Based on the folktale "The Crane Maiden" and the adaptation "Seasonal Feathers", modernized. Warning- this is really messed up, haha... If you have any triggers you should probably leave now... Here's the first chapter anyways! There will be many more~❤

Yuri stumbled down the street in a haze. This shit was good, no doubt about that. He couldn't remember what up was.

Otabek saw the boy with a clear heroine addiction mumbling, eyes wandering, unable to walk every day. It was none of his business, he should stay out of it, the police could handle it, but he just couldn't shake the pain he saw under that false numbed expression.

Most people didn't see the caring side in Otabek Altin. He didn't have the money to be caring, he didn't have the time to give loans he knew wouldn't be paid back. He worked hard, real hard, and he kept his circles small. He kept his head down in the spinning world around him. He saw men shooting children and sick grandmothers holding the babies of their addict daughters every day. He saw that blonde boy every day. It shouldn't matter at this point.

But in the back of Otabek's neat, tiny apartment he could barely afford, on a patio barely big enough to keep even a proper seat and table, sat a garden. A tomato plant that tried and failed every year in the cold struggled once more, the tendrils reaching for the sunlight, aching to grow.

Most people couldn't hold a conversation with Yuri Plisetsky even if they tried. He was either too high, or too angry because he wasn't. No one knew him, and no one wanted to. The boy with the beautiful golden hair that once had a dream, draining away his skin with each hit.

But behind that vacant gloss, his eyes held a fiery blue spark full of regret and ache, to get back to where he once was. Yuri needed someone. His hand raised up, wobbling and wavering, a soup of liquid in his eyes. If someone could just help him see, he could raise his fingers. His hands that tried and failed every year in the cold to support himself to stand up struggled once more. His fingers reached for the sunlight, aching to grow.

Just one more chance. Yuri wanted to scream, but he grumbled something no one could understand. A small, warm tear hugged the face he could no longer feel. Help. It doesn't feel good anymore. I can't run away anymore.

I can't stop on my own anymore.

Otabek found himself searching for the figure of the boy, who he nicknamed Kotenok. He grew up in Kazakhstan, but had lived in St. Petersburg long enough to know how brutal the winters were here.

"Come on... wander through the snow, now. You can stand... come on, Kotenok. Come by my window just one more day, please." Otabek quietly cheered him on through his window. The snow had begun to fall, and if he didn't come, the worst... Otabek didn't want to think about it. He wasn't sure why- he had seen countless junkies die in this winter, he never cared. There were too many to care. But this boy...

A figure slumped through the snow fall, the few inches already on the ground drowning it's boots.

"Kotenok." Otabek breathed a sigh of relief. He rushed to his door and threw it open, yelling into the cold.

"Hey kid, c'mere!"

Yuri's head rose slowly. The figure hazily came into his field of vision. He shuffled towards the door. "An angel?"

No, he wasn't that high. His eyes were hazy because of the now pouring snow. His feet, already lead, strained under the rapidly thickening blanket, but he shuffled still. The figure welcoming him wasn't much older than he was, but his face had lines that told a story of hard work and bitter words stuffed down under authority. His face seemed almost exasperated, but his eyes shone with an uncanny feeling Yuri couldn't describe.

The doorway wobbled it's way closer, and Yuri waved in the delusion of the cold.

"Thank god you're okay..." the angel smiled.

Yuri scowled weakly. "You're not a priest, are you?" was all he could sputter before collapsing.

When Yuri woke, he was sitting on a very clean couch. He wasn't used to anything clean, he was barely ever even inside. He ran his fingers across the couch. He was detoxing, to his frustration, and he abruptly remembered where he was.

"Who the hell are you?" Yuri yelled suddenly.

The "angel" poked his head from the other room, if you could even call it a room. The house was small, freakishly small, but it was neat.

"I'm Otabek. What's your name?"

Yuri sat back in discomfort. "Am I dead?"

Otabek smiled, something he wasn't good at and clearly didn't do often, but it was genuine enough. "No, you're not dead, this isn't a church, and I'm not a cop or a pervert. I'm just a guy." he sat a glass and pitcher of water in front of Yuri. The glasses were cheap and looked like they were bought for less than a good sandwich, but they were cleaned immaculately and the stolen restaurant napkins were folded cutely.

Yuri accepted the water, disgruntled. "Why'd you help me?"

"Why'd you do what I said?" Otabek replied without a second thought.

Yuri had to think on this. Why did he come in here? He could be killed, or drugged and raped, anything could happen to him. But anything could happen to him out there, too, and he was certainly minutes from death in that cold. What did he really have to lose? Although, he had prayed for a second chance, and he didn't pray much. Maybe he really thought this Otabek was an angel for a moment. Still, maybe it was just pure human logic. He needed him. No, that wasn't the whole truth.

"I thought you were an angel." Yuri said matter-of-factly. If he was going to be honest with some lovey dovey shit, he was going to be a bitch about it. No way this situation was gonna turn into some dumb Twilight shit. He grabbed the water and chugged it.

Otabek stared, somewhat surprised. "Oh, that makes sense I suppose. It sounds really bad, but I just saw you around, so I started watching you. I rooted for you, I hoped you would be okay, but I never had the balls to do anything."

Now Yuri was surprised, pouring more water over his ice. "Well, I'm Yuri Plisetsky, and I want a hit. You gonna throw me out, now?"

Otabek tsked, something a little too patronizing for Yuri's taste. "Of course you want a hit kid, you're not superman... despite what you think, cocky motherfucker."

Yuri sneered. It appeared they would get along okay.

Yuri eventually fell asleep again. When he woke up fresh water was in front of him, along with a note that read "You just have to get through it."

He scoffed. Sappy shit. When he read it again, however, he traced his finger over the quaint, loose handwriting and admired it. Organized, but with no time. He already knew quite a bit about Otabek.

Yuri stood, and he realized Otabek had tied his hair back. "How gay..." Yuri scoffed. He already wasn't happy and felt sick from the lack of dope. He was cold and sweaty and hot and dry and itchy all at the same time.

He downed the water and decided to roam the house a little, and wandered into the "kitchen", the room that was too small to even be a room Otabek had come from the night before. It was freakishly small, neat and everything was cheap, just like everything else. Otabek clearly wasn't around, and Yuri deduced he probably worked as a server or something shitty like that. He really didn't have time or money to take care of Yuri...

Yuri sighed with guilt. What the fuck is this dude doing wasting his time with me?

Suddenly, a thought struck him. "Otabek!"

"Otabek!"

"Oi, Mr. Priest!"

He wasn't here. He left Yuri in his house. At first Yuri immediately thought he was stupid, which to a degree he was, but he realized Otabek saw how sad Yuri was.

He must be really broken and stuck himself...

Yuri hated this sickening feeling of feeling. He didn't want to care about this stupid dude who decided to take a damn junkie into his house, but he thought back on his wish to whoever was listening. He still wondered...

For now, he didn't want to deal with detoxing, and he couldn't sit still. He'd just take a bath and get through the awkward side effects until he could sleep it off more. One week to go. One week to go, and Yuri for some reason already accepted that he wasn't just going to trash this idiot's house, that he was really going to get clean.

"What the hell, dude..."

"Yuri, I'm home, are you still here?"

The late night's kiss of cold air mixed with the stuffy warmth of Otabek's home as he entered. Yuri scoffed after a moment, not bothering to look at him.

"Can you not leave the damn door open? Shit, you talk about wanting to save me from the cold, at least don't freeze us both." He leaned against the sofa arm.

Otabek somehow seemed relieved by this complaint. "Sorry. Did you eat something?"

Yuri had forgotten. He glanced away gauchely. "Wasn't hungry." He couldn't even say anything clever since he really didn't have the mental capacity to speak. The invisible demons had started to pour from the walls.

Otabek set his bag on the table, mumbling about a sandwich and how stupid "the kid" was, and Yuri noticed the uniform.

"A waiter?"

Otabek seemed oddly embarrassed and defensive. "You're going to judge me? Clearly I can pay rent." He said it coolly, but his face was hidden with a tinge of illogical shame in his tone.

The silver tie and black button up with the charcoal slacks suited him... Yuri scolded himself for such a stupid cheesy thought. "Charcoal slacks" wasn't something he'd say. He held the pillow he was hiding behind a bit tighter. This was not the time.

Otabek was in the kitchen now, and the clinks of silverware sang quaintly. "Do you want ham or turkey? Oh, and are you allergic to cheese? You're getting mustard either way."

Yuri smiled softly, a smile he'd never let anyone else see, something he usually didn't even allow conciously when alone.

"Turkey, please. I'm not allergic to anything and mustard sounds great."

The silverware went quiet for a slight moment, then continued.

Yuri knew Otabek let himself have that smile too. Things were oddly okay.

"Here you are." Otabek setting the sandwich in front of him was painfully and strikingly motherly, something that almost made Yuri laugh. Maybe it was just he was still in his server uniform.

Yuri reached forward and cringed as the pillow brushed him. Otabek was quiet, but a laugh stifled in his throat shook his shoulders slightly.

"Can you fucking die?!" Yuri snapped, carefully leaning back and tearing a bite from the sandwich. "I'm gonna get crumbs all over your stupid little fucking perfect couch, you bitch. You should fucking know I can't help it right now, you're the one who's getting me clean!"

Otabek grinned. "Oh, I think you're getting more than crumbs on my couch."

A pause.

Otabek burst into laughter as Yuri attempted and failed intimidation. "Y-You fucker! I hate you! You shut your stupid mouth or I'll break your fingers, asshole!" Otabek just wheezed, Yuri's embarrassment boiling over.

"Just stop" he laughed. " It's only getting worse for you and better for me."

Yuri steamed, shaking with fury at the fact he couldn't move much. A high pitched desperate attempt at a growl left Yuri.

"Fuck you!" He bellowed, unable to move to hit Otabek.

Otabek stood, still entertained. "I'll draw a bath."

Yuri fumed. He wouldn't let that stupid bitch see his cumstain, at the very least.

Yuri wanted to hit something. He quietly stripped and sank into the bath, of course immediately resulting in another uncontrollable and pleasure-less orgasm.

"Fucking hell, dude..." Literally any sensation set it off. Hopefully that would stop sooner than later, until then he really couldn't do anything.

Yuri scowled at what had just occurred. "What a cunt." He sighed angrily.

He wasn't really all mad, though. It was bound to happen and he could see why Otabek would laugh. He was sad and embarrassed. He liked this crazy shit head. The sandwich, his snarky laughs and hums, the way he tied Yuri's hair back, the underlying caring in his sarcasm. It was like family, or better. Yuri smiled with some strange shame. What a cunt.