Yuri Plisetsky is only five years old, and too young to really know the world. He's not too young though, to recognize the signs of stress in his grandfather's face, no matter how he tries to hide it. He's not young enough to not know why their apartment is always cold, why there's paint peeling from the walls. Yuri might be young, but he's not stupid.
So when his grandfather suggests that he start skating, Yuri knows that they can't afford it.
"I don't want to," Yuri says immediately, brow furrowed. It doesn't sound fun, and it's not as if they have the money to spend.
"Yurochka, you've never even tried ice skating before." His grandfather's voice is gently chastising, one of reason, and already Yuri knows he won't be able to win this argument.
"I don't need to try it to know I won't like it," he tries anyways, because he's nothing if not persistent.
"Try it once, for me. If you don't like it, you don't have to do it again."
Yuri sighs, even as he tightens his grip on his grandfather's hand. "Fine," he mutters, green eyes glaring at the ground. "I won't like it though."
"Thank you." Yuri can hear the smile in his grandfather's voice. If it makes Grandpa happy, Yuri reasons, then maybe it won't be that bad.
He continues: "We can go tomorrow since it's Saturday. There's a rink nearby." Yuri groans. There's really no getting out of it now.
The rink is small, but filled with people. Yuri watches from behind his grandfather as he pays for their admission and rental skates. A couple holds hands as they skate; a girl closes her eyes as she makes her way around the rink in practiced strokes. A boy laughs with his friends even as he stumbles and falls to the ground. It looks...fun, almost. Yuri feels eyes on him, and looks up to meet his grandfather's knowing gaze. "Ready?" The boy huffs. "Yeah, I guess so."
Yuri makes Grandpa go on the ice first. They find a quiet corner, so Yuri can get the feel of the ice. At least, that's what he's supposed to be doing. He just watches, eyes following the lines his grandfather cuts in the ice as he moves.
The older man smiles gently. "Want to try?"
Yuri nods.
"Take my hand, Yurochka," he instructs. "Careful now, the ice is slippery."
Yuri takes a deep breath, then takes his grandfather's hand. Maybe he should take small, careful steps, but he doesn't want to. He flings himself at the ice with a recklessness that makes the older man wince.
"Remember, you have to learn to walk before you can run," he says, leaning down to help Yuri up from the ice. "Are you hurt?"
"No," Yuri says, eyes wide not with pain or anger as the older man had feared, but with delight. "Can we skate some more?"
His grandfather smiles. "Yes, but-" He sighs as Yuri hits the ground again. "But be a bit more careful."
Later that night, the pair settle down to a dinner of pirozhki.
"How was skating, Yurochka? Would you like to continue doing it?"
"It was fun." Green eyes stay fixed firmly to the plate in front of him.
"What's wrong? You love pirozhki. Does it taste bad?"
"No, the pirozhki is great!" Yuri hastily says, taking another bite to prove his words. "But," he continues, swallowing, "I don't know if I can skate."
His grandfather sighs. "Is it because of money?"
The young boy doesn't respond.
"Oh Yurochka. Don't worry about that, we'll be alright. Do you like skating?"
Yuri doesn't know what to say. He likes skating, likes the feeling of ice underneath him. He likes the rush he feels as he moves. He doesn't even mind the bruises. But skating lessons will be expensive.
He tries not to let Grandpa see his emotions, keeps his eyes fixed away and his mouth steady. Somehow though, Grandpa senses his inner turmoil.
"Yurochka. Be honest."
"...yes. I like skating, Grandpa. It's really fun, and I like the ice."
A wide smile makes its way onto the face of his grandfather. "Then let's get you lessons. Don't worry about money. We'll be okay. Now quick, finish your pirozhki before it gets cold."
So, Yuri skates. He gets enrolled in lessons, and learns to move without falling. He learns spins and a few jumps. One day, he overhears an instructor tell his grandfather: "Yuri's got a lot of potential. He's a natural. But if you want him to get really good, professional good, I don't think you'll find that here. But in Saint Petersburg...I know someone there who could teach Yuri more. He could make Yuri a star." It's all he hears before he's whisked away for stretching.
That night, his grandfather sits him down and tells him about Yakov Feltsman. Yuri is quiet for once. "But he doesn't teach here," he finally says. The older man sighs. "No, he doesn't. He teaches in Saint Petersburg."
Yuri stays silent. "But Yurochka, this is a great opportunity. You love skating, and this is a chance for you to get even better," continues Grandpa. "Don't go if you don't want to. But if you do, then we'll make it work," he promises.
Finally, Yuri speaks. "I want to get better, but I don't want to leave you." His voice breaks, and he bites his tongue to keep from crying.
"Oh Yurochka." A pair of arms envelops him in a warm hug. He murmurs into Yuri's hair: "I wish I could keep you with me always."
In the end, Grandpa helps him get settled in with Yakov, in Saint Petersburg. He makes enough pirozhki to last a week. "So you won't get homesick," he says. When it's time for him to go back home (to Moscow, without Yuri), he wraps him up in a hug. "I love you. Make me proud Yurochka." Yuri's not even ashamed when he cries. He knows he'll make Grandpa proud. Not only because Grandpa will be proud no matter what happens, but because his grandfather won't be able to buy a new winter coat this year, and he's worn holes into his shoes. The electricity bill won't always be paid. He's made so many sacrifices. So Yuri will skate, and he'll skate well. It's the least he can do.
When Yuri meets the new skaters, it's about enough to make him want to tear his hair out. Victor is boy with a wide smile, blue eyes sparkling as he immediately sweeps Yuri into a hug. Yuri hates hugs (unless they're from Grandpa), and pulls away quickly. The older boy merely laughs, and after taking in the tiger print on Yuri's shirt, the stuffed cat he holds in his arms, he says, "I see the kitten doesn't like hugs." The green-eyed skater lunges at Victor, ready to kill, and Yakov hastily pulls him away. "We'll introduce you to Mila and Georgi another time," he says with a sigh.
Meeting Mila and Georgi doesn't go much better. Mila is a redhead with piercing blue eyes and surprising strength. She's annoying, especially the way she ruffles his hair, but at least she's better than Georgi. Georgi is enough to make Yuri wish he'd stayed in Moscow. "For the last time," Yuri growls, "I don't care about who you like." The older skater talks about love too much, even in the first five minutes of their meeting, and he is absolutely exhausting. Even so, when Yuri prepares for bed, thinking over his day, he thinks that maybe he could see Saint Petersburg becoming home.
At ten years old, Yuri has low hopes for Yakov's summer camp. He's been there year after year, and it's always boring. The instruction will be top-notch, as always, but there's no telling how the other kids will be. He's still in the novice class at camp, and there's always new faces to be seen. This year, there's nobody interesting. Grandpa is always telling him to make friends, but Yuri doesn't see anyone he'd want to be friends with. Halfway through a lesson though, a boy is put into their class. Yuri doesn't hear the murmured words the instructors share, but it doesn't matter. It's clear to him (and the rest of the group, if the snickers are any indication) what's happened. The boy looks older than the other kids. He has angry brown eyes, a flush on his face, tan skin. When he joins in, Yuri can tell he's not very flexible, probably the reason he was moved down to the novice class.
When they're allowed a break, Yuri escapes to an empty corner. He's not interested in making small talk. The boy who was moved down doesn't seem interested, either. He fends off all attempts at conversation with polite, one-word answers. When he escapes to a quiet spot of his own, he turns and catches Yuri staring. Feeling a flush creep up his face, Yuri keeps their eyes locked, refusing to back down. Finally, a small smile forms on the other boy's lips, and he looks away, sipping from his water bottle. Yuri looks away as well, but he knows his face is still red.
When the day is finally over, the green-eyed skater stays behind, waiting for Yakov to finish his lesson. He hears Yakov compliment someone in English. "You adjusted well, Otabek." Spinning around, he spots the same boy from before, eyes downcast as he stands in front of Yuri's coach. "Thank you," he replies, quiet. The boy - Otabek, that's his name - turns to meet Yuri's gaze. Yuri curses himself in his head; he's been caught staring, again, but all Otabek does is offer a small smile, the same smile he'd given Yuri earlier, before walking out of the room. For some reason, Yuri wishes he could follow. Instead, he waits for Yakov so they can head to his apartment.
"What was that boy's name?" Yuri hears himself ask, as they eat dinner.
"Hm?" Yakov looks up from his plate. "Which one?"
"I think his first name's Otabek," says Yuri.
"Otabek Altin? He's a skater from Kazakhstan." Yakov says.
"Oh," the younger skater says. Yakov arches an eyebrow, awaiting an explanation for why Yuri wanted to know. "I was just curious," he says, feeling his face get hot.
Yuri spends his evening looking up videos of Otabek. He skates well, Yuri thinks. He's stoic most of the time off the ice, but on the ice, he's expressive. After more research, he finds a video of Otabek landing a single toe-loop. It's taken by shaky hands, and the quality of the footage is low, but he can tell it's Otabek in the video. He looks a lot younger than the boy Yuri saw in person today, his eyes not quite as guarded. When he lands the jump, a wide smile crosses his face and he laughs in delight. Someone, maybe the person filming, cheers. The video cuts off then, and Yuri is reminded of the videos Grandpa likes to take, the ones that always end up bad because Grandpa isn't good at operating technology. Then Yakov yells at him to get off the computer and the green-eyed skater huffs as he prepares for bed.
As Yuri wraps himself in blankets, clutching his stuffed cat to his chest, he can't help but wonder what it would be like to see Otabek give the wide smile he saw in the video in real life. He can't help but wonder what it would be like if that smile was directed at him.
(He dreams that night, of warm brown eyes and bright smiles.)