I'm 6 months late so let's pretend I'm posting this for Yuri's half birthday ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

"Happy birthday, Yura."

Yuri smiled down at his phone, even though he knew Otabek couldn't see him. "Thanks, Beka," he murmured. That familiar ache that gnawed at his chest was back, vicious as ever.

"Yura... are you okay? What's wrong?"

Yuri had to bite back a scoff. You, you idiot. You're what's wrong. You're not here... with me. "Nothing," he said. "I just... I miss you. I wish you were here to celebrate with me."

There were a few moments of silence before Otabek answered. "I miss you too, Yura. But we'll see each other at Worlds in three weeks. Remember?"

"That's too long," Yuri protested, sounding more like a petulant child than the sixteen-year-old he was.

"The time will go fast," Otabek replied. "I promise. But for now, focus on having a good birthday, okay? It's a special one. What are you doing today?"

"Practice," Yuri said with a sigh. "But Victor and Katsudon are giving me a party later."

"Well, that sounds like fun."

"Tch. I hate parties," Yuri said, crinkling his nose for added effect.

Over the line, he heard Otabek chuckle. "I know. But try to enjoy it anyway. I bet you'll have a good time."

Yuri was about to retort when Yakov barked at him from the door of the locker room. He grumbled.

"I gotta go, Beka. I have to work on my free program. Talk to you later?"

"Of course, Yura. I'll text you. Happy birthday."

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Yuri smiled in spite of himself. "Bye, Beka."

Once he was on the ice, Yuri faced a barrage of light-hearted remarks from his rinkmates as they warmed up. If it were any other time, he'd be annoyed. But today, they provided a welcome distraction from how badly he was missing Otabek.

No surprise to anyone, Mila teased him, calling him "old man."

"Do you think I can still lift you?" she asked, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let's try!"

"Don't you dare, hag," Yuri hissed, skating in the opposite direction before she could catch him.

Meanwhile, Victor lamented about how fast Yuri was growing up.

"I remember when you were this tall!" he said, holding his hand, palm-down, at his waist. He then raised his arm so his hand was fixed in the middle of his chest. "Now you're this tall. Our little boy, Yuuri. Turning into a fine young man right before us. I can't believe it."

Yuri spun around on the heel of his blade, sending flecks of ice into the air. "I'm not your son! Придурок."

Leaning on the barrier wall around the perimeter of the rink, Georgi waxed poetic on the fleeting nature of youth, a wistful look in his eyes.

"Cherish these years, dear Yuri. For they are precious. And soon, they will be but memories. Gone, like the delicate dewdrops on rose petals in the early light of dawn."

To Yuuri's credit, his contribution to the discussion consisted solely of a hug and a warm katsudon sandwich, prepared fresh that same morning. Yuri's mouth watered, but he stashed it away in his bag for lunch.

Lilia walked in minutes later and everyone dispersed, moving to different corners of the ice to focus on their own programs.

Under Lilia's tutelage, Yuri threw himself into his routine. The frantic and incessant pace of the music spurred him to jump higher; spin faster. Soon, his chest burned from exertion and his thighs trembled. But he didn't stop. He couldn't. A mere .12 point difference separated him from Yuuri in the Grand Prix Final and nearly cost him the gold. Unacceptable. Winning by such a thin margin was the same as a loss. He had to do better. Train harder. Be stronger.

Lilia interjected on occasion from the sidelines with minor corrections to his posture and timing. But for the most part, she seemed pleased with his execution of the performance that she had crafted with such artistry and precision.

After close to four hours of perfecting his step sequences and sharpening his jumps, Yuri was exhausted, sweaty, and more than a little cranky. He had taken quite a few spills, and now everything ached. If it were up to him, he would have ditched his own party and gone home to sleep. But as he unlaced his skates, he caught the tail-end of Victor and Yuuri's whispered conversation about their "big plans" for the evening. He could tell they were excited for whatever they had in store and as much as he wished he didn't have to go, Yuri knew he couldn't just bail on them. Accepting his fate, Yuri sighed and headed for the showers.

Yuri drove with Victor and Yuuri in their car to their apartment while the others followed in Yakov's beaten-up van.

Sitting in the backseat, Yuri had his feet up on the passenger side headrest and his phone glued to his hand.

Otabek (16:48): How was practice?

Yuri (16:48): good. i added another triple to my FS :p

Otabek (16:49): Really? I can't wait to see it at Worlds.

Yuri (16:50): well i just hope youre practicing bc i plan to wipe the floor with u

Otabek (16:50): Don't get cocky, Plisetsky. I have a few tricks up my sleeve, too ;)

Yuri (16:51) in your dreams Altin

Otabek (16:53): Well, then... I guess we'll just have to wait until Worlds since you're so sure.

It'll be the showdown of the decade.

Yuri (16:54): challenge accepted

A smile crept over Yuri's lips as he set his phone down in his lap and glanced out the window at the passing streets.

"What are you so happy about, Yurio? Were you just talking to Otabek?" Victor asked. He cast a teasing smirk at him from the rearview mirror.

Yuri's smile morphed into a scowl and he shot Victor a glare. "Mind your own business, old man! Why don't you worry about getting us home before my next birthday, huh? You drive slower than my grandpa."

Victor chuckled, and after he turned his attention back to the road, Yuri stole another peek at his phone, doing nothing to stop the grin from reforming.

When Victor parked in front of the high rise not ten minutes later, Yuri nearly tore off his belt and jumped out of the car.

"That took fucking forever," he grumbled, arms folded across his chest.

As Victor and Yuuri grabbed their twin duffel bags of skating gear from the trunk, Yakov's van pulled up along the curb, shuddering to a stop behind Victor's flashy convertible. Mila was the first one out of the car, and she draped herself over Yuri's shoulders, leaning her head against his.

"Aren't you excited for the party, Yuri?" She gave him a squeeze and ruffled his hair.

"Tch." Yuri pulled away, his expression a picture-perfect display of teenaged annoyance.

"Aww. I helped decorate, you know," she said, putting an arm around him and hugging him to her side. "For the past two nights, I came to help Victor and Yuuri."

"Is that right?" he deadpanned.

"Yep. Your favorite color, too. You'll love it."

"Come on, everyone!" Victor called, beckoning the group to the main entrance. His heart-shaped smile was in full-force, and Yuri had to bite his tongue to keep from rolling his eyes.

"I'm hungry," Yuri announced once they were in the elevator to the tenth floor.

"Victor and I made your favorite foods, Yurio," Yuuri told him. "Pirozhki and katsudon."

Yuri's face lit up at that and his small, celebratory fist pump earned him a laugh from the others.

The elevator doors opened and Yuri led the way to the apartment down the hall.

Using the spare key that Yuuri and Victor had given him, Yuri unlocked the door and everyone filed in behind him. Taking a quick glance around, Yuri suppressed a smile. Mila wasn't kidding.

More than two dozen purple helium balloons were floated around the space, along with a cluster of six that were in the center of the dining table, tied to an ornamental paperweight to keep them in place. The table itself was also draped in a royal purple cloth, with plastic place settings to match. Foil streamers in a rich violet hung from the light fixtures in the kitchen and living room, as well as from the ceiling and archways leading into each room. Crepe paper lanterns were strung up the length of the apartment, and a colorful banner that spelled out 'Happy Birthday' stretched across the large kitchen island.

"So, looks good?" Mila asked.

Pretending to give the room another careful inspection, Yuri nodded. "Not bad."

Mila snorted and gave his ear a playful tug before striding past him towards the kitchen.

While the pirozhki baked, Yuri piled two dishes high with sausage rolls, deviled eggs, stuffed cabbage leaves, black bread, katsudon, and dill pickle chips, nearly all of which were off-limits during the season.

Sitting at the table, Yuri snapped a picture of his food. He sent it to Otabek and then posted it to Instagram with the caption, "fuck it. it's my birthday."

Within minutes, it racked up over a thousand likes and hundreds of comments from the Angels, all in caps and with excessive amounts of heart-eye emojis.

Otabek responded just as Yuri was polishing off the first plate.

Looks good. I'm jealous. (ToT)

sryyy, Yuri wrote back.

Save me some. I'm on my way. ٩(•౪•٩)三

Yuri felt a twinge of hope in the pit of his stomach, but he pushed it down. It was stupid to even entertain that idea. Otabek was at home in Almaty. Thousands of miles away.

"Pirozhki are done," Yuuri said, placing the tray on the island and shutting the oven.

Without giving a reply, Yuri set his phone on the table and got up from his seat.

"I hope they're okay," Yuuri said, taking off his mitts. "It's your grandpa's recipe. Victor called him yesterday for it, and we made them last night."

Though they were still hot, Yuri carefully took one of the mini pies in his hands. The dough was flaky and golden brown around the edges, with a slight sheen on top from the egg wash. From appearances alone, it certainly resembled the pirozhki he had grown up with. Knowing that everyone was waiting for his verdict, Yuri blew on the outside to cool it and took a small bite. His eyes widened as a wisp of steam curled upwards before vanishing into thin air. "Oh, my God..."

The moment it touched his tongue, the buttery pastry melted in his mouth. The spiced ground beef and sweetness of the caramelized onions hit his taste buds at once, and there was a slight crunch from the shredded cabbage. "Oh, my God," he said again.

"Oh, no," Yuuri whispered. He turned to Victor who was standing beside him. "He hates them. Yurio, I'm really sorry. I probably should have tried them out before making them for the first time for your birthday. I can-"

"Piggy," Yuri interrupted. "They're delicious."

Both Victor and Yuuri did a double-take, but Yuuri spoke up. "Wait, what? Really? Thank God. I mean, are you sure? Because-"

"Yeah." Yuri cleared his throat. He hadn't had pirozhki since the Rostelecom Cup, and it was only then did he realize how much he had missed it. "They're really good."

At his approval, Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief and then went about arranging the remaining pies on a decorative platter for the table.

After shoving the rest of the pirozhok in his mouth, Yuri snatched three more and plopped back down in his chair.

Makkachin trotted over to Yuri and whined until he gave in and tore off a piece of sausage roll for him. Gobbling it down, the poodle laid his head on Yuri's lap in appreciation and licked his hand.

katsudon made pirozhki, he texted Otabek with an attached photo. theyre good. too bad youre not here :/

Oh, man, they look great, Otabek said. It is too bad :/

A moment later, as Yuri was indulging in his second pie, there was a knock at the door.

All heads turned, and Yuri narrowed his eyes. "Who the fuck is that?"

"Yuri..." Lilia chided. "Don't use that ugly word. Go see who it is."

Yuri scoffed. "Why me?"

"Because you're the closest one to the door?" Mila said, running her finger around the rim of her cup.

"Hag," Yuri growled under his breath as he nudged Makkachin away and got up.

Stomping across the room, Yuri was ready to excoriate whoever was standing on the other side of the door. Yet, when he opened up, any possible tirade that he had planned all but evaporated.

At first, all Yuri saw was leather. It came in the forms of shiny, red boots, skinny jeans, and a jacket with metallic studs along the seams.

But as his gaze drifted upward, he caught a glimpse of that sweeping undercut, piercing eyes, and high cheekbones, all belonging to the person that Yuri least expected to see today.

"Beka..."

"Hi, Yura. Surprise."

Otabek's voice was warm and smooth, like honey, and it made Yuri's legs do that thing where they felt like jelly and it was a challenge just to stay standing.

But instead of buckling, Yuri launched himself at Otabek for a hug, knowing that the older boy would help keep him on his feet if he couldn't.

Dropping his bags, Otabek caught Yuri in his arms and squeezed him in an embrace.

"I missed you," Otabek whispered, out of earshot of the others.

Yuri pressed his face into Otabek's shoulder, fingers gripping the sleek material of his jacket. No amount of texts, video chats, or late-night phone calls could compare to actually having Otabek at his doorstep. He barely registered the excited cheers and applause from everyone else inside as they watched the reunion unfold.

"I can't believe you're here," Yuri said, pulling back. The shock was beginning to wear off, giving way to unadulterated elation.

"I couldn't miss your special day," he said. Yuri's stomach flip-flopped at the sincerity in Otabek's voice and he grabbed the corner of his jacket sleeve and dragged him inside.

Victor and Yuuri greeted Otabek with a firm handshake and welcoming smile.

"We're so glad you're finally here, Otabek," Victor said. "How was the flight?"

"Wait a minute." Before Otabek could reply, Yuri pushed his way between the two and jabbed an accusatory finger at Victor's sternum. "You knew he was coming?"

"We all did," Mila said from the table. She was wearing a light smirk, but it was harmless. "And let me tell you, it was not easy to keep it a secret. Aren't you proud of us?"

Yuri gaped at the confession. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," said Yuuri. "We knew how much you've been wanting to see Otabek. So Victor and I called him and we worked it out with his schedule so he could be here for your birthday."

"Oh." Yuri cleared his throat, feeling a sudden, newfound appreciation towards the couple. "T-Thanks."

"What was that?" Victor asked, cupping a hand behind his ear. "I couldn't hear."

The tips of Yuri's ears turned a furious pink. "Shut up," he snapped. He took Otabek by the wrist. "Come on, Beka. Let's get something to eat."

As the night went on, Yuri stuck by Otabek's side. Otabek wasn't particularly chatty, but for the few stories he told about his family and DJ gigs he'd picked up at local nightclubs back in Kazakhstan, Yuri was more than happy to sit back and listen.

Later, after the cake was cut and birthday wishes made, everyone lounged around on the couches, with multiple conversations happening at once. On the hunt for some privacy, Yuri and Otabek ventured out to the balcony, gazing at downtown St. Petersburg below. Though all the sights and sounds of the bustling metropolis seemed to blur into the background as he watched Otabek and how the light from the streetlamps that lined the canal was reflected in his dark irises.

A chilly March breeze passed through Yuri's hair, and it reminded him of their first meeting in Barcelona, overlooking the city from Park Guell. His cheeks warmed at the memory.

"So, how long have you been planning this scheme?" he asked finally, catching Otabek's attention.

"Mmm... probably about a month," Otabek said, his eyes fixed on Yuri. "You have no idea how badly I wanted to tell you every single day. Especially this morning on the phone when you said you didn't want to wait until Worlds for us to see each other. But I'm glad I didn't break. It was worth it. You should have seen your face."

Yuri snorted and elbowed him in the arm. "Asshole. I thought you were a fucking ghost for a second. Or that I was hallucinating. But I gotta hand it to you, Beka. You pulled it off. I'm really glad you could come. "

Angling his body towards him, Otabek swept a few blond strands that had fallen loose from his ponytail away from his eyes. Yuri couldn't help the faint blush that spread along the bridge of his nose and cheeks. He saw a flicker of a smile pass over Otabek's lips. "Me too, Yura."

Slipping his hands into his pockets then, Otabek leaned against the iron railing, ankles crossed. "Speaking of Worlds, there was something I wanted to talk to you about. I thought of waiting until then to tell you, but I think now is as good a time as any."

Yuri inched closer, wondering a moment too late if Otabek would notice the decrease in proximity. "You're not quitting, are you? Because, if you say that, Beka, I swear, I will kick your ass all up and down the street."

Otabek chuckled softly. "No, Yura. I'm not going anywhere. You can't get rid of me that easily."

"Ha ha, very funny," Yuri said. He crossed his arms, but his shoulders sagged a bit in relief that Otabek wouldn't prematurely be leaving the sport. "What, then?"

Otabek sighed, taking a quick glance at the smattering of people that were walking the footpaths along the canal.

"Well," he started, looking back at Yuri. "You know after that summer at Yakov's training camp, I moved all over. First Moscow, then America, then Canada, before I went back home last year to Almaty."

"Yeah..." Yuri said, not quite following. He took another few steps forward until they were standing just inches apart. The low light that surrounded them illuminated Otabek's angular features and gave a glow to his tan skin. "I remember. Why?"

He clicked his tongue. "Well, it's just... I mean, of course, I love Kazakhstan. It's my home. My whole family is there, and so many friends that I went to school with. But, when it comes to skating, I just feel like I'm not really getting everything I need to excel. Plus, back in December, my coach told me that he's planning on retiring at the end of this season. So, I talked with my parents, and they agreed that, for the sake of my career, it would be best for me to relocate."

A knot formed in Yuri's throat, the momentary shock impeding his ability to speak. Biting down on his bottom lip, Yuri turned away slightly so that Otabek couldn't see how his eyes were beginning to glaze over. "Oh," he said, though it came out more like a strangled whisper. "I see."

He couldn't imagine Otabek moving farther away than he was right now. To a new country where the time difference would be even more drastic. Where their already-conflicting schedules would be even more difficult to coordinate, and it would likely be months between competitions before they saw each other in person.

"So," Otabek continued, even though Yuri wished he wouldn't. He didn't want to hear anything more. "After looking at all my options, I decided that the place that would give me the greatest opportunities is right here, in St. Petersburg."

As the words sunk in, Yuri slowly pivoted back around, furiously wiping his eyes with the heel of his palm. "What did you just say?"

"I'm going to train here, Yura," he repeated. "With you."

Squaring his jaw, Yuri lightly pounded on Otabek's chest with his fist. "You better not be lying to me, Beka," he said, a dangerous wobble to his voice. "Or else I'll shove my skate up your ass."

"I'm not. I promise," Otabek said, his hands coming up to rest on Yuri's waist. "I spoke with Yakov in January about everything, and while I don't think he's completely forgiven me for 'corrupting' you at the GPF, he's agreed to take me on as a student."

"Wait, so, you're really moving here?" Yuri asked again, still trying to process the news. He scanned Otabek's face for some semblance of proof that his best friend was just fooling him, but he found nothing.

"Yes. As soon as Worlds is over I'm going to find an apartment by the rink and I'll be skating alongside you and everyone else at the club."

With a shaky exhale, Yuri leaned his forehead against Otabek's chest, arms wrapping around his middle. "I hate you," he mumbled, although it held no real anger. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Scaring the shit out of me like that. Stupid."

"I know. I'm sorry," he murmured. "I guess I have to work on my delivery."

Yuri snickered and raised his head to meet Otabek's gaze. "Yeah, you do. Next time, lead with the good news, okay?"

"Got it," Otabek said, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of Yuri's head. "I'm really glad that I'll get to hang out with you every day, Yura. That's better than any medal as far as I'm concerned."

His breath catching at how genuine Otabek sounded, Yuri took advantage of his position and leaned forward, connecting their lips. His eyes slipped shut, and Yuri felt Otabek reciprocate, tilting his head to the side and allowing the hand that was on his waist to slide down to his hip.

It wasn't one of those mind-blowing, earth-shattering first kisses that he'd seen in all those American high school films, but Yuri didn't care. It nevertheless made his head spin and his heart skip several beats.

When they broke apart, Yuri opened his eyes, with the first thing he saw being one of Otabek's soft, fond smiles that he knew was reserved just for him.

Feeling a daring spark kindling deep down in his core, Yuri went in for another kiss, this time bringing his hands up to cradle Otabek's face. It was more forceful and eager than the last, though Yuri still experienced the same swell of emotions as before.

Far too soon for his liking, Yuri pulled away for the second time. Both his and Otabek's cheeks were flushed, and in lieu of going for a hat trick, he settled for a hug, giving a quiet, contented sigh when Otabek pressed a soft kiss to his temple.

Maybe birthday parties weren't so bad, after all.

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