldn’t but…” he trailed off, hesitating.

Oh. Yuri wanted to know about…

Given how worn out he was, emotionally, from grieving, how monotone his voice had been while telling that story...Yuri might actually be able to hold a semi-rational conversation about it right now. Too tired and emotionally drained to fly off the handle.

Otabek nodded. “You can ask.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Yuri asked. “Having an unrequited soulmate? I mean,” he plowed ahead, animation and light returning to his eyes. “You’re so awesome. You took care of me all week. And you’re an amazing skater and such a great Dj and…”

Yuri trailed off, green eyes piercing into his. They weren’t deep, but crystalline. Emerald depths as multi-faceted as a gem.

“You’re awesome, Beka. How does it not bother you that your soulmate is unrequited?”

“Because I’m friends with him,” the words slipped out, almost like Otabek actually knew what he was saying. Like he wasn’t making this up on the spot.

Otabek blinked, taking another bite of pirzohki to stall for time. It tasted like ash in his mouth. What did he say? Panic tickled at the edge of his mind. How to talk to Yuri about his relationship with Yuri without letting Yuri know it was him he was talking about?

It made his head hurt.

Better to just go with the truth. A modified version of it.

That would hurt less. That panicked the bond less.

“I might not be his soulmate but he’s a friend and we talk...regularly.” Regularly was a good word. Vague enough to be not all that often, but close enough to be a lot if he wanted it to be.

“He’s part of my life and he’s a good person. What your father did to your mom...he’d never do that to me. Even if the bond isn’t requited, he still cares about me. And if I can’t have a requited bond, that’s a lot better than most unrequited soulmates get.”

Yuri nodded, looking, for the first time that he actually sort of got what Otabek was saying about his soulmate.

That being in Yuri’s life, as his best friend, was better than never seeing him again. And the fact that Yuri cared about him in return -- even if it wasn’t a requited bond -- helped. Even if it hurt. It would hurt either way. This way, though, he still got to be with his soulmate.

Even if it meant half-truths about his soulbond for the rest of his life.

Standing up, Yuri started to clear the dishes.

Distress. Nothing on Yuri’s face had changed -- still drawn and pale and puffy from all the crying. Thin lines beside his eyes showing the strain of grief. But Otabek could feel distress radiating from Yuri, down the bond.

“Hey,” reaching out, Otabek grabbed Yuri’s wrist as he went to leave the table. “What’s wrong?”

Yuri shook his head, trying to deny it.

“Yuri.” The word was hardened steel slipping from Otabek’s lips. Not a request, but a command.

“I was just wondering…” Yuri gulped. Body language torn between moving away, pulling at Otabek’s hold, but also swaying like he was about to glance back at him.

“If he called now...would you leave?”

The vulnerability in Yuri’s voice was enough to melt Otabek’s heart. A small, frightened child asking his best friend if he was going to leave him behind like his mom did.

Otabek shook his head. “No.

“Not right now,” he added. “He’s the most important person in my life. But I wouldn’t leave you like this. Not if it wasn’t an emergency.”

Yuri nodded. And Otabek wondered why he wasn’t moving away when he remembered he was still holding Yuri’s wrist. Fingertips suddenly burning, he let go, turning away so Yuri wouldn’t see the blush that rose on his cheeks. The desire to keep holding Yuri, keep touching him, was strong. But it also felt so natural it was easy to forget he was doing it.

Standing up, Beka collected the rest of the dishes, stepping up to the sink to help Yuri wash. Jumping when he felt arms wrap around his chest from behind.

“Spasibo,” Yuri said into his shoulder. Squeezing tight. “Spasibo.”

Otabek lay a hand over Yuri’s, resting them over his heart and giving a quick squeeze.

You’re welcome , he thought, though he didn’t say anything, not wanting to break the moment.

You’re welcome.

Chapter Text

Yuri skipped the rest of the season.

He made one brief appearance at Nationals -- scoring just high enough to qualify for Peyongchang.

Half a point kept him in the race for the Olympics. He would have been enraged to see that decimal point on the board all those months ago. Such a slim margin keeping him from complete failure. Now, all he could think of was that his grandfather wasn’t going to be there in the stands, cheering him on.

Barren land passed beneath him when he looked out the plane window. Desert for almost as far as the eye could see. Not a cloud in sight to block his view. A landscape as barren as his heart.

Yuri’s lips twitched. What would Otabek say if he knew that that was Yuri’s first impression of his homeland?

Shaking his head, Yuri turned back to the in-flight movie system, drowning out his thoughts with cartoonish villains and car chases and loud explosions.

All too soon they were landing in Almaty, rubber leaving dark streaks on the asphalt, taxiing up to their gate.

Anticipation welled unbidden in Yuri’s chest. Unexpected after being so numb for so long. Even watching JJ take gold at Worlds (while nattering something about being so proud of his country’s one hundred and fiftieth birthday) hadn’t broken through the slightly numb haze.

It was why he hadn’t skated in competition. He was training, but it was worse than the growth spurt. There was no emotion in his skating anymore. No feeling behind the moves.

He was completely mechanical now. A wind-up doll on figure skates. Moving and doing what everyone told him to, grace and precision and technical perfection but with no will or thought of his own.

Losing his grandfather had shattered him completely. Stolen the fire that had made him so compelling to watch in the first place.

And Yuri -- Yuri felt frozen. On the precipice. Did he fight his way back? Or did he let himself fade into the oblivion of grief?

He adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder as he shuffled through the customs line, answering the agent’s questions with an ease born of long practice.

Victor thought seeing Otabek would do him good. That a vacation would help him get back to himself.

Didn’t he know you couldn’t out-run grief? There was a leaden weight on Yuri’s heart. A foggy distance between himself and...everything. He could function. He could live. He was present and aware and knew what was going on around him.

But that numb fog barely parted. Ever. Even to talk to his best friend.

...When Yuri could be bothered to pick up on Skype or answer Otabek’s texts.

Thankfully, the Kazakh never held it against him. He just kept texting and calling, giving Yuri space when he asked for it. Backing off, but never forgetting him.

Yuri slipped his passport back into his bag and collected his suitcase from the baggage claim. If Yuri allowed himself to feel anything at all, it was the deep well of gratitude that Otabek was his friend.

A friend who literally took his breath away when Yuri saw him standing at the international arrivals waiting area. Cool and collected in his jacket and sunglasses. Way too cool for anyone else.

Yuri grinned, surprised, almost, at the depth of his own happiness. Maybe Victor had been right.

“Beka!” he shouted, waving as he pulled his suitcase behind him. Opening his mouth to say something but cut off by the hug Otabek wrapped him in.

Melting into the embrace after an initial moment of surprise, Yuri hugged him back, fingers clenching in the material of his jacket.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” Otabek said, pulling back, a faint flush riding high on his cheekbones. Dark eyes searched Yuri’s and the young Russian knew his friend was examining him. Looking for signs of stress or illness or weight loss.

Aside from the circles underneath his eyes, nothing had really changed. He hadn’t gotten much better since Otabek had left him behind in St. Petersburg to compete in the Grand Prix Final -- but he hadn’t gotten any worse, either. Which was a huge accomplishment by itself, Yuri thought.

“I’m okay, Beka,” he said, staring into his best friend’s eyes. Letting him see the grief that still lingered, but that had started to heal.

Not saying anything, Otabek nodded and grabbed Yuri’s bag.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll give you the tour.”

-----

Yuri loved Almaty.

He’d said it a thousand times already, but Otabek didn’t need to hear him to know. The bond told him. Yuri’s love, Yuri’s delight with the city flooded through the bond, flooring Otabek with its intensity.

Maybe it was because the bond had been so quiet these past few months. It ached, like it always did when Yuri wasn’t around, but Yuri’s emotions…

Ever since the funeral, there had been no bleed through. Nothing had come through. Otabek hadn’t known if the bond just wasn’t functioning, or if Yuri had shut down his feelings entirely.

Looking into his eyes, the green dull, their usual sparkle hiding deep, deep in the depths, Otabek had known it was the second one. Yuri had been shutting down, shutting out his feelings. Numb and hazy and skating, but not performing.

Which was why the force of his love for Almaty took Otabek’s breath away.

It was surprising after such a long absence of strong emotion.

And wonderful.

His soulmate loved his home.

His unrequited, long-distance soulmate loved Otabek’s hometown. His heart.

The part of his heart that still wished, that wasn’t content with what they had now, whispered that maybe he could convince Yuri to move here, someday.

Even if they were never together, imagine the delight at being able to see him whenever he wanted. At grabbing coffee in the afternoons or meeting up for spontaneous movie nights or having Yuri show up at one (or all of) of his shows.

As unlikely as Yuri moving to Almaty was, Otabek still reveled in Yuri’s delight as he showed him the sights. Dragging him through the markets and bazaars, wandering around museums and down random little side streets. Grabbing ice cream when it got too hot.

They were heading to the zoo tomorrow morning (a secret Otabek was keeping from Yuri) after they got back from the nightclub they were headed to now.

That was another surprise for Yuri -- Otabek was DJing again. Yuri hadn’t seen him perform since Barcelona. Anticipation roiled with excitement in his chest.

Raya was meeting them there, and she’d watch out for Yuri while Otabek played his set. Introducing the two of them before the family dinner tomorrow was probably a good idea, he’d figured. That way Yuri wouldn’t be totally alone, or blindsided by his family.

Guaranteed his parents would try to separate the two of them for a while to give Yuri an interrogation. Otabek wanted Yuri to have at least one other person in his corner before then.

They rounded the corner of the street, slipping into the back alley behind the nightclub. Familiar faces let Otabek in, questions about his guest flying in Kazakh. He brushed them off, deliberately sidestepping them as he got set up, Yuri hanging out in the booth with him.

Decked out in ripped black jeans and a leather jacket, gold chains and sunglasses. Eyeliner smudged and smoky around his eyes. Not kissing Yuri took most of Otabek’s willpower right now.

His sister couldn’t arrive --

Speak of the devil.

Raya popped up with a flash of teeth, a bright smile, and abducted Yuri, dragging him out of the booth before Otabek could even introduce them.

Shit.

This was not going to be good.

------

“So, you’re Yuri,” Raya said, an inflection in her voice like that wasn’t quite a good thing. She eyed him up and down, like she was checking him out. But there was nothing sexual in her gaze. Just a harsh, piercing assessment masked by a veneer of fun.

And it pissed Yuri off.

“Yeah. So?” he threw back the shot the bartender slid in front of him, grateful that Mila had hooked him up with the guy who did her fake ID a while ago. He was less than a year under age here, but that still didn’t mean they’d serve him without it.

“You’re different that I thought you’d be,” she said, voice pleasant and conversational. Dark amber eyes glittering under the bar lights.

There was something about her…

Yuri wanted to like Beka’s older sister. He really, really, really did. She was important to Otabek and he talked about her a lot.

She’d taken care of Otabek when Yuri couldn’t. And he’d be forever grateful for that, knowing that his best friend would always be cared for as long as she was around.

But the way she was looking at him made his blood boil.

Like she’d made up her mind about him long ago, and now she was withholding judgement. Waiting to see if she was right. Willing to possibly be wrong, but Yuri would have to do a damn lot to prove her otherwise.

He ordered another shot instead of snapping at her.

“How did you think I’d be?” he asked, placing the empty shot glass back down on the bar with a thunk. He could barely hear it over the murmur of voices in the club, waiting as the DJs took a break between sets.

When the music started up again, it would be Otabek’s turn. And Yuri was ready to watch the club goers of Kazhakstan lose their fucking minds over his best friend’s mixes.

Raya watched him for a minute, fingers drumming slowly on the bar. Like she was weighing what to tell him.

“Has he told you about his soulmate?” she asked, instead of answering Yuri’s question.

A sneer spread across Yuri’s face. He’d agreed that he wouldn’t talk about the soulmate thing with Otabek but he’d never said anything about his sister…

“That asshole doesn’t deserve Otabek,” Yuri spat. Maybe a tad affected by the vodka, as the first shot started to worm its way into his bloodstream. (The lack of food in his stomach probably wasn’t helping.)

Raya blinked, pulling back and staring at Yuri like she was shocked.

Yuri couldn’t tell Otabek his true feelings about Otabek’s soulmate...but maybe Otabek’s sister would get it.

“Otabek is literally the coolest person I ever met and his asshole soulmate is a fucking idiot. He is so lucky to have Otabek for a soulmate and he doesn’t even know it!”

Yuri slammed a clenched fist on the bar, teeth gritted, blond hair flying around his face. Strobe lights started up again on the dance floor, occasionally flickering over Yuri’s face as their random patterns hit the bar area.

“Honestly, if I knew who it was I’d find him and pound some sense into him. Otabek deserves better than some stupid loser who doesn’t even have the balls to requite his soulbond.” By the end of the sentence, Yuri had to shout to be heard over the music. Part of him wanted to keep ranting, finally unleashing his rage at the complete unfairness of it all on someone who would listen.

Someone who got. It.

Otabek’s music, however, sank it’s fingers into his bones and tugged him invisibly towards the dance floor.

Raya threw her head back and laughed, her entire body shaking with mirth, even when the music drowned her out.

Yuri’s jaw dropped. He was just about to signal the bartender to bring him the entire bottle when Raya grabbed his wrist, shaking her head.

“Let’s dance,” she shouted in his ear as she pulled him towards the dance floor. Eyes bright and happy. Approving. Almost like she’d decided something again, but this time in Yuri’s favour.

Yuri shook his head as he stumbled out onto the dance floor. Raya’s eyes bright and happy under the flickering strobe lights as the crowd went wild for Otabek’s music.

He danced, limbs long and carefree as he moved to the beat, letting go of all his training. Moving with only his natural grace and beauty.

Unaware of how completely enchanting he was, or of how Otabek’s heart almost stopped when he saw Yuri.

Unaware of the glances Otabek and Raya exchanged across the club.

See? one seemed to say.

I like him, too, the other answered.

Chapter Text

Wind whipped at the collar of Otabek’s jacket as he and Yuri sped up the mountains to Medeu. Arms clasped tight around his waist, Yuri clung to his back, green summer leaves flying by them as they drove.

The sun might be warm, but the air thinned and chilled as they climbed higher into the mountains. Yuri hadn’t even asked, they’d both just known Medeu was on the itinerary.

They were figure skaters.

It was the highest skating rink in the world. To not go would be…

Incomprehensible.

That, and it gave them a reason to get out of the city for the day. And away from Otabek’s family.

He loved his parents, and Yuri had seemed utterly charmed by his family. Talking to Raya, making faces at his younger sister Amina. Polite and respectful and not at all the abrasive nightmare most people would have assumed he’d be.

His parents  liked Yuri. They thought he was charming.

But there was a layer of reserve there that Otabek hadn’t expected to see.

And there was a reason Otabek had waited until the later half of the visit before introducing Yuri to his family.

Quite frankly, he’d wanted the time alone with Yuri, before the fighting started.

He’d been right. Dinner the night before had been the most exhausting part of the trip so far. His father and mother repeatedly pulling him aside, to whisper at him, angry little hisses of speech as he shook his head.

No, Yuri didn’t know. No, he wasn’t going to tell him. No, they shouldn’t interfere.

Arguments hissed out between clenched teeth, a grotesque facsimile of a smile that would fool no one if Yuri walked in.

His mother worried about his health. About what this was doing to him on the inside.

His father thought he was being unfair to Yuri, leading him on and deceiving him by being his friend.

Neither of them saw Yuri. Not the way Otabek did. Neither of them could see past the unrequited bond or the soldier-hard eyes still filled with grief.

Yuri’s arms shifted tighter around his waist on the back of the bike and Otabek revelled in the contact for a moment. Drinking in the feeling of Yuri clinging to him as they zoomed along the mountain highway, bodies synchronized and leaning through turns together wordlessly.

Like Yuri could read his mind.

Like they were actually bonded.

Yes, there was a part of Otabek that enjoyed this in a way he probably shouldn’t have given that Yuri was his best friend.

His completely platonic best friend.

But Yuri never pulled away. Heck, Yuri was the one touching him more often than not.

(The bond loved that. And Otabek would take what he could get.)

Otabek revved the engine and gunned it up another slope.

Almost there.

-----

Medeu was…beautiful.

It took Yuri’s breath away as he pulled on his skates and stepped onto the ice.

So many records in the history of skating had been established here. They said the altitude made the ice super slick, and that the low wind resistance was an added bonus.  

Frankly, Yuri didn’t care. They could tell him the physics of it all they wanted and he would still scoff.

It wasn’t the wind or the ice.

It was being able to skate, away from the rest of the world, hidden away in the heart of the mountains. Surrounded by fir trees. Russian pop music piped in over the loud speakers.

There was something about this place…a magic that shivered along Yuri’s bones.

Peace.

That’s what he thought it was called as he glided around the rink. Simply enjoying the feel of the ice under his skates in a way he hadn’t in months. Maybe in years.

Otabek kept pace beside him, a dark shadow. Quick and light on his feet. Watching.

Yuri was aware of him, distantly. Dimly.

He was too busy recapturing the feeling of loving the ice again.

Otabek followed him, lap after lap, for hours.

Until Yuri’s fingers were twitching with the desire to skate. To dance across the ice. To spin and jump in a way that was completely irresponsible given the number of people around.

He did it anyway, when the crowd thinned out a bit.

Laughing and calling for Otabek to join him.

He did. Brown eyes warm as they faced off against one another. Matching each others tricks, raising the stakes. Freestyling and pushing each other higher and higher.

Skaters parted around them, letting them have their moment on the ice.

Whispers following behind them. Was that? No. Could it be? I think it is!

Panting, sweating, exhausted, Yuri finally slid to a stop at the center of the rink. His hair dripping sweat as he pushed it out of his face, hands braced against his knees as he pulled in air.

Had he ever skated like that before? Just because he loved it?

Originally, it had been fun. And it had made his mother smile.

He’d kept doing it to make her smile more. And then to take care of Grandpa.

He’d never skated like this before. Just because he loved it, he realized with a start, looking up overhead at the bright blue sky. White clouds scudded across, tossed on a light breeze.

Yuri looked back at Otabek, at the warm brown eyes that shone with…

Something.

Something that some part of Yuri wanted desperately to answer.

Something that felt a lot like the overjoyed hum beneath his skin when he was skating.

Breathing finally returning to normal, Yuri looked around the rink and realized, for the first time, that there were people staring at them. Whispering behind their hands, like they recognized them.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his head towards the exit. “Let’s get out of here before they start asking for autographs.”

Otabek just smiled and followed Yuri off the ice like he’d followed him all day.

A dependable shadow.

Yuri refused to question why that made him so happy.

-----

A pebble skittered away from Otabek’s feet, tumbling off the path and falling down the side of the mountain they were climbing.

Yuri lost sight of the small grey stone almost immediately as it was swallowed up by the forest on either side of the path. Taking one of the hiking trails around Medeu had been Otabek’s idea. A cool down hike after their hours of skating.

A way to prolong their time out here.

In the middle of nowhere.

Alone.

There was no one Yuri would rather be alone with. Otabek’s back climbed ahead of him, broad shoulders swaying slightly with his gait.

If Yuri’s eyes strayed to Otabek’s ass, well it was completely unintentional. Accidental, even. A byproduct of the rugged terrain as they broke free of the trees on one side, the valley spread out below them.

“Come on.” Otabek pulled him over to the wooden lookout platform, where they could see the whole valley. Medeu below them, the forest -- even the highway, winding through the mountains, heading back to Almaty.

Letting Yuri go, Otabek’s hand fell to his side, the back of his knuckles brushing Yuri’s for just the slightest minute.

Yuri almost jumped. Warmth bloomed on the back of his hand, his heart beat a little faster. A wave of heat washed into his cheeks and he turned his head like he was looking at the valley and away from Otabek.

What the fuck was this?

Otabek was his best friend. They’d held hands before at--

Yuri shied away from the memory of exactly when he and Otabek had held hands. That was still too raw and painful.

But he knew they’d held hands before. So why did the tiniest brush of their fingers have him blushing like a fucking school girl?

Actually, it was worse.

He was blushing like fucking Katsudon. .

Yuri scowled, a crisp mountain breeze blowing his bangs back from his face.

“Yura?” The soft inquiry came from beside him, and Yuri shook his head in response.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Just thinking.”

“About?” The quiet, gentle prompt. Always said with an undercurrent of you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. That’s okay, too.

But part of him always did want to tell Otabek. It wanted to tell Otabek everything.

“Katsudon,” Yuri said after a moment. Settling for the truth, in a truncated, edited way.

“Victor,” he added after a second. “Skating.”

“So, everything.” Otabek’s voice was deadpan, but that twist at the corner of his lips was amusement.

Laughter spilled from Yuri’s lips, bright and shining, whisked away on the mountain breeze.

“Yeah, everything,” he said, leaning forward and crossing his arms on the railing. He looked out, not down. Watched the land slope away into the valley instead of the sharp drop around the pillars of the lookout.

Even though heights weren’t a problem for him, he knew enough to know not to tempt fate.

“Any idea what you’re doing this season?”

Yuri shook his head. He hadn’t thought about it much before now. The numbness of grief had left him indifferent, and he’d planned to let Victor and Lilia decide on his routines for him.

Now, though…

A spark of something in him had woken back up. That felt wrong . Not like cheating, but like...somehow...he knew it wasn’t what he wanted. He knew, no matter how good they were, that he’d never get across why he needed to skate if he didn’t do it himself.

“I might--” Yuri snapped his mouth shut. It was a hare-brained idea. Even now.

Otabek waited. Silent. Patient.

Handsome, Yuri would admit to himself, as he stole a glance at his best friend out of the corner of his eye. (Not that Yuri wasn’t attractive, he just leaned more towards what people called “beautiful” rather than “handsome.”)

“I’m thinking about choreographing it myself,” he admitted. A slight defensive edge to his tone. “I want it to be unforgettable.”

“You’re already unforgettable, you know?” Otabek said as he leaned down. Phrased like a question but undeniably a statement.

“Huh?” Yuri looked at him, green eyes blinking against the glare. The sun was in that direction. Better look away before it blinded him.

“In Boston. You told me you wanted to be unforgettable.” Otabek hitched a shoulder, like he was uncomfortable, eyes fixed out at some imaginary point over the valley, not looking at Yuri.  “You already are.”

Yuri swore he could feel his heart expand. Swelling and growing under the strength of Otabek’s regard.

“Of course you think so,” he said with false bravado. “You’re my best friend.”

He looked off into the distance, carefully avoiding the deep pine green of the trees. Too much like his eyes. Too much like hers .

“I want the whole world to remember my name. I want every figure skater ever to say ‘Yuri Plisetsky, he did that!’” He pointed into the void, like picking something from a menu.

A peal of laughter rang out behind him and Yuri spun to face Otabek, ticked that his best friend was laughing. But it wasn’t mocking, It was fond. Slightly exasperated, maybe. Surprised even. But not mocking. Not mad.

“You mean one world record isn’t enough for you?” Otabek’s teeth were really white, Yuri realized with a start.

A savage grin split Yuri’s face. “Victor’s broken how many world records?” he pointed out, swinging his arms to emphasize his point.

“Anyone can come along and break a world record some day. I want to do something that no one else has ever done before!” He stomped his foot on the wooden planks for emphasis. An impatient punctuation.

Otabek’s lips curled, but not in a smile. In challenge. If there was one thing Yuri could count on in their friendship, it was this. The underlying...not rivalry. Not competition. But the acknowledgement of each other as skaters.

They loved the same sport. Thrived on the same intensity.

“So do something no one has ever done before,” Otabek challenged him. Words hovering in the air before the summer wind whisked them away.

“Because if you don’t, I’ll beat you in every event this year.”

Oh, that lit a fire inside of Yuri. The sweet burn of friendly competition. The challenge of it all. The desire to outshine, outperform everyone. Even his best friend.

The grin that split his face was triumphant, maybe even slightly vicious.

“You’re on,” he said, reaching out to shake Otabek’s hand like they had back in Barcelona. Sealing the second promise of their friendship the same way they sealed their first.

Otabek’s hand was warm, his palm slightly calloused from working out. Yuri didn’t flush this time. The contact was expected. But he couldn’t deny the warmth in his hand, or the way his heart beat a bit faster.

They shook, and the deal was done. Yuri’s skin humming with the promise of challenge, a new drive awakened within him.

As they hiked back down the mountain, though, he couldn’t help the sinking realization that meeting this challenge meant leaving Almaty. Leaving Otabek.

His two weeks were nearly up.

And now that Yuri actually had a reason to look forward to leaving, he found, more than ever, that he didn’t want to go.

Chapter Text

Yuri stomped into Victor’s apartment expecting resistance.

In fact, he’d relish resistance. A good fight was just what he needed.

Leaving Almaty -- watching the ground slip away from the plane’s wheels -- had left Yuri feeling hollow and empty. Like something was missing, though he couldn’t put his finger on what.

Yes, he missed Otabek. That was normal when you lived several thousand miles from your best friend.

But this was new. Different. And Yuri didn’t know how to deal with it as he stomped into Victor’s living room.  

“Ah Yurio!” His coach was bright eyed and happy.  “Did you bring me back soemthing from Kazhakstan?” he asked, smiling that vacant, Victor smile.

“Nyet.” Yuri gritted his teeth together and strode over to stand in between Victor and the tv.

He’d told Victor he was coming over almost as soon as he’d landed back in St. Petersburg. He’d made a decision on the plane home (really he’d made it in Medeu but Victor didn’t need to know that) and the sooner he hashed things out with Victor the better.

Victor, at least, had the good sense to look at least slightly unsettled when Yuri loomed over him, the grin fading into something slightly more serious.

“What’s wrong?” A calculating gleam entered Victor’s eyes, his gaze assessing Yuri. Roaming over his face and body looking for a tell. Spotting the angry tension that vibrated along his limbs.

“I’m choreographing my own programs this year.” Yuri snapped the words out, defiant and ready to fight.

Victor’s eyes widened, lips parting -- the faintest hint of that stupid heart-shaped thing his mouth did showing up on his face.

“Excellent,” he breathed, grabbing Yuri’s hands in his. “Excellent, Yurio!

“This calls for champagne!” Victor dropped his hands and stood up, speeding into the kitchen, rummaging around in the cupboards until he found a green glass bottle which he held up triumphantly.

Yuri gaped. What the hell?

This was the last thing he’d expected. Lilia demanded absolute technical perfection. And Yakov only praised Yuri when Yuri did thing’s Yakov’s way. He’d been anticipating a fight but instead Victor was...happy?

He followed Victor into the kitchen, watching his coach fumble around.

“I’d wondered when you were going to start choreographing your own programs,” Victor said as he fished in a drawer for the corkscrew. “Honestly I thought it would be at least another season or two before you’d be ready.”

Yuri gaped. “You--what?” he sputtered. It had never occurred to him to choreograph before.

“Lilia and I talked about it several times,” Victor continued, searching around for a pair of glasses before finding them in the glass cupboard.

“You’re good enough. If your last few seasons hadn’t been so rough, we probably would have talked to you about it already. You’ve got the talent.” Victor smiled at him as he started pouring the champagne.

“You talked about me with Lilia?” Yuri sputtered, focusing on that instead of the remark about his talent. That was more shocking to him.

Victor nodded, handing Yuri his champagne flute with a flourish.

“She thought it would take you another two seasons before you wanted to start choreographing.” He told Yuri this like he was confiding a secret in the younger skater.

“I knew she was wrong.” Victor winked at him, raising his glass in a toast.

Yuri shook his head, swept away, exhausted, and a little frustrated with his coach. He’d come in here wanting a fight and was getting champagne instead.

Typical.

“Da! Cheers!” Victor said. Yuri rolled his eyes at the heavily accented, pretentious English toast.

They clinked their glasses together and Yuri slugged the champagne back, not caring that he was supposed to sip it. He needed the alcohol to balance all the... Victor .  

“I’m curious, though, Yurio,” Victor said, lowering his glass after a moment. “Why do you want to start choreographing now?”

The quiet introspection from Victor chilled Yuri’s blood. It was easy to forget that Victor was eerily smart and could be incredibly insightful when he wanted to be.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain skater in Almaty, would it?” Victor pressed, shooting him a knowing glance from underneath his bangs.

The rising flush on Yuri’s face did not stop as he glared at Victor.

“Nyet.” The word was harsh. A warning. Do not go there.

Victor, of course, ignored it, choosing to play the clueless card.

“Well then what was it? Surely there must be something--”

“You wouldn’t get it,” Yuri cut him off, looking away. Somber as he stared at the framed pictures of Victor and Yuuri that hung on the wall. The one from their Japanese wedding, the one with the kimonos -- Yuri’s stomach clenched at it. At the expressions of pure love on their faces.

For the first time in his life he could admit that the disgust that curled inside him at seeing their happiness was at least a little bit from jealousy.

They’d made it.

Against all odds, against everything Yuri had ever known about soulmates...they made it.

“There’s something I need to skate.” He looked back at Victor, gaze serious and heavy. Lacking the burning anger he would have had a few years ago. The burning anger of immaturity.

Now, it was something more resolute and solemn that filled his face. That made Victor sit up and take notice, his serious face on. All traces of the vacant, clueless jokester gone.

“There’s something I need to skate,” Yuri said, repeating himself.  “And you would never be able to capture it for me.” Yuri shook his head, hair flying in front of his face so that he wouldn’t have to meet Victor’s eyes.

“Something you need to skate, huh?” Victor’s lips moved as he murmured to himself, sipping on golden bubbles. “And what would this something be?”

Yuri opened his mouth...and was lost for words. How could he explain Almaty? Medeu? How could he show Victor, in only words, what he had experienced skating in the mountains with Otabek -- that feeling he’d been unconsciously chasing ever since he was a child?

A feeling he thought he’d find in gold medals and world records. A feeling he thought he could capture by being the best. Beating Yuuri and Victor and JJ and all the rest of them.

A feeling as ephemeral as the mountain breeze, as subtle as Otabek’s smile.

A feeling he’d lost. Over and over again in all sorts of ways. Lost when he fumbled a jump. Lost when he missed the podium. Lost when his mother left him behind. Lost when his grandfather died.

A feeling he’d only just found again. He had no idea how to explain it. Not in words. On the ice, though...

“A feeling,” Yuri finally said.

Victor smiled, a hint a teeth showing through. Sharp and triumphant.

“Perfect,” he said. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

-----

Lilia had been surprisingly easy to win over. She’d simply looked at him with that cold, regal stare and nodded.

Unspoken agreement that he could be in charge of the choreography -- but she would make it shine.

Getting private ice time from Victor, however...that had been harder.

He’d wanted to see what Yuri was working on and Yuri had refused. If he was going to fall and stumble (and he knew he’d be doing that a lot in the next few weeks) he was going to do it privately, until he figured this thing out.

The arena was empty, the ice pitted from the last team’s practice session.

Every thump, every fall echoed in the silence. Bruises blooming over Yuri’s body as he tried again and again to defy the ice.

To defy physics.

To add that fourth rotation.

To become unforgettable.

Even Victor had never attempted this and now Yuri knew why.

It was hard.

Exhausting.

But when he pulled it off…

Just imagining the looks on their faces was worth it. Otabek and Victor and JJ. Astonishment. Joy. Envy.

It might not be ready for the beginning of the season, but that was okay. Yuri didn’t need it right away.

He already had a spot on the Russian team for Peyongchang.

He could wait until the eyes of the entire world were on him to become unforgettable.

-----

In the dark, at the back of the arena, hidden in the shadows at the top of the stands, Victor watched his student practice one jump over and over and over again.

A smile slid across his lips.

Technically, Victor was one of the most accomplished skaters in history. But his joy hadn’t come from pushing the technical limits of figure skating.

That had come from pushing himself. From digging deep into his own emotions, finding new ways of expressing himself on ice with the same set of tools he’d perfected over the years. The creativity of it all, the surprise of the audience...that was what Victor had lived for.

That was what Victor delighted to see in a routine.

Yuri, however…

Yuri had always had that burning need to do better. Do more. Go bigger than anyone else. Be technically superior in every way. The undisputed champion.

It was why he’d wanted to do quads in Juniors. He meant to outshine them all, in a way that was completely and utterly unforgettable. In a way that no one could ever match, or forget.

No one would ever forget this, Victor thought, watching Yuri from the back wall.

If he pulled this off, it would cement his place forever as one of the top figure skaters in history.

And he was only seventeen.

Victor smiled, hidden away from his apprentice by the dark. Yuri’s own focus keeping him from noticing Victor lurking in the stands.

This year was going to be something special, Victor thought. Something special indeed.

He estimated it would be a few more weeks before Yuri started nailing it.

But once he did…

Oh, the look on their faces. Victor smiled as he left the arena. How shocked would the audience be when Yuri Plisetsky landed a quadruple axel for the first time in competition?

He could barely wait.

Chapter Text

Although Yuri was loath to admit it, these late night practices were getting to him.

Yuri groaned as he fished his phone out of his bag on the bench. He had bruises on top of his bruises. And it seemed like every time he landed, he found a new spot on his body to bruise.

It was the extra half rotation that made the quad axel so hard. Instead of spinning around four times, like any other quad, a quad axel was four and a half rotations.

That extra half rotation was a bitch.

He’d landed it a handful of times already, but not enough to be confident that he could do it in competition.

It wasn’t perfect yet, and it needed to be perfect, Yuri thought, tapping his phone to life to find several texts from Otabek, the last one being a “good night” text.

Goddamnit.

The distance between them hurt more after his visit to Almaty, not less. And now, with the extra hours he was putting in, the distance between them was impacting their friendship even more than usual.

Yuri’s heart wrenched. Something jagged in his chest starting a dull throb.

His arm tingled, but that was probably just from his last fall, he figured as he typed out a message to Otabek.

He wouldn’t get it until tomorrow but Yuri felt better for sending it.

Now to deal with the random who had slipped into Yuri’s DMs. He got messages from his Angels all the time but this one...this one actually sounded like a serious grownup and not a raving fangirl.

Though he’d never seen the handle before -- WinterRain wasn’t a name he recognized -- the message was straight forward.

Yuri, it’s Isabella. I need a favour.

That was it. Just one line. “I need a favour.”

The skeptical part of him wondered if it really was Isabella. The petty part wanted to ignore her.

Curiosity won out, and he replied.

JJ’s Isabella? Why would I help you?

He sent the message and packed up his stuff, not checking his phone again until he was on the bus home.

Her first reply had him gritting his teeth:

Because according to Otabek you’re actually a nice person.

But the second message she sent had him snorting with laughter.

Also it’ll annoy JJ so I figured you’d want in.

Okay...maybe she wasn’t as big of a bitch as Yuri had thought.

What do you want?

I need you to model for me.

Yuri blinked. Well. That was...unexpected.

Why don’t you just use your husband? He replied, text as full of snark as he could make it.

There was a pause while she replied. One long enough for Yuri to make it the rest of the way to his apartment. Absently petting Potya with one hand while he read Isabella’s latest message.

I’m not allowed. I’ve used him for every assignment so far and my professors want me to use someone else.

Professors? Wtf was this for? Yuri wondered.

Wtf is this for?

My final portfolio. I’m studying fashion design.

Yuri blinked at the screen. He hadn’t known that. Maybe she wasn’t completely detestable after all. (Though her luck with soulmates was deplorable.)

I’m training. He said. There was no way he could take time off right now. The Grand Prix Final assignments had already been announced; the season was about to start.

He’d almost perfected the axel. He might not have it ready for the GPF, but he’d definitely have it for Peyongchang. It just needed a few more tweaks.

That and he was consciously spending more time on Skype with Otabek. There was no freaking way he was flying to Canada right now, even if it would piss off JJ.  

JJ has frequent flyer miles. I’ll come to you.

Well, that was unexpected.

Maybe this wouldn’t be terrible.

What do you want me to wear?

Yuri just about choked when he saw the image files Isabella sent through.

These clothes were…

----

“...perfect.”

“Hmm?” Yuri turned his head back to Isabella. He’d only caught the last part of her sentence.

“These photos are perfect, Yuri,” she repeated, head down staring at the viewscreen of her camera.

Yuri shrugged and leaned back against the vinyl bench in the American style diner they’d wound up at after the photo shoot, a slight, smug smile on his face.

Of course they were perfect. Why wouldn’t they be? He brushed his bangs out of his face, watching people stream by on the sidewalk outside.

“So, what’s JJ’s routine this year?” he asked, completely casual.

“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you,” Isabella said, still flicking through photos. Yuri rolled his eyes. Maybe she was a little less annoying now than she had been before (her intense focus during the shoot had impressed him).

“You’re taking the shots, too?” Yuri had snarked at her when they setup. She’d been calm and unruffled, not a single hair out of place in her perfectly smooth bob.

“Yes. All the photography majors shoot my clothes like shit.”

The way she’d said it -- so matter of fact -- Yuri had struggled not to laugh. A faint smile breaking through his usual tough exterior.

An exterior made even tougher by the clothes Isabella had brought with her.

When he’d asked to see the designs he’d had no idea Isabella’s fashion sense was almost exactly the same as his own. Stylish, edgy, just punk enough to be cool, just slick enough to be sophisticated. Screaming bright colours and the deepest blacks, ripped and torn and, in a word: fucking cool .

She’d risen (slightly) in his esteem.

Then she’d dragged him around St. Petersburg for the day, stopping to take shots of him in random streets and alleys before they made it to the rink where she’d shot him in the lobby and on the ice.

“Whatever. I don’t need your help to beat him,” Yuri declared as the waitress set their burgers down in front of him.

“And here we were, getting along so well,” Isabella said, squaring off against Yuri from across the table. Shoulders and face and body language shifting. No longer absorbed in her work, but ready to spar.

“You’re actually kinda cool when you’re not being a dick, Yuri.”

Was it a universal Canadian trait, that they could be complete assholes and still sound nice about it? Yuri wondered. Or was that just JJ and his perfect-match soulmate?

“You know, you didn’t have to fly all the way to Russia to insult me,” he said, crossing his arms and glaring at her. “You could have done that through Instagram and had one of JJ’s friends do your stupid photoshoot.”

Yuri’s jaw dropped when Isabella snorted in laughter. Okay, so he’d lacked some of his usual bite, but Isabella didn’t flinch away when he got mad. She just turned that flat, unimpressed stare at him, gave as good as she got, and kept going.

He hated to say this about anyone connected to JJ...but, except for the fact that she was laughing hysterically across the table from him, he was actually kinda starting to like her.

“What’s so funny?” he asked as Isabella shook her head, hair flying around her face. A stray strand sticking to her cheek.

“What friends?” Isabella asked. “JJ has none. I’m his best friend and we’re married .”  

Well...that was...Yuri gaped at her. Because obviously JJ was an overconfident asshole who nobody should like, but he had so many fans and was so (disgustingly) charming that Yuri couldn’t fathom him not having any friends.

It must have shown on his face because Isabella shook her head.

“I mean, he doesn’t have no friends...There are a few skaters he’s close with. He has a few friends from high school he still hangs out with. There’s a couple of guys at his rink he parties with on occasion, but honestly Yuri,” Isabella shrugged. One bare shoulder out to the air. “He doesn’t have many friends. Not good ones anyway. They’re all…” she trailed off for a moment, a slight frown pursing her lips.

“None of them get it, not in the way you and Otabek and the other skaters do. No one else understands his drive, his need to be the best. And that he actually has the skills to do it.”

The sounds of the diner --clattering plates and cups and cutlery, people moving around -- all seemed very loud, suddenly. Amplified by Isabella’s revelation. But also...kinda muted?

Yuri opened his mouth but she held up a hand to cut off his indignant reply

“Relax, I’m not insulting you. JJ’s a very talented skater. As much as you hate him, you can admit that.” Brown eyes bored into his, and Yuri jerked a shoulder grudgingly. She was right. But Otabek had nicer eyes than she did and Yuri would feel smug about that forever.

He shoved more fries in his mouth. The most annoying thing about JJ was that she was right.

It was what made competing against him so frustrating. And so exciting.

“Why do you get it?” Yuri asked after a moment.

“Huh?” Bella asked, eyes wide as Yuri caught her mid-bite of her hamburger.

“Why do you get it when JJ’s friends don’t? Is it a soulmate thing?” He asked while she had her mouth full.

She held up a finger, making him wait while she finished chewing.

“No, it’s not because we’re soulmates. I get it because I’m the same way with fashion.”

She gestured with her hands, the diner standing in for all of Russia. “Why do you think I flew out here to take your picture? I know what my professors want to see. Versatility. Beauty. Design. Great pictures. I can do all of that, I just needed the right model. And if it meant flying to St. Petersburg, it meant flying to St. Petersburg.” She shrugged, eyeing Yuri’s forearms.

He folded his arms over his chest, ignoring the fact that Isabella had clearly seen his unmarked forearms just now...and that she’d been seeing them all day. “I don’t have one,” he said, icy cold.

She nodded. No hesitation, no sad looks. Nothing like he was abnormal for not having a soulmark so late. She just kept on going.

“So, when you’re bonded, you can literally feel the other person’s emotions at all times. I get how JJ is because I’m the same way. But even if I didn’t, as his soulmate, I’d still be able to feel how he feels about skating and about his friends.”

Something inside Yuri loosened. Isabella’s matter of fact treatment of his soulmark status was...a relief. A release of a tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying

“So the bond helps, but it’s not the whole reason we get one another. Does that make sense?” she asked.

Yuri nodded. “Kinda like how Victor and Katsudon could fall in love while Katsudon didn’t realize they were soulmates, right?” he asked, playing with the straw in his nearly-empty milkshake.

“Exactly.”

Yuri leaned back against the vinyl booth seat, staring into nothing.

“My mother didn’t get her soulmark till she was thirty.” Isabella’s smile was kind and genuine. Not pitying, but understanding. “My dad isn’t even her soulmate. They met when she was thirty-five. I’m her miracle baby.

“As far as she’s concerned, she could never run into her soulmate. She’s happy now, so she doesn’t really care.”

Yuri gaped at her. He’d never heard of such a thing. Of someone not caring about meeting their soulmate.

Sure, there were those crazy one-in-a-million, together-without-a-soulmark pairs. But to actually not care…

To be with someone when you had someone else’s soulmark on your arm...he hadn’t even known that was possible.

His stomach clenched. He hated the idea of soulmates, and yet he still cared. Not because he wanted one, but because he got the same look every time someone saw his fucking arms.

Victor and Katsudon and the people who knew him...it was fine. They stopped looking at him like that. It was the paparazzi and his fans and the strangers on the street he hated. They could take their pity and shove it.

Except Isabella didn’t think that. At all. There was something in her eyes...something unnameable. Whatever it was, Yuri felt safe.

She leaned forward across the table from him, shoving her plate off to the side. Her eyes inexorably glued to his.

“Take it from someone who has one, Yuri,” she said, “soulmates are not the be all end all of your existence. Whether you’re happy about that,” she gestured at his arms, “or not. You have to chase your dreams and make them happen. You have to work to build the life you want. Soulmate or no.”

His arms uncrossed of their own accord and Yuri looked out the window, searching the St. Petersburg street for something to look at that wasn’t Isabella.

This was even worse than when Otabek saw through him. At least Otabek knew him.

“My parents taught me that. Being with JJ taught me that.”

Yuri’s head whipped back, suspicion twisting the sides of his mouth. An easy escape from the vulnerable state Isabella had somehow thrown him into.

She laughed at the look on his face. “Oh come on. You can’t pretend that you thought my relationship with JJ was all sunshine and roses?” she asked.

“I honestly wasn’t even sure you actually loved him until he choked at the Grand Prix Final.” Yuri meant the line to be snarky and scathing, and the undertone of anger was still there, but it came out more flippant.

Isabella laughed. “Honestly, I don’t think he was even sure until then either.

“I was so proud of him that day.” She looked out the window, eyes lost in a memory -- one that should have been painful but was instead, strangely, happy. “He skated so terribly.” Judging from the smile on her face, you would thought JJ had won gold, not come in sixth for the short program.

“You were proud of him because he failed?” God, he just wanted her to finish her food. Hanging out with Isabella was exhausting. She officially was too confusing and changed emotions too quickly for Yuri to deal with.

And he had way too much to think about to be happy.

Isabella shook her head. “I was proud of him because he kept trying. Because he didn’t give up when every other person I’ve ever met would have.”

She looked out the window, reflective. Yuri had no idea what they would have done if they’d been seated at an actual table and had nowhere else to look except at the other diners.

“It’s easy for someone like JJ to win. It’s so much harder for him to lose.” She turned back, dark eyes piercing. “It’s easy to love someone when they’re on top, Yuri. Especially when there’s a happy soulbond humming between the two of you.  It’s a lot harder to love them when they’re down and you can’t fix it. Especially when it feels like there’s a knife in your chest where the soulbond should be.”

Yuri waited for a moment before speaking. “You done yet?” he asked, mouth a thin line. Anger churning inside him. None of this mattered since he didn’t have a soulmate.

“Not quite.” She regarded him for a moment, dark eyes steady. “Remember how I said my mom’s not with her soulmate?”

Yuri rolled his eyes. Yes, that was literally five minutes ago, hag .

Isabella sipped her milkshake.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re with your soulmate or if you never get one. Happiness takes work. And if you really want something, or someone, you need to go after it. And you need to be willing to fight for them.”

She took a deep breath, like she was looking for space while she searched for words.

“Soulmates aren’t a magic cure. But don’t let the fact that you don’t have one mean you’re never going to experience that.”

He snorted out a generic retort, muttered something but he couldn't even say what it was. Isabella's words hit deep. Deeper than he wanted to admit.

Yuri looked away, out the window, focusing on the sidewalk because if he didn’t, he’d imagine he could see Otabek’s face in the glass.

He had a lot to think about.

-----

The email Otabek got from Isabella a few days later was brief. She’d barely written anything. Just “these are for you.”

Otabek clicked the two files open, curious as to why Isabella was sending him photos. Usually if JJ had done something embarrassing she’d tag him on Instagram.

But these photos weren’t of JJ.

They were of Yuri.

One was calm and relaxed, him laughing in the locker room as he pulled off his skates. Clearly in the middle of a styled photoshoot but looking, somehow, like he’d just come off the ice. White-blond hair glowing in the soft light. Green eyes soft and crinkled as he looked at someone out of frame. Probably Mila.

God, there were days when Yuri took his breath away. When had Bella taken these? He wondered, switching to the next picture.

If the first picture had taken his breath away, this one made his heart ache. Like his chest wasn’t big enough to hold the wave of feeling that swept through him.

The photographer (Isabella?) had captured Yuri pushing himself up from a fall. Hands splayed on the ice beneath him as he just started to push himself up, sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead. Bright green eyes just rising up to meet the camera. A fierce determination burned inside them.

The kind that said “you can’t keep me down.”

The picture embodied Yuri. His grace on the ice. His incredible drive. His desire to win.

His refusal to lose.

He wanted this picture hanging on his wall.

Because if Otabek hadn’t been in love with his soulmate before, he was now.

When did you take this? He asked, messaging Bella on Instagram.

(The one advantage of their time difference -- no matter how late it was for him, it was sill much, much earlier for Isabella and JJ in Canada.)

A few days ago .

…? He sent back. Not needing to put the question into words.

I needed a model for my portfolio. Yuri was my best option.

Okay, that kinda made sense...if you knew Bella.

He really loves you, you know. She added before Otabek had a chance to respond.

Otabek shut off his phone, ignoring the way his throat tightened at Isabella’s words.

He knew Yuri cared about him. They were best friends after all. Love, however, was a bit much to ask.

Chapter Text

Otabek was on the couch, surrounded by scraps of paper and sheet music when Skype started up it’s familiar ding.

Yuri.

Did he stop the flow and answer? Or did he let it ring and keep writing?

Otabek bit the inside of his cheek, looking at the pad of paper that he’d been staring at futilely for the last twenty minutes.

He picked up the call.

“Hey,” he answered, adjusting so that Yuri could see him on the couch.

“Hey,” Yuri said back, dressed in a black long sleeve sweatshirt.

The light behind him was wrong. Too yellow and --

“Yuri, are you at the rink?” Otabek asked.

Yuri nodded, biting his lip. The uncertainty in him...it flooded Otabek. Trepidation and uncertainty and...excitement?

A hope, almost. Like he wanted Otabek to be proud?

That made no sense.

But apparently that was what the bond was telling him.

“There’s something I want to show you,” he said. Soft and quiet, like he was sharing a secret.

Otabek did the math -- it was late in Almaty, which meant the rink should be empty or almost empty in St. Petersburg.

Come to think of it, Yuri had been practicing more than usual lately. Even when they’d Skyped he’d seemed stiffer, more sore. And secretive. He’d said pretty much nothing about his routines for this season, other than that he was choreographing them and that they were going well.

A flutter of hope beat in Otabek’s chest.

Was Yuri wanting to show Otabek his routine? Was this...was Yuri skating...for him?

The thought floated at the back of his mind. An impossible fantasy, too good to be true.

“So show me,” he said. A request that was also a command.

Yuri’s grin filled the screen before the blond skater took off.

The camera was angled wide enough that Otabek could see the entire rink, as Yuri skated down to the far end and doubled back, picking up speed in preparation for a jump.

But why would Yuri show him--

Otabek held his breath as Yuri started his approach, clearly lining up for an axel, but what--

Unforgettable .

The word whispered in his mind, the flash of memory like a mountain breeze in summer.

He wasn’t…

Tension coiled in Otabek’s muscles. His body responding to what he saw on screen, twisting the slightest like he himself was about to jump. Shifting through the motions with Yuri.

He knew in his gut, now, that this wasn’t the routine but something more. Something different.

Otabek counted.

One.

Two.

Three.

Held his breath.

Four.

And a half.

Opposite foot to land. Clean landing. Glide off.

Otabek exhaled, a sigh of astonished relief.

He’d done it. Yuri had really done it.

The younger skater punched the air before gliding back over to the laptop.

“Beka, did you see that?” Yuri shouted, voice slightly distorted as it echoed around the rink. He was pumped, bright green eyes glowing like phosphorescent jade. The adrenaline, the victory.

Otabek shook his head. If this was what Yuri had been working on, they were all in trouble at the competitions this year.

He grinned. JJ wouldn’t stand a chance.

He hoped Yuri waited for a final so he could see the look on JJ’s face when he saw it for the first time.

“You really are unforgettable, Yura, you know that?” Otabek said, as Yuri skated to a stop in front of his laptop.

Yuri looked away, bashful spots of red riding high on his cheeks. Probably from the exertion. He was still panting slightly.

“Beka,” he started, a little hesitant. “Thank you. For being there for me. When were things were bad.”

That threw Otabek off a bit. “That’s what friends do,” he said. Though Yuri was his soulmate, Otabek liked to believe they’d be this close without his soulbond to the other boy.  

“I know, but...Thank you.” Yuri said. Something in his eyes telling Otabek that he knew it hadn’t been easy for him. And that he wanted to say thank you for that.

“How long have you been working on this?” Otabek asked, changing the subject.

Yuri grinned. “Since Medeu.”

Otabek laughed. Of course. The challenge. Of course this  would be Yuri’s answer. Something insane, that no one else would even think to attempt.

Of course.

Yuri smiled, like he knew Otabek’s laughter was joy, not ridicule. “You’re my best friend. I wanted to show you.” Yuri jerked a shoulder. Awkward. Like he didn’t quite know what he wanted to say but wanted to put something into words.

Otabek got it.

“You’re just giving me a chance to prepare” he said, deliberately poking fun at Yuri for showing a rival skater his new move.

“You don’t stand a chance,” Yuri said, blinding grin filling the screen.

He really didn’t, Otabek thought as he ended the call.

He really didn’t.

The astonishment faded in the quiet of his apartment, replaced by disappointment.

For a second he’d hoped…

Wished that that little flicker of hope -- that Yuri was skating for him -- could be true.

That despite the unrequited soulbond between them, they could be something more than friends.

An impossible fantasy, too good to be true.

---

Katsudon hadn’t even been off the ice for a full season and the pig had already gained weight. That pudge certainly hadn’t been there while Yuuri was training.

Victor, however, looked at his husband with even more adoration than before...if that was even possible.

Yuri nearly gagged on his dinner watching them swap goo-goo eyes. Katsudon’s retirement hadn’t been surprising to anyone -- even with Victor coaching him, it hadn’t been the same for him, skating singles again without Victor. He’d won, but some of that sparkle had left him. Even though Victor was standing on the sidelines, cheering him on.

A small, angry part of Yuri was pissed off. His retirement meant Yuri’d never get a chance to beat Katsudon with a clean routine. They’d missed each other in competitions constantly. First because he and Victor switched to pairs, then because Yuri’s last two seasons had been disastrous.

He slurped more noodles up, chewing with furious vigour. More than anything he was mad at himself that he wasn’t going to get to skate against Katsudon again.

Though from the look on the pig’s face he didn’t particularly care, as besotted with Victor as he was.

Yuri ignored the pang of hurt in favour of anger and irritation. That was easy. He’d been on edge and moody since Isabella’s comments in the diner weeks ago. Talking to Otabek was the only thing that made him feel better…

Which just annoyed him more because it kinda proved her point.

Unfortunately, no matter how much Yuri trained or ignored it, the damn feeling wasn’t going away.

The slight, fluttery happiness that he felt around Otabek. The lightness of just being with him.

This couldn’t be what people call love...could it?

The doubt gnawed away at Yuri for days until he finally decided to invite himself over to Victor and Yuuri’s for dinner. He’d sit through their goo-goo eyes and obnoxious lovey-dovey-ness until it was time to do the dishes. He’d ask Katsudon what he needed to ask him (because there was no fucking way he was asking Victor about this) and then he’d leave.

And he was almost through the suffering part.

Thank god.

“Hey, Yurio, how are your programs coming?” Other-Yuuri smiled at him, guileless and happy. Like he was actually happy for him.

“If you hadn’t retired I would have kicked your ass this year.” It hurt, watching Yuuri choose Victor over the ice. Katsuki had been the one he was competing with, the one he wanted to surpass.

He’d probably do that this year, but surpassing Yuuri Katsuki after he retired was totally different from surpassing him while they were both skating.  

Of course, Katsudon just laughed. His smile warm and fond. “I’m sure you would have, Yurio,” he said, clearing the table.

“I hate to say this, Yuuri, but I think Yurio might have beaten you this year,” Victor said, swirling more wine in his glass. Those blue eyes steady and Yuri’s own. Like Victor knew something.

What the…?

“He’s got some new tricks up his sleeve, don’t you Yurio?” That twinkle in Victor’s eye normally made Yuri want to punch him. Today, instead, his blood ran cold, a chill running along his skin.

Did Victor know about the axel? He shook the fear off, grabbing the remaining dishes and clearing the table instead. No. He couldn’t know. Victor had never been at the rink while Yuri had been practicing it. He’d made certain of that.

Thunking the dishes down beside the sink, Yuri started scraping them off, pointedly ignoring Victor. He missed the raised eyebrow Yuuri sent to his husband, and the helpless shrug Victor sent back.

“We’re out of ice cream,” Yuuri said suddenly, shaking his hands off and wiping them on a towel. He turned to his husband, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“Victor? Would you go get us some ice cream for dessert?”

After three years of marriage, Victor Nikiforov, eternally clueless, somehow both ridiculously charming and socially inept, had learned a few things about his husband.

Namely to do whatever Yuuri asked when he spotted that particular razor sharp kind smile. Or else.

“Uh--of course,” he said, rising from the table. “Why don’t I just take Makkachin with me, hmm?” he asked. “We’ll go for a little walk.”

He kept murmured to the dog as they left, and Yuri would have sworn he heard something about ‘being unwanted’.

Yuri’s shoulders relaxed when the door clicked closed behind Victor.

Katsuki didn’t say anything, just went back to washing dishes and handing them to Yurio to dry.

“How did you know you loved Victor?” Yuri asked after a moment, drying the rim of the same plate over and over.

Yuuri blinked over at him surprised, and Yuri scrambled for an explanation. “He’s just so annoying. I don’t see how you could love him. Even if he is your soulmate.”

Hard, brusque, defensive. Yes, that was better.

Except Katsudon chuckled and pushed his glasses up on his nose before smiling at him. He took the dry plate from Yuri’s hands and placed it in the cupboard. Throwing the dishtowl over his shoulder, signalling that this was going to be an actual talk , not just them chatting while doing the dishes.

“Hmm,” he thought for a moment, chin propped in one hand. “How did I know when I loved Victor?”

Yuri rolled his eyes. Because come on. Surely Katusdon, one of the most besotted people on the freaking planet, would have a fast, sure answer for this.

“When I knew that, even if my soulmate showed up, I’d rather be with Victor. That’s when I knew I was in love.” Yuuri blushed.

Yuri did not want to know what he was remembering.

“Yeah, but like...what did that…” words failed him, anger tickling the back of his throat. Impotence stirring in the pit of his stomach.

What did that feel like?

Somehow, Yuuri must have read the question on his face, in the hesitance of his voice.

“Like, if Victor walked out of my life, my heart would stop beating.” Yuuri’s held a hand over his heart, fingers curled in, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, like he could hold it tighter.

“I didn’t know it at the time, but that was probably the soulbond.” Yuuri laughed. “I didn’t even know it was there and I could still feel it.”

Yuri glowered, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff. Great. Like that would help. He didn’t even have a mark let alone a soulmate. If the bond was what had Katusdon falling for the old man then Yuri…

He cut that thought off with a shake of his head.

“I just don’t get it,” he groused, kicking at the kitchen tile with one foot. “What makes someone so special that you can love them at all?”

“Well, what about your grandfather?” Yuuri asked.

“Huh?”

“What did you love about him?”

Little things. Tiny moments. Making pirozhki together. The way he’d hug Yuri before bed at night. How he came to get Yuri every single time his mother left him behind. The kindness in his eyes. An ache of longing opened up in the pit of Yuri’s stomach as he thought about his grandfather, the wound still very raw almost a year later.

“It was the little things, wasn’t it?” Yuuri asked gently, and Yuri nodded, hiding his face behind his hair.

“It’s like that for a lot of people. The soulbonds bring us together--”

“Or makes you run away to Japan” Yuri snarked.

“Yeah, or that. The bond might bring us together, initially, but we still have to learn to love each other. And it’s in the little things.

I love the way Victor believes in me, more than anyone else. More than even I did. I love the way he drinks his coffee in the morning. And the way he sprawls out to sleep with Makkachin on the floor.” That small, secret smile was back, illuminating Yuuri’s features even though he was looking down now.

“Love isn’t just about someone being your soulmate. It’s about seeing them -- all of them -- for who they really are. And loving all of that person.

“Yes, Victor can be shallow and vain and careless. I can be cowardly and timid. It’s not that I love him anyway, or he loves me despite that. He loves all of me. Even the not-so flattering bits. And I love those parts of him too. Because he wouldn’t be Victor without them. And I want all of Victor I can get.”

With a clenched fist and a resolute nod, Yuuri pulled the dishtowel off of his shoulder and got back to work, leaving Yuri a tad...bewildered.

If that was love...did he feel that way about Otabek? Yuri wondered, taking the next plate Yuuri passed to him.

He had even more to think about now.

Chapter Text

Competition this year was...different.

Yuri could feel it in his blood, in his bones as he stepped out onto the ice for the first event of the Grand Prix series. When he took the ice in smaller competitions to qualify for the Russian nationals.  

This year, he was different.

More sure, more certain than ever before.

This year was his year. (Even the announcers thought so, their commentary an endless stream of variations on “holy shit”.)

He was going to annihilate everyone.

Some small part of him started to understand JJ’s limitless confidence. Where before Yuri had always been desperate to prove himself, now, he knew, with rock-hard certainty, that he was going to win.

And he did.

He took gold in both Grand Prix qualifying events, showing the world that Yuri Plisetsky was back, with a vengeance. (And taking no small amount of satisfaction at beating out JJ in the Rostelecom Cup this time.)

The final was where he was going to prove it.

-----

The crowd roared and screamed as he took to the ice. Black tunic with the skin-tight sleeves sparkling under the lights. A jeweled illusion made to look like tears.

This routine was called Loss.

Muscles loose and warm, mind clear and focused, Yuri waited for the music to begin. Closing out the sounds of the crowd from years of practice. Waiting, waiting for one voice to break through.

“Yuri, davai!”

Otabek’s voice rang into the near silence just before his routine started. The thumbs up Yuri sent was automatic now. Their thing.

Something small and insignificant. The smallest moment.

But it meant everything. After all the disappointment and pain and failure they’d gone through…

All the years they’d missed this moment because he had fallen short…

That Otabek was still here, at the GPF, waiting for him...

It meant everything to him.

Maybe that’s what Katusdon had been talking about.

He still hadn’t decided if he was going to do the axel when he started skating. A slow, mournful glide that matched the music.

This routine told a tale of sadness -- of being alone, then being found, and then losing everything all over again.

It had been written for his grandfather.

Victor and Lilia had helped him refine it, but the routine had come from him. Pulled from the depths of his heart, the moments of blackest despair.

The crushing hole in his life his grandfather had left. A hole even skating couldn’t quite fill.

He skated that.

And the audience wept.

And the look on Otabek’s face when he was done…

Seeing it in person for the first time…

There was no envy. No jealousy. None of the other mixed emotions Yuri often felt when looking at other skaters who had surpassed him. Or who were better than him.

Just joy and admiration shining from those coffee-brown eyes. Shining so bright he could see it across the rink.

It was the smallest little thing.

And yet it meant everything, Yuri realized, sitting in the kiss and cry waiting for his score.

In his worst moments, Yuri was insecure and petty and vindictive -- even to people who had been nothing but kind to him.

Otabek wasn’t.

His heart clenched, and his score didn’t matter, despite the whoop from Victor indicating Yuri had reached a new best for the season. (It was hard to beat your personal best when it was the standing world record.)

The realization of that small, little thing, shifted everything for Yuri.

-----

He fumbled the axel in his free program. With not enough speed going into the jump it looked like an over-rotation of a normal triple.

Thank god.

That would have been embarrassing, attempting the quad and fucking up the first time in competition.

What a way to go down in history.

It saved his pride, but it cost him gold.

Standing on the podium waving to the crowd with the silver medal around his neck.   

Otabek stood above him, holding up his gold medal for the cameras.

He still looked stoic, but Yuri could tell from the relaxed slope of his shoulders and the small smile on his face that he was happy. Even if the reporters kept urging him to smile.

Stadium lights haloed on Otabek’s dark hair as he glanced over at Yuri. A shy kind of victory shining from his eyes.

This was the first time they’d shared a podium, Yuri realized with a start. His jerk obviously noticeable because the photographer yelled at him. Baring his teeth in a grotesque approximation of a smile, one designed to scare the photographers, he turned back to them. Flowers rusting in his arms as he adjusted them.

He’d expected the silver medal to burn. To sting the way it always had when he’d come second to JJ or Victor or...anyone else, really. The familiar hints of resentment and disappointment and self-recrimination -- he’d expected them to be there.

But the happiness radiating from his best friend burned all of that away.

It was a small thing, but Yuri would take silver every time if it meant Otabek would always be this happy.

-----

The one advantage to having Victor for a coach was never having to fly economy. Especially on long haul flights from Japan to Russia.

The one disadvantage to having Victor for a coach was having to sit beside him in first class. On a 9 hour flight. And then the connecting flight after that. (Getting to Nagoya for this year’s GPF was a pain in the ass.)

At least Yuri had the window. And an in-flight entertainment system.

He could drown out Victor’s annoying chatter, flirting with the flight attendants like he didn’t have a husband.

Until he got an opening and then it was nothing but pictures of his perfect husband who was leaving Victor to visit his family in Hasetsu in the middle of the season and it just wasn’t fair that he should ever have to be without his Yuuri.

Utterly disgusting.

Except…

“I finally get it,” Yuri said, still looking out the window as they rolled away from the gate.

“Hmm?” Victor blinked, curious.

“Why you and the pig switched to pairs skating.”

Victor’s mouth did that heart-shaped thing it did when he was surprised. “Really?” he said, elbow on the arm rest, chin propped in his hand.

Yuri rolled his eyes. Opening his mouth had been a big mistake.

He jerked a shoulder, trying to brush his coach off. “Yeah. I get it.”

“But why do you get it now, Yurio? Come on, I’m not a mind reader, you know?” Victor batted his eyelashes, the picture of innocence.

“I just get it, okay!” he snapped, pushing at the buttons of his in-flight entertainment system. Why didn’t the damn thing work before takeoff?!

A wounded sigh echoed beside him, loud enough that Yuri was sure the entire plane could hear.

He glared at Victor and pulled the hood of his Team Russia jacket up, ignoring his coach.

No, Victor would not wear him down.

By the third sigh Yuri was ready to punch him. In the face.

“You want to win, but you want him to win, too. Because it makes him happy. And you want him to be happy. And that’s just as important as winning.” Yuri’s voice was quiet, muffled by his hood as he stared at the black screen in front of him. Willing it to turn on so he could start marathoning mindless movies and finally be able to shut out Victor.

The smile that curved Victor’s lips was proud. Happy. Admiration shining from his eyes.

Braced for Victor’s response (more probing questions, more invasive insights) Yuri noticed none of it. Too busy searching Victor’s face for signs that he was going to use this against him.

When Victor didn’t say anything, Yuri relaxed, shoulders falling back into his seat as they finally started taxiing off the runway.

“It’s Otabek, isn’t it?” Victor finally asked once they were in the air.

How it was possible for Yuri to jump three feet out of his seat while strapped into the seat and held down by the g-forces of take off he didn’t know. But he did, nearly smacking his head on the bulkhead above him.

“WHAT?” Yuri roared. Every head in the first class cabin twisted to look at him, whispers and curious murmurs traveling through the cabin.

“Keep your voice down, you’re disturbing the other passengers,” Victor said, smiling.

Through gritted teeth Yuri, very quietly, asked “What do you mean it’s Otabek ?” Spitting the other skater’s name like it was a curse.

“Well why wouldn’t it be?” Victor blinked. “He is your best friend, and he just won the Grand Prix Final. I’d hope you’d want him to be happy.”

Victor lay a hand on his shoulder. Grudgingly, communicating his reluctance with every line of his body, Yuri turned to face him.

“I’m proud of you, you know?”

Yuri swallowed, Victor’s words giving rise to all kinds of uncomfortable feelings. Feelings that were warm and fuzzy and that made some of the empty, angry holes inside him less empty. Less angry.  

“I don’t need your approval,” he snapped after a second.

But that smile on Victor’s face told Yuri that he knew what those words meant.

“No, you don’t.” Victor turned to the screen in front of him, which had come on in the middle of their talk. “But sometimes it’s nice.”

Nice. Yuri huffed but didn’t say anything, sliding on his headphones and ignoring Victor for the rest of the flight.

Pretending like he hadn’t just told his coach, in a very oblique way, that he was in love with his best friend.

Pretending, even to himself (just for a little while longer), that he didn’t have (or want) to do anything about that.

Pretending that he wasn’t thinking about to he should say to Otabek when he saw him again in person (because this was definitely the sort of thing you talked about in person and not on Skype). Or if he should even say anything.

Unrequited soulmate or not...would Otabek even want to be with him? Romantically?

It wasn’t impossible. Isabella’s mother was proof of that, that you could be with someone who wasn’t your soulmate and still be happy. That you could choose someone who wasn’t your soulmate even if you were bonded to someone else.

Yuri chewed his lip for most of the flight, eyes locked on the screen but seeing nothing.

Victor, however, saw all of it.  Relaxing back into his seat, he smiled.

Chapter Text

Peyongchang.

His first Olympics.

Yuri took a deep breath.

He was here.

He should play it cool. It wasn’t that different from any other competition…

Except it was.

The airport smelled like an airport -- nothing special. Humans and fatigue and jet fuel, underlaid with the cold scents of metal and concrete.

But the potential of it all buzzed under his skin. Though that could be the fatigue. A blizzard in St. Petersburg had delayed their flight by several hours and Yuri wanted a shower and bed. In that order.

Instead he got…

“Yuri!” A blur of dark hair and stylish clothes flung itself at him, hugging him before the could pull away.

“Wha--” he sputtered before realizing who it was.

Isabella.

Isabella?!

“Hug me back,” she whispered into his ear. “It’s for the tabloids.”

Yuri went along with it, wrapping his arms around her briefly before letting go. She took his arm, clinging to his side. Looking, to all the world, like they were a couple.

Yuri raised an eyebrow, somehow both scornful and confused. “What are you doing?” he asked.

She flashed him a grin. “My darling husband dropped his passport in a snowbank. I’ve spent the last three days at the passport office fixing. everything. for him.”

Yuri’s laugh died a quick death in his throat as Isabella shot him a smile full of savage pleasure.

“So I’m hanging out with you. Hopefully the tabloids will start giving JJ a hard time about our relationship.”

Yuri wasn’t sure if that was brilliant...or terrifying.

Before he could say anything, another voice called out his name.

“Yura!”

God, did all of their flights arrive at the same time?

Except he honestly didn’t care. That voice could call his name till the end of time and he’d answer.

He turned, and there was Otabek, pushing through the crowd, suitcase behind him. A smile gracing his face.

Yuri’s heart flipped over. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach for his best friend, but also very aware they were in public. And that Isabella was clinging to him.

Yuri smiled instead, a split second too late. The hesitation just an instant too long as his heart skipped a beat.

Something flickered at the back of Otabek’s eyes, a shadow crossing his face as he stopped in front of of Yuri, smile fading into his usual flat expression.

Shit . He’d seen it.

Mentally shrugging it off, Yuri stepped forward, shaking off Isabella to wrap Otabek in a hug.

“Hey,” he said gruffly into the collar of Otabek’s jacket. Warm arms wrapped around him -- stronger than Isabella’s. Arms that had held him through so much already.

Arms that felt like home.

Arms that he hoped would never let go.

Goddamnit.

He’d told himself he wouldn’t do this -- and he blinked back the shock. The tears. The everything that was threatening to overflow.

He’d thought he’d have more time. Time to adjust. To get settled in. Time to figure out what he wanted to say when he saw Otabek in person again.

But his fucking flight had been delayed and here he was, hugging his best friend in the middle of an airport. On the verge of blurting out these feelings that had been hiding under the anger all these years.

It pissed him off.

“You’re here,” he said, terse and short. Tight lines set around his mouth.

Otabek’s frowned, a concerned crease marring his forehead. He was worried because Yuri seemed mad. Yuri knew this because he knew Otabek and could read his face like no one else.

“Yeah.”

Before either of them could speak JJ appeared from the throng of people.

“Bella! There you are!” the Canadian smiled brightly, seemingly unaware of how pissed of his wife was.

She’d dropped Yuri’s arm but grabbed it again, brown eyes shooting daggers at her soulmate.

“Don’t you ‘Bella’ me, Jean ,” she said, voice dripping venom.

If Yuri hadn’t been so off his game with Otabek’s appearance he might have been impressed.

Otabek laughed. The wounded look JJ shot him just made him laugh more. A small smile crept along Yuri’s face. The now-familiar expanding feeling in his chest starting up again.

Stronger now that he was with Otabek in person.

He tuned out for a while, just watching Otabek as JJ pleaded with his wife. Letting the throng of people mill around them. Waiting for Victor to show up.

He’d had a plan too, goddamn it. Otabek’s soulbond was unrequited. After the competition was over and he’d won gold, he was going tell Otabek how he was feeling. To suggest that maybe they could have something.

Not a soulbond, but better. Because they’d chosen it.

Otabek’s asshole soulmate didn’t want him anyway (and for that Yuri thought he was the biggest idiot on the planet). And Yuri didn’t have a soulmate -- and it didn’t seem like he’d be getting one any time soon.

So it made sense that they could---

“Yura,” Otabek’s voice was low as he touched Yuri’s shoulder, snapping Yuri out of it. Isabella and JJ lost in the sea of people, Yuri’s suitcase now stood in front of him. A flash of silver hair and a raised hand disappearing into the crowd.

“Huh?” Yuri turned to him, and his breath caught in his throat. Words he desperately wanted to say nearly spilling out.

Now that he’d acknowledged how he felt, it seemed impossible to hold it back.

“Let’s go,” Otabek said, hesitating for the briefest second before grabbing Yuri’s hand and dragging him out of the airport.

Yuri followed without hesitation.

-----

Despite the fact that they were at the second, smaller Olympic Village in Gangneung so they could be close to the ice arena, the village teemed with activity.

There was a buzz in the air. The excitement of competition the same as before any other skating event -- except magnified by about two hundred.

Thousands of athletes, all here for one reason. Gold.

Except gold was the last thing on Yuri’s mind as he and Otabek grabbed lunch in the large cafeteria. And then played video games in one of the lounges.

The opening ceremony wasn’t for another few days. Things had barely got started.

Right now, they could relax.

Except for the words itching on Yuri’s tongue, he would have.

“Yura,” Otabek said. Yuri glanced over, lazy. Disinterested. Spread out on the floor. His reputation preceeded him and no one on the Russian team had wanted to room with him so he had the room to himself.

Well, himself and Otabek.

“Whut?” Yuri asked, scrolling through Instagram on his phone.

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh?” Yuri sat up, pushing his blond hair out of his face.

“You seem...off.” Otabek shrugged a shoulder.

Yuri flopped back on the quilt. Silent before speaking.

This was his chance. He could say something now…

But what if Otabek didn’t feel the same way? Doubt clawed up Yuri’s stomach, closing off his throat. Choking out the words.

As much as the words threatened to spill out, he didn’t want to have this conversation. Not now. Not before they performed. There was too much on the line for him as a skater -- for both of them as skaters -- to have this conversation before the competition.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” the snap in Otabek’s tone surprised him.

“I know you, and I know something’s wrong,” he said, eyes holding Yuri’s gaze. The darkness was back there and Yuri--

Yuri wanted to say something.

But...

“Can we talk about it after the competition?” Yuri asked.

Otabek nodded, staring out over the river with him in silence.

-----

The morning of the men’s short program Yuri woke up sweating.

Not because he was hot, or afraid.

But because his arm was burning. Pain searing along the skin, a hot flare as he curled into a ball. Right arm clutched to his chest in a vain attempt to stop the pain.

All he could do was bite his lip and ride it out.

Fuck.

Minutes -- hours? Later, he finally uncurled. The burning receding so that his skin was just hot.

He didn’t want to move though.

As long as he didn’t look at his arm, he could pretend. He could pretend that this hadn’t happened.

Sweaty blond hair sticking to his forehead, breath slowly returning to normal, he could pretend that he hadn’t just gotten his soulmark.

Chapter Text

Yuri stared down at the script on his arm, anger rising inside him, bile building at the back of his throat.

Davai.

The word mocked him, black letters stark against his skin as he stared at it in the bathroom. It was still tender to the touch, the skin around it red and raw from where he’d tried to scrub it off.

He didn’t want this. The scream rose inside him and he let it out, punching the counter instead of the mirror the way he really wanted to.

He had to skate today. He couldn’t forget that. This was the Olympics. He had a fucking gold medal to win and he couldn’t do that if he shredded his hand.

His phone kept buzzing, with text and alerts and well wishes from his fans, presumably.  

He ignored them -- he had to ignore them.

A text couldn’t activate a soulmark, could it? He wondered, shutting his phone off. That last thing he wanted to see was a stream of “good lucks” and “davai’s” and have his arm burn before his routine.

Soulmates might not be so terrible...but the last thing he needed before his short program was the complete upset of finding out who he was tied to life for.

He took a deep breath, inhaling, looking at himself in the mirror. Looking into his own eyes. He could see the desperation in them, the despair and the fear and the crumbling dreams.

It was one thing to ask Otabek to be his boyfriend when Yuri didn’t have a soul bond. When he was bondless and Otabek was unrequited and the universe clearly was telling them to take solace where they could.

Now, though...now it was different. Now he would have a soulmate . Someone who could show up, at any time, and wreck their entire relationship. Someone he’d have to abandon to stay with Otabek.

Or he’d have to abandon Otabek instead.

Could he do that to another person? Yuri wondered, brushing his hair back from his face. Leave  some nameless, faceless soulmate behind and choose Otabek?

Absolutely.

But what if…

The thought nagged at him.

What if it’s Otabek?

Yuri pushed away from the counter, stalking through the tiny dorm room, rifling through his things for his competition costume. Leopard print skate guards protecting his blades. His lucky charm since the day he got them.

It couldn’t be Otabek. Otabek already had a soulmate. An unrequited one, but still.

For them to have any chance of being together...Yuri hesitated, silky material laden with sequins sliding through his hands.

For him to have any chance of being with Otabek, Otabek could not be his soulmate.

It would be the epitome of selfish to ask Otabek to leave his soulmate...just because he was Yuri’s.

Two unrequited bonds didn’t make a whole bond. It didn’t even make a love triangle. Just a straight line of pining and loss.

Yuri shook his head. He needed to forget about this shit. He needed to ignore everyone. If he just didn’t call or talk to anyone it would be fine.

Today was the day he was going to let the world know that Yuri Plisetsky was back. And that he was unforgettable.

Fucking soulbond just had to show up now. Right when he’d finally figured everything out.

(God, what if he had an asshole soulmate like Otabek did?)

Yuri started stretching, not able to wait until he got to the rink. The anger running beneath his skin wouldn’t let him sit still and his mind kept running in circles, coming back to the same patterns and the same thoughts over and over and over…

Davai.

One little word that had the power to shatter his world.

Because of course it was something every fan and reporter would be shouting at him today.

The only person who mattered was Otabek, Yuri thought, resting his forehead on his knee, deep in the splits. Feeling the burn through his quads and groin.

And the mark on his arm didn’t say anything like “Yuri, get on!” or “Are you going to be friends with me?” or anything that was actually important in their relationship. Even though ‘davai’ was so, so important to them, it couldn’t be Otabek’s mark.

Not now.

Because telling Otabek that he loved him when they weren’t soulbonded was one thing. If Otabek was Yuri’s soulmate...and Otabek was still soulbonded to someone else...even if that bond was unrequired...it could never work. It would be selfish, so selfish to ask his best-friend-slash-soulmate to be with him, when Otabek could never be with his soulmate.  

Even if they were together, they’d both be endlessly pining for something they couldn’t have.

So no, it couldn't be Otabek.

He kept circling back to that. As much as he wanted it to be Otabek, for everything to be easy ...Otabek had an asshole soulmate. And Otabek being Yuri’s soulmate would make it nearly impossible for them to be together.

So he didn’t want it to be Otabek. It needed to be some nameless fan in the crowd, some random shouting “davai” so he didn’t even know who it was.

That was the only way things could work out.

Yuri breathed deep, trying to breathe through the anger as he got to his feet. Tears burned at the back of his eyes. Tears of rage.

Davai was their word. Their thing .

And someone else -- supposedly -- was going to come along and say it and be Yuri’s soulmate.

He punched the wall, shockwaves running up his arm as Katsudon poked his head into Yuri’s room.

He paled behind his glasses at the look on Yuri’s face.

“Uh…”

“Shut up. We’re leaving,” Yuri said, grabbing his bag and heading for the arena.

It didn’t matter if Yuri had a soulmate now.

He didn’t care who it was.

He had a competition to win.

And afterwards…

Afterwards he had to talk to Otabek.

This changed nothing.

-----

The icy cold of the arena settled into his lungs, calming some of Yuri’s rage.

Twelve people had already said “Davai” to him today and his arm hadn’t burned yet.

Just because his soulmark had appeared that didn’t mean he was going to meet his soulmate right now, Yuri tried to remind himself, tight lipped and even more terse than usual.

Some people waited years after their soulmarks showed up to find their soulmates. Hell, Victor had been twenty seven when he’d met Katsudon.

It was going to be fine.

It had to be fine.

There was too much at stake, too much riding on today.

Plugging his headphones in, he drowned out everything else. Warming up on auto pilot. Not looking at anyone.

He didn’t see or notice the concerned glances from his competitors, the worried look JJ shot to Otabek. Or the looks Otabek exchanged with his coaches.

None of that mattered.

All that mattered was how he skated.

Breathing in, tracing the leopard spots on his skate guards, Yuri waited until Victor’s hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“It’s time,” his coach said, and Yuri nodded, standing and heading out toward the ice.

His soulmate could go fuck themselves.

This...this was his time to shine.

The roar of the crowd filled his ears as he stepped out, catching the last few movements of Otabek’s performance.

Goddamn he was amazing. Otabek flowed across the ice like he owned it. Confident. Sure. Strong. Technically perfect, but in a way that spoke to strength and discipline and complete dedication.

Warmth filled Yuri once more, warmth and happiness. His best friend deserved this. If Otabek walked away with Olympic gold...Yuri wouldn’t be unhappy.

That didn’t mean Yuri wasn’t going to fight, though.

Yuri stepped onto the ice as Otabek stepped off of it. The thrill of Otabek’s performance had taken him right out of his head. He’d forgotten the worry, the on-edge feeling of wondering if his soulmate was in the crowd.

He’ stopped listening to the good luck shouts, tensed for even a single “davai.” His best friend had taken that all away in a single instant.

Yeah, Yuri would abandon any soulmate he had for any chance at being with Otabek. He shot his best friend a grin as they passed each other, and Otabek answered with a grin of his own, euphoric and exhausted.

“Davai,” he said, clapping Yuri on the shoulder, whispering into Yuri’s ear as they passed each other.

And Yuri…

Yuri didn’t need the burn of his arm to tell him what he knew the moment that word left Otabek’s lips.

The burning was unnecessary because he knew in his blood and his bones and every millimeter of his soul.

Otabek was his soulmate.

Otabek. Was his soulmate .

Yuri stumbled out to center ice, barely able to breathe. Flashing a thumbs up behind him automatically .

He couldn’t let Beka see his face.

No. He needed to skate. Just skate.

He took a deep breath in.

Skating was easy. Normal. He knew how to skate. He’d been doing this since he was four.

It didn’t matter that his best friend was also his soulmate...his soulmate.

It was almost a happy thought, except it was covered by a crushing daze. An irrevocable sense of loss.

Otabek was Yuri’s soulmate.

But Otabek already had a soulmate bond, to someone else.

The ice in front of him swam, and it took Yuri a second to realize it was tears. Tears in his eyes.

Otabek was his soulmate, but Otabek was bonded to someone else.

He had an unrequited soulbond.

There was no way he could ask Otabek to be with him now.

Everything Yuri hadn’t known he was hoping for came crashing down around him. He was numb, everything held between one breath and another as the crowd roared.

His best friend...the one he was in love with...

Don’t think about it. You can think about it in 3 minutes.

Right now, skate.

He breathed out, tears freezing on his eyelashes.

Just skate.

Arms up, mind completely blank, he waited for the music to begin.

-----

Something was wrong.

Otabek knew something was wrong.

From the minute he’d woken up he’d just known. A nagging sense, like Yuri was hurt.

They both had day-of routines they stuck to with their competitions, neither one wanting to inadvertently sabotage the other. Skating was important to both of them. But...

Now he wished he’d done something or said something, anything, as he watched Yuri stumble out onto the ice.

For a second, passing him on the ice, he’d thought Yuri was okay. The gleam was back in those bright green eyes and the bond had been quiet.

But the minute Yuri’s blades hit the ice...

Otabek ignored his coach in the kiss and cry, tuning out the crowd, the announcers, his score -- everything except Yuri.

His movements were...off. Somehow. Something was wrong.

Nothing about the way he moved was wrong. He was still long and graceful, not a hint of stiffness or injury.

But the way Yuri carried himself…

He’d been withdrawn and reserved this morning, nodding silently, their thumbs up ritual exchanged in complete silence. That was okay.

But Oabek could feel something in his chest shattering...something that was Yuri’s and not his, carried to him by the soulbond.

Something was very, very wrong.

Otabek’s score was announced, and he listened with half an ear, more concerned for the boy in front of him on the ice.

Arms raised, black crystals sparkling against black material. His costume looked like a mourning suit made of glittering tears. And it suited Yuri more than ever.

Because when Yuri started to skate, Otabek knew.

He skated as if his heart was breaking. Moving like his soul had been shattered.

Fingertips pleading with every gesture. Face a grotesque mask that morphed from tears to plea to anguish.

Otabek could feel the loss, the gaping empty hole in his chest, the grief rising to tear at his throat.

Every single movement was filled with loss. Regret. Grief. Anguish.

Pain.

And not because those were the emotions Yuri was skating -- no. Those were the things he was feeling right at this moment. It went beyond his normal performances, far beyond.

Yura, what happened ?

Heart in his throat, Otabek watched.  The routine was beyond flawless. He was crying, Otabek realized, when a tear dripped off his chin and splashed on his chest.

He was crying already and Yuri had barely started.

The rest of the audience was just as transfixed.

This had been his best routine, his best season. This had been the year Yuri became a legend.

Now? He was unforgettable.

First, a quad double combination. Then a Bielman. Quad Salchow. Ina Bauer.

Both arms raised for every jump. So beautiful Otabek’s heart hurt.

The announcers must be saying something. There was a murmuring sound over the noise of the crowd that Otabek couldn’t quite make out as Yuri headed out of the corner, picking up speed for the next jump.

He wasn’t--no.

He did a spiral here in the GPF, but now--

He wasn’t--

Yuri leaped...rotated.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

And a half.

Perfect landing.

Delicate. Fragile.

A quadruple axel.

A feat for the record books. A permanent part of figure skating history.

Glide off into an outside spread eagle. Arms outstretched, a wide victorious pose that somehow screamed of loss and said “I’m about to crumple at any minute. Watch me as I shatter and fall to pieces.”

So achingly beautiful it took Otabek’s breath away. Cold and haughty and hard as ice, except…

Otabek remembered a boy and a garden in Barcelona, soldier-green eyes softening in the fading sunlight when he asked to be friends.

The crowd had gone insane.

“No way. I can’t believe it folks. Yuri Plisetsky just landed a quadruple axel! A quad axel has never been landed before in competition and that--he pulled that off beautifully. That landing was flawless. This kid is incredible.”

Incredible.

Unforgettable.

You did it, Yuratchka, Otabek thought, watching Yuri spin and step his way through the final parts of the routine. The final jump -- a quad flip. Sticking it to both Victor and Yuuri at the same time.

Yuri came to a halt, holding his end pose arched out over the ice, one hand supporting him, the other outstretched. Reaching for something he would never, ever get back.

The arena exploded.

That--that was a new world record. Otabek was sure of it. Probably a new Olympic record, too.

God, he should be happy for Yuri, right now...but his heart was heavy as lead. The bond ached. Throbbing with grief and loss and his fingers twitched with the need to go to Yuri.

Yuri collapsed face first onto the ice, lying there for a moment before pushing himself up. Green eyes empty and hollow.

Otabek’s heart rose to hammer at the back of his throat.

Yuri. What’s wrong?

Chapter Text

Yuri didn’t hear the number.

For the second time in his life, he didn’t care about his score.

Didn’t care that he’d made skating history -- broken his own world record and Victor’s Olympic record. Landed the first quadruple axel in competition history.

He didn’t care about any of that.

As soon as he got out of the kiss and cry, he ran. Dodging reporters, Victor’s alarmed voice fading behind him.

Yuri ran.

If he could have, he would have run all the way back to Russia.

Instead, he ran to his dorm. Throwing his things back into his suitcase. Tearing the room apart in his haste to get away.

“Yuri!” He stopped when strong hands wrapped around his wrists, twisting to get away.

“Leave me alone!” he shouted, pushing Victor back.

“What’s gotten into you?” his coach demanded. Not an ounce of sympathy in his face. Instead, a dark, thunderous cloud.

Katsudon lurked in the doorway, furtively whispering to someone on the phone.

Victor, of all people, should understand what he was feeling right now.

Yuri, suddenly, was very, very cold. His lip trembled as he stared at his coach.

Except he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t say the words.

I found my soulmate and we can’t be together.

I found my soulmate and he’s bonded to someone else.

I found my soulmate and he’s my best friend but he’d bonded to some asshole so we’ll never be together.

They stuck in his throat, morphing into a scream of rage as he tried to shove past Victor before ducking behind the nearest door and locking it behind him.

Great. Now he was trapped in the bathroom.

But at least he was alone.

Yuri sank to the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, and let the damn burst.

-----

The other Yuuri met Otabek at the doors to the dormitory where the Russian athletes were staying.

“Where is he?” Otabek asked, heart ready to pound out of his chest.

He’d never had a panic attack before but now he understood why people confused them with heart attacks. The bond was screaming and tight in his chest -- like his heart wanted to shatter.

And the worst part was…

None of that was his.

It was all Yuri’s. The bright, fiery intensity of it was unlike anything he’d ever felt from the other skater. Even after his grandfather died.

This was sharper, more intense than it had ever been before.

Something was terribly wrong.

“He’s in his room,” Katsuki said, walking through the halls, side by side with Otabek.

Otabek grunted and pushed the button for the elevator doors.

“He actually, uh…” Katsuki trailed off at the look on Otabek’s face.

Nothing mattered right now except getting to Yuri.

Except Yuri was…

Otabek blinked, taking in Victor kneeling by the bathroom door, pleading with Yuri to let him in. Clothes thrown everywhere, half-open suitcase on the bed. Leopard print skate guards sticking out of Yuri’s skate bag.

Meanwhile Yuri was…

“Yura?” Otabek called, asking Victor to move back with a hand gesture.

There was a gasp from behind the door and then...nothing.

“Yuri,” Otabek rested his head against the wood. Heart aching, needing to help his soulmate.

“Talk to me.”

------

It was moments like this that made Yuri hate his life.

Because of course his best friend was here. Of course Otabek was worried.

Yuri would be worried if things were reversed.

Except Yuri wouldn’t come in with that gentle tone of voice and some kind understanding.

No, Yuri would come in raging and screaming and kicking the fucking door down.

“Just leave me alone!” he shouted. Not willing to give Otabek anything more than that. The rage and the despair too great, even though Otabek was the one person he wanted right now.

Because right now, he could still pretend everything would work out okay if he just left. If he ran away and said nothing. If he said anything else, the truth might come out and ruin everything.

“I’m not leaving you, Yuri.” Otabek said, clear and calm and Yuri hated that he could feel that now. That he could feel Otabek’s concern and fear and how much he wanted to help--

Could feel that Otabek would never leave him...

Yuri couldn’t deal with how much Otabek cared.

Not while knowing that there was still someone in this world he cared about more than Yuri.

The words slipped out without meaning too, a desperate attempt to push Otabek away, to shut some of this off.  

“Not even for your asshole soulmate?” he asked, words laced with anger and venom and a pure, brutal rage like Otabek had never even heard before. Flung at him in a deliberate attempt to wound him. Crossing a line they had both agreed would never be crossed.

Lashing out like the forgotten child he’d once been, accusing Otabek of doing the very thing he feared the most in the world.

Yuri could feel the confusion, the rage. Feel that tiny, blank moment before Otabek spoke. A hurt rising up that was deep and old, all the frustration and anger he’d hidden from the world -- from Yuri .

Because (and he didn’t know how he knew this) it was about Yuri -- even if none of this was Yuri’s fault.

In one blinding second, Otabek forgot all of that. His usual stoicism erased by rage.

And Yuri felt every instant of it before his best friend kicked the door behind him and shouted: “My asshole soulmate just locked himself in the bathroom and won’t tell me what’s wrong!”

Yuri’s world spun.

For a moment, time stood still.

Had Otabek really just…?

No.

NO.

THAT WASN’T POSSIBLE.

Yuri ripped the bathroom door open and Otabek was met with the maddest green eyes he’d ever seen. A thousand emotions and sensations flooded Yuri’s chest through the bond, enough to leave him bewildered and reeling.

What was going on?

“The hell do you mean I’m your asshole soulmate?!” Yuri yelled at his best friend, blond hair flying around his face. “When the hell did I say that ?” he asked one finger sweeping up to point at Otabek’s arm.

Because there was no way they’d met before Otabek rescued him. Well, there was the ballet class Yuri still didn’t remember but neither of them had been old enough to have soulmarks then.

All of the rage drained out of Otabek in that instant and Yuri felt it -- the resigned depression. He knew the next words would change everything that had ever existed between them.  

“Barcelona,” Otabek said, small and quiet and resigned. “In the hotel lobby,” he added, seeing the frown on Yuri’s forehead.

Yuri blinked, trying to remember but failing. Failing so badly. It didn’t make sense...it couldn’t be…

He didn’t remember…

But the look on Otabek’s face -- resigned. Sad. Like he knew what this revelation would do to their friendship.

Or would have done, a few months -- maybe years ago.

Now, though...now things were different.

Yuri shook his head. “What--”

Otabek cut him off before he could speak. “You were fighting with JJ. I don’t think you even realized I heard you.”

The memory cleared and...yes. He did remember a spat with JJ.

But he hadn’t said anything to Otabek, had he?

He didn’t even remember Otabek being there. Yuri shook his head again, trying to clear the cobwebs of memory that just wouldn’t budget.

“I’m your asshole soulmate,” he said, the words coming out a confused whisper. Still struggling to make sense of both Otabek’s words and all the new input from the bond. All the mixed emotions from him and Otabek, sorting through and searching for the truth.

Face grim, Otabek nodded. He looked like someone had just stolen his dream right out of his hands.

“I’m your asshole soulmate,” Yuri repeated, leaning against the door frame to support himself. His knees were weak and his hands were shaking.  The enormity of Otabek’s words sinking in.

All this time…

He ’d been...

“You didn’t remember. And you hate soulmates so I didn’t tell you,” Otabek admitted, running a hand through his hair. I didn’t want you to hate me hung unspoken in the air, vibrating down the bond. Otabek looked miserable, almost crushed.

Like he’d known, all along, that he’d risk losing Yuri if he ever told him. That there were no good options -- either lose his soulmate, or lie to his best friend for the rest of their lives. And pretend that it wouldn’t be a crushing betrayal if Yuri ever found out.

That all would have been true...yesterday.

Yesterday Yuri would have been angry. Pissed off. Betrayed. He probably would have forgiven Otabek, eventually.

But now, things were different.

Otabek was his soulmate.

And he was Otabek’s soulmate.

This slew of feelings in his chest -- the ones shifting from grief to anger to loss to frustration to relief to final-fucking-ly...was that him? Or was that Beka?

Or maybe, he thought as Otabek swallowed and looked at the carpet beneath their feet, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, it was both of them.

“I figured being your friend was better than--”

“Beka,” Yuri cut him off, voice filled with something that sounded suspiciously like relief. He was moving before he even knew what he was doing, arms looping around Otabek’s neck and pulling him into a hug.

For a moment, Otabek held still, and then his arms crept around Yuri’s back and Yuri could feel his relief. His delight that Yuri didn’t hate him.

All the love he’d ever felt for his best friend flowed into him, simmering there at the back of the bond behind everything else they were feeling at the moment.

Because of course Otabek loved him. That made so much sense.

All the anger left Yuri as he hugged his soulmate to him, feeling, really feeling, what Otabek had felt for the first time. All the ways Yuri had hurt him -- the delight and the pain every time Yuri had called himself an asshole. (That was going to take some time to sink in. Right now, Yuri had other things to sort through.)

“I’m so sorry,” Yuri said, voice low and rough with emotion, pulling back a bit so that he could look Otabek in the eye. The deep brown mesmerising as always, except now, Yuri was willing to recognize the things he was feeling as love.

“It’s okay,” Otabek raised a hand to stroke Yuri’s hair. Letting himself touch, just this once, the way he’d always wanted to.

(How cool was it that Yuri knew that now? He finally got it, what soulmates said about feeling one another. No wonder everyone was so hung up on them.)

“It’s not your fault that I’m not your soulmate,” Otabek said it with a little shrug, a little shake of his head. Like it didn’t matter.

Yuri’s draw dropped. He pushed Otabek away from him, staring at the Kazakh like he was from another planet.

“The hell do you mean you’re not my soulmate?” Yuri snarled. “What the fuck do you call this?” Yuri shoved his arm in Otabek’s face, waiting for the confused expression on his best friend’s face. He realized, in that instant, he hadn’t actually told Otabek about his soulmark. Just stormed off.

Brown eyes widened, focusing first on what his arm said, then realizing... Davai .

That moment when they crossed paths, stepping onto the ice. Yuri’s performance. Everything.

It was him.

It had all been for him.

Yuri pushed this knowledge down the bond. Saying it without needing to say it.

Otabek’s gasp wasn’t so much a gasp as a pointed, audible inhale as he put the pieces together, eyes widening as he remembered…

The triumph and exhilaration of a routine skated to perfection. The audience roaring around him.

Yuri’s shoulder underneath his hand.

A ritual. One that defined their friendship.

Davai.

“Oh,” Otabek said. The single syllable surprised and inelegant.

Yuri’s dropped his arm and stared at his best friend. Honestly, could you believe this? Otabek spent years , pining for him -- silently -- and all he could say, when he found out that not only was he also Yuri’s soulmate, but that Yuri loved him too...was oh.

He could see his own reflection in Otabek’s eyes. Could see in his face that he was still a bit pissed off, but, when Yuri looked deeper, he could see the happiness starting to break through.

“Idiot,” Yuri said, trying to sound gruff and mad, but the way he looked away as a blush rose on his cheeks undid all of it.

Otabek didn’t mind, a smile spreading across his face as he reached out to cup Yuri’s cheek and turn his gaze back to him.

“Oh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. And it was like someone had managed to bottle that feeling he’d had in Almaty, and up at Medeu. This feeling of total bliss, total freedom...it suffused both of them.

Yuri smiled back, his hand coming up to rest on Otabek’s wrist. A small, tender moment, that was rudely interrupted by a squeal.

Both of them looked back to the door, where Victor stood. Mouth in a heart shape, eyes bright with happy tears.

It was all Katsudon could do to restrain him, desperately trying to hold his husband back from rushing at the two young love birds.

“Get out,” Yuri snarled, throwing his coach and his husband out of the room unceremoniously. Slamming the door and locking it behind them, Yuri sighed, turning back to Otabek.

“Sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair, like he was nervous.

Which he was, suddenly, as he turned to face Otabek once again.

This was Otabek, his best friend. Who he’d probably been in love with for years if he was being really honest with himself. But these were uncharted waters, and Yuri had no idea how to move forward from here.

He shifted awkwardly in the entryway, moving his hands like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“So, we’re soulmates,” he said.

Otabek smiled. “Yeah.”

“Good. Great. Um…” Yuri looked at him, shy. Like a deer in headlights. Dread descending. I have no idea what to do .

He didn’t need to say it. Otabek could feel it through the bond. Yuri could feel his acknowledgement, that kind of psychic nod that echoed in that warm spot in his chest.

Walking forward, Otabek slid his palm along Yuri’s cheek once more.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said, and Yuri nodded. Something like gratitude flickering across the bond as Otabek pressed their lips together. Soft and gentle, like he had all the time in the world, and he’d done this a million times before.

Yuri opened to him like a starving man in a desert, presented with water for the first time in his life. Fingers curling into Otabek’s jacket as he pulled him closer.

When they finally drew apart, they were both out of breath. Panting harder than they had skating that afternoon.

Slowly, Yuri started to laugh.

And when the bubble of overwhelming joy made its way into Otabek’s chest, he laughed too.

Chapter Text

The morning of the Olympic free skate dawned bright and clear.

Otabek woke up to blond hair in his eyes and scattered across the pillow, while his soulmate sprawled inelegantly across the bed.

They hadn’t done anything yet, just slept and cuddled and made out a lot. It was like being friends with Yuri, but so much better.

“Yura,” Otabek said, brushing the hair out of Yuri’s face. He was drooling on the pillow, mouth gaping open.

“Time to get up.”

Yuri groaned and curled in towards Otabek’s chest. “Don’t wanna.” He snuggled down and it was almost more than Otabek could stand to pull away.

“Okay then, I guess that gold medal’s mine,” he said, stroking Yuri’s hair gently.

Yuri sat bolt upright, hair a tangled nest flying every which way. Eyes smouldering with the fire of competition. “In your dreams, Altin,” he said, grabbing a pillow and smacking Otabek with it.

The ensuing pillow fight was brief, but filled with laughter, and ended with Yuri running away into the bathroom to shower.

Otabek stood on the other side of the door, smiling.

Even if he didn’t take home the gold medal today, he’d already won.

------

The sounds and smells and noises of the arena were the same as last time, except the air was even more charged with excitement.

And this time, Yuri was actually present for all of it.

It felt like he was seeing all of it for the first time. No longer clouded by anger and grief. The screaming fans, the banners, his competitors warming up around him.

This time, he could feel the excitement flowing through his veins.

He was one routine away from an Olympic gold medal. He didn’t not care, but -- he glanced over at Otabek, warming up across the room.

Even if he stumbled horribly, he’d gotten something better.

“Beka,” Yuri said, as the Kazhak went to leave, voice pitched to carry across the room. “Davai!”

The smile on Otabek’s face was worth the glares he got from everyone else for shouting. The thumbs up simultaneously reassuring and strange -- because Yuri could feel everything coursing through Otabek in that moment.

Excitement, nerves, joy. A deep contentment that felt like... finally .

Man, that was fucking cool.

Yuri went back to stretching, one last round before he took his position at the boards.

Watching his best friend -- his soulmate -- finish his performance.

And wasn’t that a strange and beautiful word to apply to Otabek. Soulmate . It didn’t sting like Yuri had thought it would. It didn’t hurt or make him mad or feel...any of the things he used to think a soulmate would make you feel.

And the fact that it was Otabek…

He didn’t quite have words to tell him -- to tell the world -- what he was feeling.

But he did have his skates.

-----

Like in the short program, Yuri went right after Otabek, the two of them passing as they switched off the ice.

But this time, Otabek stopped him with a smile, one hand squeezing his arm. Yuri could feel his hesitation. They hadn’t talked about PDAs. Or about telling anyone.

Victor and Yuuri knew, obviously, but how to handle the press?

Especially right now when there were international television cameras on them, broadcasting live.

A slight squeeze and Otabek let him go.

“Davai,” he said.

And this time, Yuri laughed. Bright grin splitting his face nearly in two.

God he loved him.

“Asshole,” he said, before grabbing the front of Otabek’s costume and pulling him into a kiss. That  word was now an endearment. A symbol of everything between them.

Yuri didn’t care if the world knew.

He wanted the world to know, as he pushed off onto the ice, leaving his slightly-stunned soulmate behind him.

-----

“What the hell?”

Otabek smiled as JJ came up beside him just outside the kiss and cry.

“Am I answering you or Isabella?” Otabek asked, eyes still fixed on Yuri as he took his position on the ice.

He wasn’t going to miss this routine. Not for anything.

JJ pulled a face and showed Otabek his phone screen. A text from Isabella screamed, in bold capital letters, I TOLD YOU SO .

“She did,” Otabek said, watching Yuri once again. His energy today was totally different. Before he’d been broken and grieving and now…it was like a part of Yuri that everyone hadn’t known was missing had been replaced. A side to him the world hadn’t seen -- or even suspected was there -- showing for the first time.

There as a lightness to his movements, crisp and bright, without being sharp or pointed.

The bond hummed in his chest with anticipation and happiness.

“So are you two--”

“He’s my soulmate.” Otabek cut off the Canadian, speaking quietly so that the reporters wouldn’t hear.

JJ snorted. “I know that. But are you two together now? Without...”

Otabek shook his head. “His mark finally showed up.”

“When?” JJ was aghast. Yuri Plisetsky’s hatred of soulmates was well known to other skaters.The fact that Yuri hadn’t thrown a public fit was shocking.

“The morning of the short program.”

JJ’s jaw dropped, doing some mental math as he stared at the Russian waiting at center ice for his music to begin. Connecting the dots between the kiss and the smiles on their faces and Yuri’s now-infamous escape that day.

“So we’re doomed, eh?” he asked, one hand running through his hair.

Otabek snorted. “He’s got a fifteen point lead and a quadruple axel.” Not to mention a routine called Rebirth and a brand new soulbond helping him feel everything this routine represents. Otabek didn’t say the last part but ift probably showed on his face.

“Right,” JJ nodded. “I’m not giving up that easily,” he said.

“I didn’t think you would,” Otabek said, calm and even as Yuri’s music, finally, began.

Rebirth was the companion to Loss. Shaped and informed by everything Yuri had been through over the last few years. It was the triumphant rising from the ashes he’d done over and over and over again.

Performed separately the two routines were beautiful.

Performed together, they told a more complete story than either could alone.

From black, to red. Rising from the ashes of a crushing loss. Rebuilding into something new and better. Something triumphant.

This was Yuri’s year.

Otabek watched him fly across the ice, a fire and vigour in this routine like they’d never seen before. Not the staccato perfection of Allegro Appassionato in B Minor, pushing all of his limits. Nor the harsh defiance of Welcome to the Madness, pushing the bounds of decency.

A fire born of survival and triumph. That zest for life rediscovered after endless trials.

Yuri might not have had the words for their bond, but Otabek didn’t need them.

He could feel it all.

He could see it all, laid out on the ice.

Another flawless performance.

Another quadruple axel.

Another world record.

Another gold medal.

Silver had never felt so good.

Chapter Text

Olympic after parties were officially the best.

Especially with a gold medal around your neck. And your coach sneaking you champagne since the Korean drinking age was stupid.

Yuri tipped back his glass and drained it in one go.

There was dancing, there was alcohol, there were drugs (though he knew better than to go near those).

And he’d won his first Olympic gold medal.

Life couldn’t be any more perfect, Yuri thought, walking up beside his soulmate and flinging his arms around him.

“Beka,” he said, snuggling into Otabek’s side.

He wasn’t that drunk, just...snuggly. Otabek didn’t blink, just wrapped an arm around him and continued talking to Leo, while Guang Hong and Phichit stared at them.

Knowing they were soulmates (because there’d been no dodging that question in their interviews earlier today) was one thing, actually seeing it was another.

“Come on,” Otabek said, steering Yuri out onto one of the balconies off the common room. “You need some air.”

“I’m not that drunk, Beka,” Yuri groused, following behind his soulmate. Waving to Mila as he passed her by. She and Sara were standing close to one another, like they were on the verge of...something. A moment Yuri recognized from a few days ago after his bathroom meltdown with Otabek.

Oh. So that was what she’d meant that day at the rink. Interesting.

Yuri winked at her as he followed Otabek out onto the balcony.

“ I want some air,” Otabek said, stepping onto the balcony. He pulled Yuri in front of him and wrapped his arms around the blond from behind, head perched on his shoulder.

Yuri sighed and laced their fingers together as they stared out into the night. Street lights a patchwork of orange against the darkness.

Otabek’s lips brushed against the back his neck. Shivers ran down his spine.

“You said you wanted to talk to me about something after the competition was over,” Otabek reminded him.

Yuri jerked a shoulder, pulling away to lean on the railing. Finding it hard to meet his soulmate’s eyes. Brown soft and warm and now that mark on his arm gave Yuri permission to stare and there were still moments when he couldn’t really believe it.

And then the bond would flicker in his chest, all of Otabek’s emotions bleeding through.

Isabella had been right. It was all stuff that Yuri (mostly) already knew. The bond just made it...clearer.

“It’s nothing.”

The eyebrow Otabek gave him said everything it needed to.

Don’t think I haven’t forgotten that you were upset before your soulmark appeared.

Yuri rolled his eyes and looked away.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

Otabek crossed his arms and leaned on the railing beside him, their shoulders touching. A wordless pulse of please echoing through the bond.

Yuri sighed.

“I was gonna ask you out, okay?”

Otabek’s jaw dropped, his surprise echoing in Yuri’s chest. This feeling what Otabek felt thing was cool, even if it took some getting used to as his own annoyance flared up in response.

“What?” Yuri demanded, tense and vibrating. On edge. Looking away. Staring out at the city lights as a blush rose up his cheeks.

Seriously though, Beka was his best friend. Was it really that far fetched that he’d fallen in love with him before the soulbond showed up?

------

Otabek shook his head, reaching out to cover one of Yuri’s hands with his own. A gentle squeeze on the Russian’s knuckles, skin cold in the February air.

“I would have said yes. Even without the soulbond,” Otabek said, staring out at the city beside Yuri.

He didn’t need to look in Yuri’s eyes to know what he was feeling. The bashful embarrassment that was (unexpectedly) adorable. That ever-present lash of anger at himself, like a reflex. It would take time to erode that, but they’d get there eventually.

“Huh?” Yuri looked at him with surprise, not fully comprehending it.

Otabek shrugged. “You’re my best friend, Yura. There’s no one I’d rather be with.”

There it was -- that warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest...like everything was made of light. Damn, melting Yuri’s heart felt good.

Yuri sighed and leaned against him. He was like a damn cat, always looking to be touched and petted and cuddled, Otabek thought as he dropped a kiss on Yuri’s temple. Not that he minded that. Finally getting to touch after all these years.

Otabek’s phone rang and he pulled it out, glancing at the screen before he accepted the video call.

“Hey Raya,” he said, keeping an arm around Yuri, but angling the phone so she only saw his face.

“So, how’s my silver-medal-winning-baby brother?” she asked, smiling at him. Pride shining all over her face.

Otabek grinned back. “Great. And you’ll never guess what happened,” he said.

He hadn’t told any of his family about Yuri yet, too wrapped up in the competition and Yuri’s meltdown and the bond itself. But if they’d seen any of the interviews earlier today they’d know what had happened.

“Yuri got his soulmark and your bond is no longer unrequited?” she asked sarcastically, tone clearly indicating that, while she’d been watching the event, she hadn’t stuck around for the reporters afterwards.

Yuri pushed Otabek over, popping into view “How the fuck did you know?” he snarled.

Raya blinked. “What?” she asked, voice rising to a shriek, looking back and forth between Otabek and Yuri. “ What?!”

Otabek laughed. “You didn’t see any of the interviews?” he asked.

“ WHAT?! ” Otabek had never seen his sister so shocked, her eyes huge with surprise as she freaked out.

“Omg you mean he’s actually…” Raya’s voice trailed away, shifting into something more coy as realization dawned on her.

“You do realize you’re his asshole soulmate, right?” she asked Yuri, smug. “When do I get to see you punch yourself?”

Yuri glared at her. “Shut up, hag.”

Raya laughed and Otabek chuckled beside Yuri. Knowing Yuri, “hag” was practically an endearment. Otabek dropped a kiss on the Russian’s temple again as he glowered at his soulmate’s sister.

“So, have you two thought about what you’re going to do after the Olympics are over?” Raya asked pointedly. Eyebrows somehow saying: God help me you two better have a plan figured out because if you two keep moping I’m going to stab both of you .

Yuri snorted. “He’s moving to St. Petersburg, of course,” he jabbed a thumb at Otabek.

“What?” Otabek pulled back to look at his soulmate, confused and somewhat upset that Yuri would just assume something like that without talking to him.

“And it look like you two need to talk about this. Bye!” Raya caught on before her brother, cutting the connection and ending the call before Otabek caught on. Leaving him alone with his soulmate who was blinking at him, perplexed.

“What?” Yuri asked.

“What do you mean I’m moving to St. Petersburg?” Otabek asked, pulling away and putting some distance between them under the pretext of being able to look at Yuri. Really, he just needed space so Yuri couldn’t feel how angry he was.

For Yuri to just assume that Otabek was the one moving…

Yes, maybe Otabek did feel a bit guilty about keeping the soulbond from Yuri for so long (and they’d talked at length about that earlier) but that didn’t mean he was moving.

Almaty was home. He’d fought so hard to return there...Just because Yuri was his soulmate, just because Otabek would leave Almaty for Yuri in a heartbeat didn’t mean he was okay with Yuri just assuming it would happen that way.

Yuri blinked, like he didn’t know what was wrong.

Otabek stared at him, silent and amd. Not quite able to articulate the numerous problems he saw with that. Would Victor take him on as a student? What about his family? He’d worked so hard to return to Almaty and to have to give it up for his soulmate now…

He couldn’t articulate the impending sense of loss and unfairness as Yuri just assumed he would leave his home for St. Petersburg at the drop of a hat.

Otabek’s anger and confusion and hurt must have bled through the bond because Yuri pulled back, blinking in surprise, like understanding was dawning on him.

“I mean, we’re retiring to Almaty, so it only makes sense you come to St. Petersburg for now,” he said, clarifying his plan.  

Otabek blinked. “What?” he asked, completely lost. Utterly turned around within a sentence.  

Yuri shrugged a shoulder. “You liked training with Victor and Yakov when you took care of me last year, right?” he asked, forging ahead when Otabek nodded. “So then what’s the problem?”

The thought that Yuri wanted to retire to Almaty was enough to fill him with delight. (The fact that Yuri was actually thinking about retirement was another issue entirely.) But...

“I just mean…” Yuri jerked a shoulder, like he was uncomfortable. “Victor would take you on as a student in a heartbeat. He’s always going on about how unique and fresh your style is. And if he says no I’ll make him say yes. And he’s in St. Petersburg and Almaty will still be there when we’re done skating so it just makes...sense.” The words poured out of until until they just...trailed off. Uncertain. Like Yuri didn’t know what to say anymore. Caught somewhere between trepidiation and feeling like he’d massively overstepped or screwed up somehow.

Otabek shook his head. “You didn’t mention any of this,” he said, pointedly. More pissed at not being told about Yuri’s grand plan (which he’d probably hatched within the last forty-eight hours, at most) than about the actual plan itself.

The actual plan was...great.

But this whole thing where Yuri kept omitting important information from him... At least Yuri had the good grace to look guilty.

Otabek sighed, running one hand through his hair.  “We can talk about it more later, but I think it sounds like a good plan,” he said.

Yuri’s face lit up the night around them, glowing from within.

And Otabek thought his soulmate had never looked more beautiful. They turned to look out at the city lights again, shoulders touching.  

“You know what we should do for the exhibition?” Yuri said after a moment. “Welcome to the Madness.”

Of course.

“As a full pairs skate?” Otabek asked, trying to seem unimpressed but knowing that Yuri could feel his excitement through the bond.

“As a full pairs skate.” Otabek shook his head, noting when Yuri’s smile turned dark and savage at the edges. One last scandalous surprise coming to round out an Olympics full of surprises.

“Victor really has rubbed off on you.”

Yuri glared at Otabek, desperately trying to stay mad before the two of them burst into laughter.

There was absolutely nothing more fitting for them, Otabek thought as he followed Yuri back to the party, fingers interlaced.

It was their song.

Their routine.

Their relationship.

It was perfect.