Hi guys. So this is me making a very tentative venture into the Yuri on Ice fandom. I have a lot of reservations about this because, as much as I love the series and the characters, frankly the animosity within the fandom community scares me. So let me be clear - this fic is OtaYuri, aged up a few years so Yuri isn't a minor. If you don't like, then don't read and don't comment. It's a big bad world out there and I realise I can't please everyone. Respect my choice in pairings and I'll respect yours - surely that's not too much to ask.
Anyway, this is just a little something I came up with to test the water here in the YOI fandom community. I considered making it multiple chapters, but for now I'll leave it as a one shot. That could change though, potentially. Hope you enjoy :)
Whatever painkillers the doctor had given Otabek finally seemed to be working, as he was able to relax for the first time in well over an hour. Of all the ways his day could have ended, he certainly hadn't expected this - to be lying on a paper covered examination bed in the nearest hospital to the rink.
Everything had been going so well too, until that last jump which had brought him, his hopes at the Grand Prix Final, and maybe even his skating career, crashing down to the floor like a meteor smashing into the Earth. He'd used his momentum to get back up again, finishing the routine through sheer force of will, and stood for the applause from an ecstatic crowd. Then, unbelievable pain had shot up through him as his knee gave out, and he went down with a hard bang.
He could still feel the cold of the ice against his face as he'd lain there afterward, his brain taking a moment to process what had just happened as he'd fought down sudden nausea. The chill had helped calm him a little as he'd waited for medics to arrive, per regulation, but even they had been unable to spare him from Yakov's frosty snarls at his foolishness while they took him off the ice on a stretcher.
The final would be over by now, and that was another year he'd missed the podium (let alone gold). It was beyond disappointing. He had barely managed to finish his free skate program; now he couldn't even walk. Otabek closed his eyes and resigned himself to his miserable bad luck.
"...bek. Oi, Otabek! Come on, you can't sleep here."
Brown eyes opened slowly before Otabek's head jerked up, and he blinked several times in mild confusion. Yuri was standing at the foot of his bed, wearing his team Russia uniform, with the hood up and his hands jammed inside his pockets. His blonde hair was hanging down over his face in its usual fashion, having been pulled roughly from the braid it had been woven into for the final.
Even so, Otabek could see the way his brows were drawn together ever so slightly, not in anger but an unusual concern that the Kazakh realised was reserved exclusively for him. But why was he here? What about the final?
"Huh?" He asked intelligently, and earned a snort from Yuri for that fantastic response.
"The doctor said the meds might make you feel tired, but I didn't expect them to put you out like that. I've been calling your name for almost a minute."
Otabek offered him a small smile, barely a twitch of his lips but enough for Yuri to notice - he was getting good at reading him. "Sorry. I don't remember shutting my eyes."
The Russian shrugged and moved round the side of the bed, turning to lean against the mattress. Now the concern was more evident in his expression, and Otabek tried not to wince as he watched Yuri's eyes glance down towards his knee, propped up with a pillow underneath. "How bad is it?" he asked.
It was bad. What the doctors had deemed a significant tear to the anterior cruciate ligament in his left knee made Otabek feel sick with worry. As a professional athlete he couldn't afford to be out of commission for long with a dodgy leg, though that seemed to be the hand that fate had dealt him.
"Bad enough," he sighed, and pointed towards a set of crutches in the corner. "I'm to use those until further notice, and wait to hear back about the MRI. They drained fluid from under my kneecap and it was full of blood."
Yuri pulled a bit of a face, pushing himself off the side of the bed. He wandered to the corner of the room and picked up the crutches, slipped his arms through the elbow cuffs and then swung his body weight forward slightly on them, humming a little in thought. "At least you won't be completely out of shape," he mused thoughtfully, swinging himself again. "Your abs are gonna be fucking rock hard after using these things Beka."
Otabek smirked a little at that comment. "They already are."
He nearly grinned as a healthy dusting of pink spread across Yuri's cheeks, and the Russian turned his eyes away. "Shut up asshole, you know what I meant."
"That's not very good bedside manner Yurio," Viktor's voice announced, the older man appearing around the edge of the curtain half drawn round Otabek's bed. Yuuri followed just behind him, and they both smiled sympathetically at Otabek.
"Shut up old man," Yuri growled, "and quit calling me that."
"How are you Otabek?" Yuuri asked politely, moving to the opposite side of the bed while Yuri waved a crutch threateningly at Viktor.
"I've been better," Otabek admitted, glancing down to his knee which had a thick padded brace strapped round it with velcro. At least the doctor had agreed to let him put it over his trouser leg - he didn't really want to see how badly swollen and bruised it was right now. "They think I may need surgery, but I won't know for sure until the MRI results come back."
"You had to go in one of those horrible contraptions?" Viktor asked, shuddering and folding his arms tightly across his chest. "I hate those things. They're so claustrophobic and noisy; I had a really bad migraine when I came out of one once."
"Ugh, where did I leave my violin?" Yuri grumbled, sarcasm thick in his voice as he rolled his eyes.
"I didn't know you'd had an MRI," Yuuri commented, sending his husband a look of concern.
"Years ago," Yuri cut in, not about to let Viktor have any sympathy. "He tripped coming off the ice and cried like a big baby. Yakov sent him for one just to shut him up."
"Yurio is so cold to me," Viktor whined, moving closer to his husband as if seeking protection. "Why can't he be nice to me like he is to Otabek?"
Viktor was rewarded with a kick in the back from the younger Russian for that comment.
Otabek felt a little overwhelmed by all the sudden commotion as he watched the three, remaining quiet to give his brain a chance to catch up; the meds had been much stronger than he'd thought, and everything felt a bit fogged up, like his head had been jampacked full of cotton wool or something. It wasn't a particularly pleasant experience, but he'd take it over the immense pain he'd felt in his knee any day.
"Can someone tell me what's going on?" he asked at last, drawing the attention of his three visitors back to him. They all looked at him blankly until he found himself frowning. "It's the day of the Grand Prix Final," he stated bluntly. "Two of you were competing just like me, and the third was coaching one of you, so why are you here? Don't at least one of you have a press conference to attend? And what about the banquet?"
Viktor blinked several times, then snapped his fingers and pointed casually at the injured man. "That's the most I've ever heard you say in one go," he commented, and Otabek couldn't help but scowl at him a little.
The five time world champion smiled and put his hands in his pockets. "Actually, that's the reason we came here, other than to see you were okay, of course." He looked to his husband, and it was only then that Otabek noticed the bag Yuuri was carrying in one of his hands.
Yuuri reached into it carefully, and when he pulled out a silver medal hanging from a ribbon, Otabek felt more than a little confused."So... Who got the gold?" he asked.
Yuri reached forward and lightly flicked Otabek on the forehead with his finger. "Me, obviously," he stated simply, somehow managing to avoid boasting despite his word choice. "You think I'd let Katsudon beat me again after last year?"
"Yeah, you got your revenge and took gold," Yuuri smiled. "I'm proud of you though - you worked hard, and you deserve it."
Otabek looked from the medal to Yuuri. "You got silver then?" he guessed.
The japanese man shook his head. "No, I just missed out on it; I had to settle for bronze."
Otabek's gaze returned to the medal being held up for him to see; he frowned and pointed. "Then, what's that doing here?" He was completely confused, and apparently quite entertaining going by the way Viktor was trying not to giggle and biting at his lip.
"Oh, give me that!" Yuri snapped, snatching the medal away from Yuuri and sliding his thumbs through the ribbon to open it out. "He's clearly a bit dopey right now, so cut him some slack."
Yuri moved closer to Otabek's side and reached out, looping the ribbon over the back of his injured friend's head and carefully settling it round his neck. Otabek let out a breath of surprise, feeling the cold weight of the medal through his thin shirt as it came to rest against his chest. The medal was his? He'd won silver? But... how?
"You fell on your last jump, but you got all the rotations," Yuri explained to him. "It was close between you and Katsudon, but you got the higher execution score for raising your arms during your jumps."
"Yuuri's timing during his step sequence was a little off too," Viktor commented thoughtfully, and his husband gave him a bit of a dejected look; Viktor promptly hugged him and mumbled a sweet apology in his ear.
Otabek's fingers lifted to touch at the cool silver, his eyes turning to meet Yuri's as the married couple had their little moment together. "I got this? Even after falling?" he asked quietly, still not fully convinced. "But I saw Chris skate, and he was flawless!"
Yuri grunted and shrugged his shoulders. "The technical difficulty of his program wasn't as high as yours. He got forth, Phichit fifth, and JJ sank to rock bottom! You missed it Beka, he totally fucked up! I would have laughed if I hadn't been worrying about you."
Otabek smiled. "You really were worried?"
Yuri cleared his throat and looked off to the side, suddenly realising his slip up and blushing a little. "Of course I was worried," he mumbled. "You were hurt."
The admission and concern that Yuri was displaying made Otabek feel warm inside, and he fought down the urge to reach out and grasp the other's hand. He would have if they'd been alone, but he doubted Yuri would appreciate such a gesture in front of an audience (particularly when that audience consisted of Viktor and Yuuri).
For now a smile would have to do, and it was a genuine one which grew as Yuri shyly returned it. It may have sounded silly if mentioned out loud, but to Otabek, a smile like that from Yuri was a far greater prize than any medal - even gold.
Okay, so you've reached the end. Please let me know what you think of this and be nice. I may still choose to add to this if enough people like it, but for now thank you for reading :)