AN:/Title taken from Tam Lin by Fairport Convention.
This fic has been a long time in coming! I started it in January 2017, right after binge-watching all of YoI, and falling totally in love. And this fandom 3 There's so much good fic!
They call him the Russian Fairy, and he hates the reminder even though they don't mean anything by it. Still, that he has a well-known nickname also means that he himself is known, so he'll take it. As long as he wins, as long as history remembers him.
Yuri loves the ice and he love figure skating. He wants that speed and grace himself, but however much he works, pleads with his teachers and his dedushka for extra practice he just doesn't have that certain something. He will only ever be mediocre. He can skate, backwards and forwards, he can do some of the spins that their age group have been taught. However much he practices though, his skating is not beautiful. It does not captivate. The scouts have already looked past him several times, have already picked a girl a year younger than him for special coaching and Yuri knows, he knows that the window is closing. He is getting too old.
Perhaps he should try to work harder on his math and Russian history. Give up on skating since he so clearly has no talent for it.
Yuri does not give up on his dream. Instead he gets desperate. He gets creative.
Everyone here but him deserves to be here. They have talent, they have worked, and hurt, and sweated for their places here. He's taking someone's spot. But maybe if he works hard enough he can deserve this chance. Yakov's a harsh taskmaster, but Yuri will take the pain and exhaustion and reforge himself into something great. He will make himself worth his place here.
Victor Nikiforov is everything Yuri wants to be as a skater. Strength, grace, beauty. Not that Yuri would ever tell him that, the flighty idiot. He will climb to that pinnacle and then surpass it, aiming to be the summit himself. They are skating at the same rink now, under the same coach. There's other skaters, too. Georgi who always has to be either in love or heartbroken, but is a good skater all the same. The hag, Mila, who shows him how to put more flair into his jumps.
All bruises and blisters, all the times blinking dazedly up at the lights getting his breath back after landing wrong are finally paying off. At this level skating feels like flying, the way it never did Before. He jumps and it is like he is weightless, like he could step into the air and just not come down. He spins and the world blurs away, everything that is ugly and disappointing lost to the speed. People watch him, because he has that spark, that grace now. It is just as amazing as he always thought it would be. He will fly until the day he dies.
It is also amazing to finally be able to give something back to his family for supporting him. Competitions have finally begun to pay off with prize money, and winning medals brings sponsors and attention.
Yuri reads a lot of fairy tales when he first arrives at St. Petersburg. Tales of impossible tasks and clever heroes who prevail against witches and trolls and the fey. His rinkmates tease him about it, the silent boy always with his head in a book. Are you here to skate or are you not, they ask. In the end, it's just a phase, he has to live in the real world.
That Japanese fake-Yuri has all that natural talent, and he's throwing it away. It makes a mockery of everyone who has sweated and bled and suffered to get ahead. Who does he think he is? It makes Yuri's blood boil. Pathetic.
It's that time of year again. As always, he feels unmoored, something that gets worse with every year that passes. Soon he will come unstuck entirely. Right now, he's not pretending. For as long as this sensation lasts it is impossible to pretend. The ice helps. Now that he has some pull he makes sure to have the rink booked for the day. When he can speed and soar across it – beauty, strength, grace – he can remind himself what it was all for, and that helps. It was worth it. It had to be worth it.
He remembers the first time this happened; he was still so naïve then, a child. The feeling of the world being at once too far away and too sharp, too real, had been so unsettling, but he shrugged it off. His mistake had been trying to get into a car. God, but the metal had burned, and the chemical stink of gas, of the city was nauseating. In the end his dedushka had bundled him up in blankets and tucked him into bed for the rest of the day after that episode.
When the same sensation came again, a year later, he had had an inkling of what it was. A taste of what would come. Now he is an old hand at it. Book the rink. Avoid people. Don't cross running water. Avoid iron and steel, gloves for handling it when it cannot be avoided – because there is metal everywhere. And people. And running water. But the rink is mostly safe, at least.
This one day he spends entirely on the ice. He plays with new techniques and step-sequences, spins and skates figures until he is dizzy with it. He only leaves the ice to go to the bathroom and to eat a cold lunch, still in his skates by the rinkside. He's brought a sleeping bag so that he doesn't have to brave the city.
One year left. The sandwich tastes like dust. He puts it down and takes the guards off his skates, gets back on the rink. The ice always helps.
Tomorrow he'll be pretending again.
Beka has become a good friend over the years. Social media, phones, modern technology, whatever, really is amazing at times. They train in separate countries but keep in contact. In the beginning it was mostly small talk, how did training go?, look, I landed a new jump, cute cat videos and sunsets. There's still that, there will never not be a good time for cute cat videos, if Yuri has any say, but there is also encouragement and concerns about sponsors. Hopes and fears and dreams.
Beka is quiet in the beginning. He'll always be reserved, and so centered – that's what Yuri loves about him – but he does open up. In a way texting helped when they were getting to know each other.
There is no pressure, he wrote to Yuri one time, if I don't know what to say right away I can think for a little while. I'm not ignoring you.
It's ok, Yuri replied. You don't have to be on with me, just be yourself. I have enough brash idiots who don't think before they speak in my life already! He adds a short video of the Idiot dramatically clinging to Katsudon to the text.
Thank you, Beka replied.
Everything hits Yuri on his birthday, going from abstract to too real like a punch to the solar plexus. He's always remembered, but it's easy to not think about it until it is not real. In the end, it is a simple text that starts the realisation.
Happy nineteenth birthday, Yura! Beka's written, and wow, he really is nineteen now. How did that happen? (He knows exactly how it happened. Time, the thief, up to her usual games.)
Thnx! Look at all the candles on this baby :), he replies and adds a group shot of him and his rinkmates around the birthday cake they surprised him with. Everyone's cheating a little on their strict diets today, but Yakov's looking the other way. It's Lilia he's going to have to watch out for if she catches wind of it.
The cake suddenly sits heavy in his stomach. He slips away to the restroom and locks himself in a stall to quietly freak out. People have been wishing him happy birthday all morning, so why did Beka's text hit him like a bucket of cold water?
Happy birthday. Happy birthday. Happy birthday. The words echo in his head as he clenches his hands into fists. Where did the years go? They've slipped away like water through his fingers and what does he have to show for it? He has medals. A few bitter bronze medals, more silver and gold from where he, Katsudon, the two Idiots and Beka have traded places over the years. They are not as shiny as his nine-year-old self imagined they would be.
There is only a few months left. That's no time at all.
Can you come visit for a while after worlds? he types, and sits staring at the screen until it dies. He unlocks the phone and then viciously presses send and locks it immediately after. Way to be needy, Yuri, he thinks. The phone buzzes with a notification.
Sure, Beka's written.
The twisty, tight feeling in Yuri's chest remains, but it doesn't feel quite so bad any longer.
Beka comes in late spring.
It is such a relief to be able to say goodbye.
They are sitting on the couch in Yuri's apartment after a day of practice and a little sightseeing. It is nice to finally have Otabek here now that everything- now that the season is over.
"I have something to tell you," Yuri says. "I just don't know how to say it."
Otabek's wide, dark eyes burns into his. There seems to be a slight flush rising on his face. Yuri drops his gaze and fidgets with the hem of his tiger print sweater, like he had been doing since dinner, trying to work up the courage to speak. This is his biggest secret. Something he's never spoken of to anyone. He has started, now he just needs to finish it. Say something, Yuri! he thinks.
"We're friends, right? And I just- I wanted to tell you that- I need you to know- I mean I'm going to… be gone after this summer. June 21st. After June 21st, midsummer, that is. And I wanted you to know that it's meant a lot to me, our friendship. I'll miss you."
Yuri starts out lightly, with a forced calm that unravels towards the end of his explanation. He looks away angrily, blinking. Why had he pulled his hair back? It would have been nice to be able to duck his head and hide behind his fringe. Otabek is so silent. Why doesn't he say anything?
Making friends had always been a bad idea. Yuri Plisetsky had the eyes of a soldier, Otabek had said all those years ago, in Barcelona. Yuri should have kept that cool, focused gaze and shielded his heart, shielded everyone's hearts – but once a failure always a failure, apparently.
Otabek still hasn't said anything. Yuri should leave. He should just stand up and walk out the door right now. Why should Otabek care? They'd only known each other for a few years. Text messages and social media, a scant handful of days meeting in person during various competitions and a couple of visits. Maybe he had misjudged, maybe they weren't friends like he had thought. Who would care when he disappeared? No one, aside from dedushka, just like he had wanted. But why did that thought burn so much?
Yuri gets up. It's his apartment but he can go for a walk. Otabek will have left when he gets back.
Yuri gets up but when he turns towards the door Otabek catches him by the arm with almost bruising force. Maybe he does care. Warmth washes through Yuri, and with it another kind of pain. Hope.
"'Going to be gone'? What are you talking about, Yura? Are you ill? In some kind of trouble?" Otabek asks. Yuri turns around to look at him. Otabek's eyes are focused, expression more serious than usual.
"No, I'm not sick and I'm not in trouble. I'm just… leaving. I made a bargain and now I have to pay what is owed."
"You made a bargain? With who? The mafiya?" Otabek smiles a little to show that he is trying to lighten the mood.
"The mafiya?!" Yuri snorts a laugh at that. "No."
Otabek shoulders untenses a little at Yuri's snort.
"So, you're not sick, but you're quitting skating? You're only nineteen, surely-"
"I'm not just quitting skating, Beka. I mean it, I'll disappear, I'll be gone. Poof. Vanished," Yuri pauses, and then grits his teeth. He owes this to Beka, this and more. "I'm sorry."
"Why? As long as I've know you, Yura, you've fought. Against all odds, against injury and exhaustion and expectations. And now you're just giving up? If you're not ill and not in legal trouble, then what is it? Can't anything be done?"
"This isn't something that can be fought, Beka. And you wouldn't believe me if I told you why I'm going or where or with whom," Yuri says and smiles a smile that is more of a grimace.
"So tell me!" Otabek says, grabbing Yuri's hands. "Whatever this is, it's obviously serious. Just tell me. I'll help if I can."
"Yeah," Yuri pauses. Otabek will probably think him crazy, but in a way it will be nice to actually tell the truth now that he has no pretences left. Cathartic, and all that. "Yeah, I'll tell you. Only I don't quite know how to start. Where to start," Yuri bites his lips nervously and reclaims his hands from Otabek to pace around the living room like a caged leopard.
"Did you know that I got lost when I was a kid? There was a police investigation and everything, news reports. People thought I had been kidnapped, or that dedushka had killed me or something. It was a huge mess. I was gone for almost a month, but it didn't feel that long to me. Luckily it was in summer, so I didn't miss any school or practice or anything. When they asked me where I had been, who had had me I could only say the pretty lady with the ice eyes. In a place far away. That she was kind," Yuri snorts and smiles that grimace-smile again. "I thought she was kind then. I was too little to understand all the problems I had caused by disappearing, but I understand now. So I've tried to make it so that it won't be so bad when go away again. Only, I'm selfish, Beka. You were my first friend for a reason, and I didn't think- I didn't think- and then you were so hurt when I tried to pull away and now it's too late. I'll disappear, Beka. I'll be gone before summer is over. I'm sorry."
Yuri paces some more, thankful for Otabek's silence. This is hard enough as it is; he is glad not to be interrupted. Okay, so he had said precisely nothing with that little harangue. But it feels easier, for having apologised. He can do this.
"My dream, when I was a kid, was to skate like the people on TV. To win medals. To fly and spin across the ice. To be the best in the world! But I wasn't very good. Hah! That's an understatement. I was mediocre at best, however much I practiced," Yuri says. The bitterness of that still stings, trapped beneath the scab of the old wound. He stops his pacing right in front of Otabek and just looks at him. "When we met in Barcelona, when you told me of working, working, working and it not being enough. I know that feeling." Yuri falls quiet.
"What are you talking about, Yura? You're Yuri Plisetsky! The Fairy of Russia, Olympic medallist, record holder. There's more talent in your pinky than most skaters have in their whole bodies," Otabek says. "I'm sorry. This is obviously hard for you. I just- I didn't mean to interrupt."
"The Fairy of Russia, I hate that! It's a reminder," Yuri says and runs a hand over his eyes. "But no. It's ok. And what you said is all true, now," Yuri puts emphasis enough to crack bone on the last word, wanting to make clear how hopeless he had been Before.
"I didn't use to have any talent at all, but now I do. I didn't want to give up on my dream; I refused to give up skating or settling for it being a hobby. So I made a deal. I bargained for world-level athletic talent and I got it. Suddenly I was good. I was amazing! I could nail my jumps, people took notice, I got sponsors and scholarships. But Beka, you have to believe me, all the work, all the practice to make something out of that talent, that's been me! I swear I didn't cheat in that way, I never bargained for straight golds or to rig the competitions or anything like that. Just to get a chance to compete," Yuri says with increasing desperation and takes off pacing again. Five steps, spin, then five steps the other way, repeat.
The springs in the old sofa creaks. Otabek takes him lightly by the shoulders and steers him back to sit down. He collapses more than sits, and puts his head in his hands, the very picture of dejection.
"I believe you. I've seen your blisters and injuries and your hard work. Haven't I been one of the people telling you to slow down sometimes, even? I'd never think you could cheat, Yura. You want to beat people honestly and then grind their faces in that defeat forever," Otabek smiles a little amusedly at him but then continues speaking, more gravely. "So you bargained for talent and got it. With whom and what did you bargain?"
"That's the part of the story that ties into my disappearance when I was a kid. I wasn't just rambling, it actually had some significance. All the significance. I was nine years old. It was early summer and me and dedushka were visiting relatives in the countryside. School had let out and Moscow is unbearable in summer. I had a plan. I figured I could have everything for a little while or nothing for forever… only it wouldn't have been forever, either. You know me, Beka, without skating I reckon I would be in prison by now, and how long would I have survived that? And I don't regret it. Mostly. There's so many things I wouldn't have gotten to do or see without the bargain," Yuri says and looks Otabek dead in the eye, serious. "I wouldn't have gotten to meet you, and…
"But I'm stalling. It's like my mind shies away from speaking about this. The edges are too sharp. Anyway, on the night of midsummer I went into the woods by the lake. I found the ring of mushrooms like the stories said and I placed my offering in the middle – store-bought bread and honey, ha! – and then they came. The Queen of Faeries and her Court. I hadn't really believed, before, but what else could they have been? Who else could she have been? I still can't describe them, or her, or that place where they took me, just the bare shape of it, the vaguest idea. It was terrifying. God, she is so terrifying!" Yuri says and then has to sit and focus on breathing very, very evenly for a little while. Otabek waits.
"Ten years. At the end of ten years they come for me. That was the bargain. So I guess, it's less that I'll go away and more that I'll be taken, really," Yuri laughs in a way that is more of a sob.
Otabek turns more towards him on the sofa and raises his hands, then lowers them, then raises them again and gathers Yuri to his chest in a tight embrace. Yuri trembles like he is going to shake apart, like he has been submerged in icy water. His head hurts and suddenly he feels exhausted, as if he has skated his heart out and is only now allowed to collapse to his knees to gasp for air. Otabek is warm and his arms are tight around Yuri's back. Yuri speaks, hiding his face against Otabek's chest.
"You believe me?"
"I do believe you," Otabek says and then continues in a lower, almost pained voice. "I almost wish that I didn't, though."
Yuri doesn't cry at that because he refuses to cry, he's not some cry-baby. He hasn't cried since he was a child. It just becomes a little hard to breathe, and his eyes burn. He blinks furiously and ducks his head lower against Otabek. They sit like that for a while longer before going to bed.
Staring up at the ceiling that night, unable to sleep, Otabek says to himself, and to the boy in the room next door:
"I'll save you."
/Edit to put in the line breaks that stupid ff-dot-net ate *sigh*