Everything is as it is.
He's lost. That's the first thought that comes to him, watching the television. He's been pushed off the stage, no medals, no ceremony. His points are too low to qualify for the Grand Prix. His season is pretty much over. This is it.
The downfall of Yuri Plisetsky. He ducks his head and tucks his headphones in under his hoodie. The questions will start soon, so he should probably leave. How does it feel? Any words for the winners? What will you do? He turns music on and it blasts angry music into his brain and muffles that tiny voice that sounds too much like Yakov.
༺༻
The ice machine on his floor is broken. He hits it a few times, but it doesn't solve anything, so he takes the nearby stairs up two flights, avoiding the other floor he knows other skaters are staying on. They should be out to dinner now, anyway, but why take the risk? The seventh floor smells like cheap perfume and Chinese food. It makes him nauseous and reminds him how long it's been since he's last eaten.
His bucket is half full when he hears a door open and loud laughter, and a female voice filters down the hallway. He lets go of the dispensing button and the machine shutters, spits a few more cubes then goes as quiet as an old machine would. He knows the voice, and knows the other voice that responds. It's Isabella and her dipshit fiancé JJ. Of course they're on the top floor, why is he surprised?
He grabs his ice bucket and heads for the stairwell, intent on maintaining his solitude and ignoring the shit out of his mortal enemy. There's a third voice and it hurts. It makes him freeze at the door to the stairwell, hand on the handle, already turned and ready to push open.
They can't see him from their waiting spot by the elevators, but he can see them. Otabek looks a little bored, but he's in his dark green suit and looking handsome, his hands in his pockets, his jacket undone. But why is he with JJ? Beka should have stopped by his room, or dropped him a message, but his phone is in his pocket and he knows it's still quiet and its screen still blank.
He has half a mind to go finish filling his bucket when JJ says, "It's too bad about Yuri." and his heart stops beating.
The elevator dings, and all he hears is Otabek's deep voice reply, "Yeah," before he's moving, the door slamming behind him as he all but throws himself down the stairs and back to his room.
When his phone finally does sound off, it's Mila and he can't be mad at her so he answers the call. But she's the only one.
༺༻
He hates the airport. He hates the crowds. He hates the lines. He hates the people around him, going on with their lives. His head hurts and his eyes are heavy, so he follows Yakov's form and blindly trusts his coach to get them to the right gate.
He wants his cat, wants to hug her close and bury his face in her fur like he used to when he was younger. He wants to go home, to Moscow, to his grandfather. Maybe now that he's next to useless, Yakov will give him a vacation. He doubts it, but it would be nice. He could use a few days of hiding, buried in childhood blankets and listening to dedushka's stories while eating foods most definitely not in his diet plan.
He's steadfastly ignored every message he's gotten from Otabek. He read one, but then decided it was enough and he was too hurt and angry and mad at the world and himself. They kept coming in, at first in quick succession, then slower, until they have finally stopped. He hasn't gotten one in hours, he's assuming because the other is on a plane. And that's fine. He's fine. This is fine. He's just here, filled with all this annoyance and anger and hate. And he's just so damn tired.
When they finally board, he doesn't complain about sharing a seat with Georgi, just turns up his music and pulls down the shade over his window. He thinks Georgi makes a protest, but he's not 100% sure. He doesn't really care anyway. All he wants is to be alone, and eventually he hopes the universe will give that to him.
༺༻
Hours turn to days. Messages filter in and pile up, but Yuri leaves them unanswered. Unread. He doesn't turn on his laptop so he can avoid pushing the Ignore button on incoming video calls. Days turn to weeks and time rolls on. When the others get ready for the Prix, Yuri packs to go home.
He loves his grandfather, and he feels what he thinks must be happiness when he sees him at the airport to pick him up, but it's been so long, he's not really sure. Something like poison is twisting up his veins, it makes him feel horrible, even as he moves quicker and leans hard into the embrace of familiar arms. He's missed this, he's missed him. He smiles up at the old man and loads his own bags into the car. He pulls on his mask and lies about how busy he's been, though he's pretty sure his grandfather doesn't believe even half of what he's saying.
It's all just noise and it all just buzzes. He can't stand the silence that fills between them as they drive to the place he grew up. It's a tall, lean building that's been in his family for generations. The story will probably end with him. He looks up at its grey roof and faded slats and wonders if that's how he's beginning to look. Worn and tired and just ready to collapse in on himself. He takes his bags to his old room and drops down onto his old bed. Everything is how he left it, and when his cat jumps up on the bed and clashes her head to his thigh, he picks her up and takes her to his closet.
He settles on the floor in the back of it, there's not as much room as there was when he was little, and pushes the door closed as far as he can, until there's just a sliver of light seeping in. It's his own dark kingdom, where he can reign in his silence with his cat, who seems perfectly content to curl up in his lap. His grandfather must sense he needs the space, because he's left alone.
They don't even have piroshkis until his third day there.
༺༻
Katsudon has the lead. He told himself he wouldn't watch, but here he is. Pieces of himself wonder if he's punishing himself, other parts realize he's actually sort of numb. They're winding down on the first group of skaters, the second group is preparing for their warm-ups, and the newscaster is interviewing the Japanese moron. Yuri wonders if he's showing off the ring intentionally, then Viktor steps in and he knows that one is intentional. Every stupid smile and lean and arm around the other. A ploy for the cameras that makes Katsudon blush hard, makes him endearing to the viewers.
Yuri would be nauseous, if he cared enough. But the camera changes, shows the second group moving to the ice. Otabek and Chulanont are out first, cameras showing close-ups of their faces, determined eyes set on the ground. Yuri wonders where the remote is.
༺༻
The rink he grew up on seems small, compared to Pieters. It doesn't have the big windows and high ceilings or the people yelling insults as they throw themselves into jumps. It has small children screaming and couples laughing and loud music blaring. He hates it. He hates a lot of things these days. He mostly hates himself.
His phone is going off in his pocket, another message he doesn't want to read. Otabek seems to have given up, there hasn't been anything from him in a few days. This one is probably Mila, or maybe Viktor, if he's suddenly realized his Russian shadow is no longer present. Yuri doesn't care. He rips his hair from it's tail and lets it flow behind him, joining the stream of faster people moving in a designated path around the rink. There's enough people here, maybe they won't recognize him, and maybe he can hate himself a little less while he's lost in them.
It works well until his phone goes off again just as he dragging past the exit. He uses his momentum to swing out, swearing under his breath, and marches off to where he left his guards. His phone burns in his hand when he drops onto the bench and swipes open the screen. Words blaze up at him and he hates that he blindly pulled up the screen.
He's put it off for so long, he's not ready to see Beka's name on the top of his screen, or the wall of messages that meets him. They're stark in the artificial light of the room, they burn.
Is everything okay?
Please, Yura. Call me.
Mila can't reach you ei…
Tell someone what's g…
Yura.
Yuri.
The newest one is so simple. One letter. One change. It's enough. He wants to throw the phone, but instead shoves it in his skating bag and focuses on removing his skates. It's harder when his vision is blurry. He doesn't realize he hasn't put the guards on until he's sliced his hand open.
It's okay to cry over blood.
༺༻
Yakov calls his grandfather, since he doesn't answer his phone or messages. His grandfather assures his coach he is alive, but suggests quietly that Yuri might need time off. He uses his hand injury as an excuse, but it's only one of many reasons Yuri can think of. Yuri briefly debates quitting skating all together. But that would probably literally kill him. The blonde knows nothing beyond skating, he doesn't have any other life skills, he couldn't support his grandfather any other way.
Sure, he has some money saved up, Nikiforov gave him a cut from the Onsen on Ice proceeds that he'd been hiding away until he was "sure Yuri could handle it" that he hasn't touched. They could survive for a few months while Yuri finds work, he could sell off a few things and they could get along for a while more. But the ice is a part of him, it has been since he was six. In every breath he takes and every piece of his thoughts from when he wakes up to when he lays down at night. He doesn't think he could leave the ice willingly until it's taken away from him.
Even if he never finds a place on the podium again.
It's raining in Moscow, and he thinks it's appropriate. It matches everything he feels these days, grey, cold. Lonely. His phone buzzes as he hears his grandfather hang up the phone. He listens to the old man sigh, then looks down at his screen and turns off the power. He pulls himself up from his seat and heads up to his room, removing the battery from the back along the way.
༺༻
A triple toe. A double. He doesn't chance a quad with his hand still bandaged. He doesn't even care that there's an audience, that the crowds are watching, as long as they stay out of his way. The silence at home is too loud, and it follows him, even when he's here. There can be so much noise, but it all just swallows him and consumes him whole. He can feel it taking him apart piece by piece.
He hasn't touched his phone since the call with Yakov. Doesn't want to know what he hasn't missed, or worse; what he has. He thinks he hears his name as he throws himself into another triple toe, then into a perfect Biellmann Spiral. He thinks he hears a lot, lately, and he's sure it's just part of his anger and...whatever all this other stuff is.
He hasn't touched his phone since the call with Yakov. Doesn't want to know what he hasn't missed, or worse; what he has. He thinks he hears his name as he throws himself into another triple toe, then into a perfect Biellmann Spiral. He thinks he hears a lot, lately, and he's sure it's just part of his anger and...whatever all this other stuff is.
There's blonde at the edge of his vision, when he drops back into a casual skate, ignoring the amazed onlookers. There is a ghost at the far end of the arena, he hears his name again, in her voice, and spares a single look. He looks like her, more than he ever did his father, even as he ages. He supposes he has all of her traits, as well.
He's just as good at leaving without looking back.
༺༻
He never really lets himself sleep. When he accidentally does, he dreams. It starts off nice, he's young and Momma is taking him somewhere. They talk in rapid Russian, in a dialect he barely remembers and he can't remember what they're talking about. They walk fast, his short legs can barely keep up, but he's too excited to care, because he's with Momma.
He remembers her smiling with her teeth, remembers staring at them and wondering if his own would get that sharp. And then hers are growing and she's turning into someone that isn't Momma anymore. Her eyes are glowing, a nightmare green and everything around her is going black. She's growing and curling and he's shrinking. Her voice isn't her own and he doesn't recognize her anymore.
Then there's warm fingers in his hair and it pulls him from the horrible sight into another space. He's in a familiar place he shouldn't be. It feels safe and makes his heart race. He's turning his head to face the owner of the hand and meeting soft brown eyes and and a warm smile. He's older, Momma isn't here to hurt him. He reaches a hand out to touch.
Beka's image slips through his fingers like sand, reforming behind his fingers. He frowns and looks down. Beka's feet are clearly planted on his floor, but there's nothing beneath Yuri's feet. He looks up again and Beka is still smiling, but he hasn't moved. Yuri tries to say his name, but nothing comes out. He can't breathe and Beka's hand is moving from his hair to his cheek and down to his chin. He tries to gasp, tries to grab at the other, but there's nothing for him to feel other than suffocating. Hands close around his throat.
Beka's eyes don't look so soft anymore, they narrow down and his lips are moving, but Yuri doesn't speak Kazakh, and that seems to be all this Beka is determined to say. He keeps repeating himself, the same phrase, over and over until it joins in on drowning out what's left of Yuri until darkness rises up and folds around him like wings.
༺༻
He wakes up clawing at his neck.
He throws himself across his room, hits the wall with such force he's amazed he hasn't dented the wall. He freezes, listens, and gasps for air. He's in his own room, he doesn't hear his grandfather moving, so he relaxes a little. It's still dark, his cat is curled up at the top of his bed, looking at him through one lazy eye.
He fumbles for his phone, fingers shaking. Beka. He shoves the battery in and his fingers shake as he plugs in the power cord. He only breathes again when his lock screen appears and he can swipe his finger over the image.
He almost throws the phone when it rings just as he unlocks it. His fingers are answering it before he realizes what he's doing, and Beka's name is in the caller ID. His heart is in his ears and he can't hear anything else, staring at the letters on the screen, until he registers Otabek's voice, calling his name.
His hand shakes as he drags it to his ear. Otabek's voice is like salvation and he suddenly can't bring the phone close enough as he breathes a quiet, "Beka."
There's hesitation, and he realizes maybe he shouldn't use that name anymore. But then Otabek always knows how to push and instead asks, "Are you alright? Do you need help?"
Yuri wants to laugh, of course he needs help. Hasn't Beka seen his failure lately? Yuri is falling apart just breathing. But Otabek can't save him, and Yuri isn't sure he wants anyone to even try. He realizes the other is waiting for an answer and murmurs, "I'm fine. I had a nightmare. My mom."
It isn't what Otabek was referring to, he knows. He also knows Beka knows the story of his Momma, he's only told him the story in early morning hours, like, ten times. He doesn't think Beka will comfort him this time around. Even if he tried, this one was different, he'd never had a dream that ended with his best friend-former best friend?-trying to kill him.
Yuri goes to his closet and crawls inside. He's not surprised when his cat joins him in the space, and he appreciates it when she rolls into his lap and lets him close the door as much as possible. Beka doesn't say anything, appears to be listening to him move around. When he settles, he finally asks, "Did you need something?"
"I didn't think you'd answer. I've been trying to reach you since Skate Canada." Yuri can't hear any background noise, and he wonders when Otabek is doing, where he is, what he's looking at. Who he's been with all this time.
"Yeah. I broke my phone." Another lie, so easy to lay, "I was so mad about losing. I didn't bother to fix it for a while, and then I got hurt."
"Hurt?" He can feel Beka get protective and Yuri smiles a little, tipping his head back against the wall.
"Yeah. A cut. I was stupid, cut myself pretty deep." He hesitated, "I don't know if I can skate anymore." It's the wrong thing. Beka knows the lie instantly, and Yuri realizes it too late, in the deep breath the other takes. He doesn't take it back. Laying them out like a wall, Yuri is filling in the spaces the only way he knows how. "I think I'm going to stay here with my grandfather for now. I can't compete the rest of the season, so why bother?"
"You can still train. Pick it up again next season. This isn't like you, Yuri."
Yuri, again. Not Yura. It sounds cold, pinprick fingers that curl around his heart. He puts his free hand on his chest, pulls his knees up, "People change, Otabek." No nicknames, then, Yuri can do that, too, "I'm allowed to change. I'm allowed to give up." He pauses, "I'm allowed to do something else."
"Do you really want to?"
"I love the ice, but maybe it's time leave the competitions. I've been invited to join a few shows, it couldn't hurt to try some of those. Something with a bit more guaranteed income couldn't hurt." He puts his head back against the wall and the cat is tired of his shifting and climbs off of him and vanishes back to his bedroom, "My grandfather isn't getting any younger, it's probably better I come back to Moscow anyway."
"You're not answering me. Is it what you want?"
Yuri goes quiet. He chews on his lip. Beka's patience holds out and he waits while Yuri sifts through his thoughts. Eventually he says, "What I want and what I can actually have are two completely different things." He's not entirely talking about skating anymore, either.
༺༻
He has to go back to Pieters, first to talk to Yakov and Lilia. Then maybe to collect the rest of his things and turn around. His grandfather will let him do whatever he wants, and watches from his car as Yuri walks into the airport without looking back. If he does, he will not leave at all. He sends a message to Lilia with his estimated arrival time so she can leave the front door unlocked for him, and one to Mila to let her know he's coming back. She sends him back a short snap that's just her squealing overdramatically.
He shuts his phone off for take-off and debates on letting Otabek know he's going to try.
༺༻
They last two months. It's strained, their calls are different and Yuri can't stop himself from lying about the smallest things. When they video chat, Beka looks tired and Yuri feels older and he can't really tell if his best friend is his best friend anymore or if they're just going through the motions. He's always worried that one of their "good nights" will be their last one.
And then Yuri's grandfather dies, and it wraps up his competitive figure skating career in a dark little package. He gets the news, pretends he's okay, and throws himself through his routine. He almost destroys his knee. It's enough for him to say his good-byes to his mentor and his coach, to hug the woman who became his sister and wave good-bye to Georgi and take another walk down a jetway, this time on crutches.
It snows right before the funeral, and very few people come. Yuri does what he can, makes it the best he can afford. When he gets home that night, he destroys anything he can get his hands on, anything that brings him memories he doesn't want anymore. Momma. Dedushka. The person he used to be. He debates just setting fire to the house and going to bed, but rationality does eventually set in.
He goes to bed ignoring his phone lighting up the darkness, curling up in one of his grandfather's sweaters.
༺༻
He wakes the next morning to the disaster he left behind. He sits on the edge of the bed and stares out at the ocean of it. His cat looks sad from the doorframe, but doesn't approach him. He throws a pillow at her and she runs.
He breaks as the phone vibrates. Like everything around him, he's in a million pieces as he grabs it and answers the call with a rough, "What?"
Silence for a beat, then, "Yuri."
He hisses into the phone and hangs up.
Otabek just calls back. He's not sure why he answers again, but the other says calmly, "You shouldn't be alone. You should stay with someone. Come to Almaty. Go to Victor's."
"Fuck you." He can't breathe, Beka's voice is like a chain around his chest.
"Yura, please. We're-I'm-worried about you. You haven't been yourself lately and this…"
"What would you know?" Tears in his eyes and the room is blurry. Fingers wrap around the other pillow on the bed and he throws it at the mirror on the dresser on the other side of the room. It hits it harmlessly, but takes out a bottle and a figure as it hits the top of the dresser and rolls to the floor, "Don't worry about it. Don't worry about me. I've got this. Just leave me alone."
"I can't do that. You're my best friend-"
"Am I? I was, I know. Fuck, Otabek. I don't know who you are anymore. Hanging out with JJ at Skate Canada? 'It's too bad about Yuri'. Yeah, it's too fucking bad about me, isn't it? So bad you couldn't even stop by or drop me a text or anything at all that night. If you wanted me to leave you alone, you could have just asked. You don't have to come back and try to be friendly with me anymore. Poor little Yuri is grown up now. He's going to have to do shit by himself from now on. Go back to your Canadian friends who have their shit together."
Someone is knocking on the front door. He swears under his breath and stands up on the bed, walking on the mattress to the window to peer out. There's a car he doesn't recognize in the driveway, so it's not worth his time to go down and see who it is. He drops to his knees on the mattress again, "We were friends, Otabek. Beka. I don't know if we are anymore."
Again, the silence. It lays down around him and curls up like a snake trying to smother him. The knock on the front door happens again. Part of him wants to go and look, just to avoid the heavy silence that's stretching too long.
Finally, Otabek says, "I will always be your friend, Yura. When you're ready to be mine again, you know where to find me."
There's heavy footsteps outside, and Yuri looks out the window again in time to see the ghost of his mother heading to the driver's side of the car. He frowns and leans forward until his forehead hits the glass. It shatters him back to reality.
One minute, Beka is on the other end of the line.
And then he's not.