Prologue in a gloomy Moscow backstreet

The air was clear and chilly in Moscow that night. There were no stars to be seen, of course, because the city was lit brightly, outshining the cosmos. The night sky was nothing but a violettish-gray blanket hanging overhead, gloomy but comforting. It seemed to be kind of glowing after the close-to-complete darkness of the movie theater when only the white sans-serif end credits had rolled over a pitch black screen, ghostly illuminating the edges of the seats and the faces of the audience. Cars passed by the sidewalk and the siren of a police car could be heard in the distance, weeping like a strange bird through the October air. On the opposite side of the street a group of young people, men and women, probably students, were laughing, a girl handing a bottle of vodka to another.

He felt a hand slipping into the pocket of his leather jacket and looked over to Yuri. The boy had a soft blush coloring his nosetip and looked ahead.

"It's cold", he said, his voice annoyed. They both knew that was not the point. He had taken Otabek's hand during the film as well and it had not been cold in there.

"You should have brought your gloves", he replied, keeping his eyes on the shape of Yuri's nose and forehead. "Like I told you..."

"Yeah, sure." If possible Yuri sounded even more annoyed, but it didn't bother Otabek. It was just how Yuri was: pretty, sixteen and hiding a squishily soft core behind a rock hard shell.

"So, did you like it? The movie?"

The look on Yuri's face changed rapidly, he gave Otabek a beaming smile through shoulder long light blonde hair. "Yeah, it was fucking awesome! That part when they took the body apart was so well animated! And the robot was rad as shit!"

Otabek nodded. In his pocket he entwined his fingers with Yuri, the change in the green eyes making a spot underneath his belly button tickle, deep inside. It was awesome how fast Yuri's expressions changed. How complex they were despite everyone saying that he was just an angry teenager who could only look either slightly annoyed or very annoyed. He had never quite understood how people couldn't see how deep Yuri was and how colorful his emotions.

Yuri stopped, making him stop as well with their hands connected in the pocket and looked at him, his lashes long, his ears reddening. He seemed to have to say something, but didn't dare.

Otabek knew what it meant, this look on his best friends face, so insecure but demanding at the same time. They needed to talk, soon. The tension that had built up was getting too much for both of them. He could only guess how Yuri felt about all that. Otabek had had more than six years now to warm up to the thought that he had lost his heart to the Russian Fairy, and it was driving him crazy.

But Yuri had known him for less than a year in which it all had escalated quickly. Their encounter in Barcelona, the night out after the final, his visit in Almaty off season, their trip to the beach after the Worlds and now Otabek's birthday here in Moscow. From strangers to friends to best friends to best friends forever to what? Being the modest person he had grown up to be Otabek had been okay with all of their relationships from that day when they had acknowledged their friendship with a hand shake like some sort of treaty. He was open for more, anything basically. But Yuri wasn't modest (never had been, never would be); he was young, he was wild, he was greedy and so obviously attracted to him that Otabek wondered why he still hadn't made a move.

Of course he could have done that himself already. But he had decided to give Yuri time. Time to find out what he felt, how he worked, what he wanted and when he wanted it. Otabek had been supportive without saying anything, like he used to. He had helped Yuri with his exhibition, had accepted and finally returned Yuri's rare but frequent hugs, had cuddled on his sofa in Almaty when Yuri had initiated it, and had run his thumb over the back of Yuri's hand in the theater, making the boy blush in the darkness. But if Yuri was ready for more, for coming out in the open, he'd need to do it himself. Otabek wouldn't help him there. He'd respond positively to anything Yuri did or said, but he'd not make a move on him, because he was so scared of forcing Yuri into something he didn't really want.

("You are a saint, my sweet Erasyl", his friend Khaligaz had said, shaking her head smiling, using the Kazakh pet name for 'noble hero' on him like she did so often. She was the only one he had told about how he felt for Yuri. She was his best female friend and they were born on the same day and he had felt the need to explain why he wasn't in Almaty to celebrate with her this year, like they had done the previous 20 years. She had smiled and kissed his cheek and added: "I was really looking forward to become your wife one day. But we both know that this love we share is like a sister loves her brother and the other way around, not more not less. I'm just so happy that you found someone who fills your heart with warmth and joy and I know that he loves you just as much." She had met Yuri after the finals after all. And her affectionate, knowing smile had once more proven Otabek that she was more understanding of feelings than anyone else and that she could be trusted with all his longing.)

So here he was, standing in the middle of the pavement, looking at Yuri and Yuri looking at him. They were at eye level know with how much Yuri had grown in the summer, but Yuri was still way more slender than Otabek, lean and elegant, like a cat.

Yuri looked around, then pulled their hands out of Otabek's pocket and with a "Come", turned to march down the street, clearly with something on his mind.

Otabek followed him, his fingers squeezed tightly by Yuri's hand, getting colder by second in the chilly Russian night. He didn't say anything, not even when Yuri led him into a small side street. The asphalt was crumbling and shining from the wetness of the molten away first snow of the year that had fallen this afternoon. It was dark and cold, but he didn't even give it a second thought, because Yuri stopped a few meters down the narrow street, probably a dead end considering the bulk rubbish that was piled up in a dirty cluster at the far end, because he could only look at Yuri. Yuri who looked up at him, his eyes piercing, like they always had been, still holding his hand and then taking a tiny step, coming just a handspan of a distance closer than what was usual.

"I need to tell you something", he said, his voice low. The blush on the tip of his nose was adorable. He inhaled shakily, continued: "I wanted to wait for the right moment. But there have been many by now and I only recognized them when they were over already and that sucks. So I'll just say it now and if it's not the right moment then screw it, because-" He shrugged, pressing Otabek's hand a little harder. "You are a wonderful friend. The most wonderful, at least from what I can tell. And I was really happy with our friendship, but… I don't think I can go on like that."

Otabek's heart stopped beating.

"I'm not sure if you noticed it too, but I feel like there is some tension between us that is not normal for friends." His eyes wandered over Otabek's petrified face, his dry throat, his aching chest. "I thought it would stop at some point. I really hoped it would disappear, but instead over time it just worsened and now somehow it is too much for me. I can't bear that anymore, I can't be silent about that anymore." He looked up at Otabek, who felt numb inside, so numb that he couldn't even make his mouth say something. He had been so terribly wrong.

"The truth is,", Yuri woke him from his hopeless thoughts, frowning, "the truth is that I fell in love with you, Otabek. Deeply." He bit his lip lowering his gaze and Otabek was very confused.

So Yuri did like him. His brain had some struggle suddenly changing his emotions from absolute despair about how Yuri supposedly pushed him away to indescribable joy about his confession. But when it had managed to process the information, echoing Yuri's words, "Deeply, deeply, deeply–", his heart started beating again. His hands trembled violently, his exhale was a perplexed laugh that made Yuri look up at him again.

"Yuri", he whispered and wrapped his arms around him, pulling the boy close. When he felt Yuri's hands on his back it was like his organs tightened into a knot, forcing him to bend forward. Holding Yuri even closer, he pushed his face into the blonde hair that smelled so good, so wonderfully like Yuri. He had never been that happy in his life.

"Ooooh, look how cute they are!" The voice came from the left, from the street where they had entered the small backstreet and it made them distance themselves from each other. Only for forcing them apart, Otabek - usually a very peaceful character - wanted to break someone's legs. He looked over to where the voice had come from, catching sight of a group of four persons making their way over to them. He felt Yuri stiffening beside him.

"Sorry, we didn't want to interrupt", another guy said. "Please keep going."

"Yeah", a third one lauhed. "I wanna see the blonde beauty in action."

"Leave us alone", Yuri said, forcing his voice to remain calm and neutral.

"Woooahwooah, wait", exclaimed the third one, an ugly guy with shaved hair and tattered jeans jacket that blended in perfectly with his coarse companions. "The bitch is no bitch at all!"

"Looks like we interrupted some damn faggot make-out, guys!" The group howled like a pack of hyenas.

"We need to get out of here", Yuri whispered, taking a step backwards as the gang approached, dragging on Otabek's jacket.

The Kazakh felt fear rushing through his veins. The backstreet still was a dead end. They were trapped.

"Please, leave us alone", he tried to reason, but of course it was futile. Those guys were in seek of a quarrel and they wouldn't let them go so easily. He needed to at least try though. "We haven't done anything to you and therefore we do not want any business with you."

One of the guys laughed. "Did you really think you could stain our lovely Moscow with your dirty behavior and get away with it?" He came to a halt, making a hand gesture like he was the leader of a troop. "Let's give you a lesson on how we treat faggots like you here in Russia." The other three came closer, slowly and threatening.

Otabek stepped in front of Yuri. He'd protect him, no matter what.

"Otabek", the blonde hissed sounding just as scared as Otabek felt.

The leader yelled: "Go get him, but leave the blonde to me!", and in a second they were surrounded. Otabek held out his hand to prevent Yuri from interfering, but didn't even have the time to say something when the thugs attacked.

The Kazakh had never been in a fight before. His mother had raised him to be a calm, reasonable, peaceful person. He was reticent and avoided conflicts and he certainly wasn't violent, but he didn't have a choice now and when the first punches came his way he had to somehow fight back. He knew he didn't stand a chance, the only way to get out of this with as little damage as possible was to keep those guys busy so that Yuri could make a run.

So he tried to dodge the fists and although he received some really painful blows he was under the impression that he did kind of well. That was only until he heard Yuri yell: "Leave him alone you fucking bastards! Get your dirty hands off my friend or I'll kick your ugly asses!"

"Yuri, don't!" He turned to where the blonde had been a second before, seeing how the gang leader walked up to him and drag him off the back of one of the other guys.

"You stay with me, pretty boy", he said, gripping Yuri's hair with one hand and his neck with the other, making the blonde whine in pain.

There Otabek snapped. It was like his vision turned red, his blood rushed in his ears as he saw that guy touching Yuri, hurting Yuri, his Yuri, his Yuri. "Get away from him!", he shouted, making a step towards them, pushing one of the other guys who was in his way against the brick wall. Through the red he saw Yuri's pained expression and the smirk on that guy's face, his hand clutching around Yuri's throat. A big, raw hand with a tattoo of an eagle holding a diamond, wrapped around Yuri's white, delicate, fragile windpipe. "I kill you!"

A kick in his knee pit sent him to the floor. He tried to get up, but another kick sent him back down again. He heard Yuri cry out his name, "Otabek!", sounding hysteric, heard another voice laughing "You better focus on where the action is!". And then there was more pain, in his ribcage, his stomach, his head. He couldn't get up although he tried, he struggled, but his arms and legs gave in under the weight, under the pain. There were even more kicks and punches that made his vision go black with white dots for a moment and then a sharp pain in his shoulder, a shout from the leader "You have a knife?! Are you insane?! You're killing him!".

He heard Yuri cry. He heard a siren. He heard the bells of the clock tower beating twelve and it was his birthday now. He couldn't celebrate with Yuri like that. Everything hurt. He coughed and some liquid bubbled out between his lips, leaving a metallic taste. Had that one guy stabbed him? Was he dying? It hurt like hell.

"Otabek! No!", he heard a voice. Yuri's voice. Yes, Yuri. He had confessed to him just now hadn't he? He needed to tell him, tell him that he loved him too, had loved him for so long now.

"Let's get out of here!", a male voice shouted, then: "Take that, faggot!" He felt pain exploding in his head and then nothing.

And that's how Otabek Altin died on his 20th birthday in a dark, cold backstreet in Moscow, a lock of his bloodstained hair carefully pushed back by the trembling fingers of Yuri Plisetsky who still called his name when the police came.