A/N: This story was first posted on A03. I've assumed for the last couple of years that most people read fic there instead of here nowadays, but maybe I'm wrong? Idk, I'll start posting my fics here anyway.

This fic is currently incomplete. I have five more chapters to post here before I'm caught up, but I hate reformatting everything, so I might take my time and do one chapter per day. After the second chapter, my chapters get kind of long anyway.

"But, oh, how it feels so real,

Lying here with no one near,

Only you, and you can hear me

When I say softly, slowly…

Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer.

Count the headlights on the highway.

Lay me down in sheets of linen.

You had a busy day today."

- "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John

Yuri doesn't entirely understand why tears flood his eyes at the end of his program. One moment, he's holding his final pose while gasping for air, then he's on his knees on the ice with his hands over his face.

His heart is pounding — not the normal hard thump-thump-thump he's come to associate with overexertion. This beat is uncomfortably fast and accompanied by intermittent flutters that make him cough between sobs. He thinks it might stop if he can just get his breathing under control, but his lungs feel like they're being squeezed tight. There's a heavy, relentless pressure against his chest. He's choking on nothing while hot tears stream down his face, and he's trembling so much he's not sure if he can stand.

But he does. He has to. Yuri climbs onto unsteady feet. He wobbles twice before he's able to find his footing. Then he forces himself to go through the motions. He manages a tight smile. He lifts his arms to wave. He can't hear the crowd but he knows they're cheering, and he wonders, vaguely, why he feels more afraid than gratified.

He leaves the ice feeling nauseous and faint. Yakov hands Yuri his skate guards and Lilia helps him into his jacket. They both say something to him, but he doesn't truly hear them and won't remember their words later. Lilia has an arm around Yuri's shoulders as they make their way to the kiss and cry. If he could see through the light-headedness and the tears, he would notice that her eyes are wet, too.

200.97

It's enough.

It should make him happy. He should feel elated. Yakov and Lilia are. They both hug him so tightly he would have lost his breath if he weren't already so breathless. The crowd is cheering again, but the noise sounds muffled and distant. Yuri puts every last shred of awareness he has left into keeping a straight face. His heart's still racing, and the nausea rises higher and higher into his throat until he's sure he'll be sick.

There are reporters and camera flashes. There are shouted congratulations from dozens of different voices. There are questions. Yakov and Lilia are speaking again, but Yuri can't be sure if they're talking to him or to one of the several figures that gather around. Yuri turns away to conceal his trembling and sees Yuuri Katsuki a few meters off. Yuuri is watching him. That steady, dark-eyed stare worsens the pressure against Yuri's chest.

The fear and the helplessness are all-consuming. Yuri makes a hasty escape before Yakov or Lilia can stop him. He finds a bathroom and stumbles into one of the stalls, where he falls onto his knees again and gags over the toilet.

He's dizzy and hot. He should feel cloistered and cramped in the stall, but there's a disconnect between Yuri and his surroundings. Nothing feels real — not the cool rim of the toilet beneath his hands or the hard tile against his knees. When his stomach is emptied, Yuri chokes and coughs and gasps. He thinks he might pass out. When his visions starts to go dim around the edges, Yuri slumps over and sets his forehead against the toilet.

He's not sure how long he sits there. He doesn't know what it is that finally helps him catch his breath. Eventually, the short gasps deepen and become more even. His heart rate begins to slow. The overwhelming heat recedes. He feels cold and numb once it's gone, and he huddles further into his coat in search of warmth.

Once he thinks he's stable enough, Yuri flushes the toilet and climbs onto his feet again. He presses a hand against the wall of the stall to help support his weight. Exhaustion settles over him then, as oppressive as the fear that brought him here.

Otabek is standing by the line of sinks when Yuri turns out of the stall. He holds a wet paper towel, folded into a neat rectangle. Yuri takes it when it's offered and brings it to his face. He mops the sweat off of his forehead, wipes the remnants of vomit from his mouth, and scrubs at the tears drying on his cheeks.

"You okay?" Otabek asks him in Russian.

Yuri knows that he should answer in the affirmative even if all evidence points to the contrary. He's just won his first senior Grand Prix Final. The victory is a narrow one, but he's done what he set out to do. He's broken a world record in the process — Viktor's world record — and he's kept Yuuri one step lower on the podium. He should be overjoyed. He should be savoring the moment, not hiding away in the bathroom struggling beneath the burden of dread.

But victory doesn't feel as satisfying as Yuri imagined it would.

He feels tears flood his eyes again. Tears of anger, and frustration, and sadness. He's more and more confused by each new layer of emotion. Yuri shakes his head. It's a short, erratic movement. His breath stutters in his throat. The part of him that still cares about his dignity wishes he wouldn't cry in front of Otabek, but he's already collapsed and sobbed on the ice in front of thousands of people — in front of the whole world. This seems less humiliating by comparison.

Otabek doesn't say anything else. Neither does he step forward to crowd Yuri. He simply opens his arms and waits. Though it hurts Yuri's pride, he doesn't spend much time resisting. He fists his hands into Otabek's jacket, leans in to Otabek's shoulder, and he lets Otabek hold him while he cries.

A tiny voice in Yuri's head tells him that he should feel ashamed to be crying in the wake of his win, to feel so disappointed and unfulfilled when he'll soon climb onto the podium and accept his gold medal while Otabek receives nothing. Between the two of them, he knows that it's Otabek who should be feeling discontent, and Yuri who should be offering encouragement and support.

Instead, Otabek offers his shoulder, and he holds Yuri's weight, and he says nothing to betray the calm, patient look that's fallen across his face. It's something a friend would do, and they're supposed to be friends now, aren't they? They made a pact — the two of them against every other annoying asshole who takes the ice — and Otabek's holding up his end of it with a stoic sort of serenity that Yuri finds oddly comforting.

Otabek's not much taller than Yuri, but he's stronger and sturdier. He's warm, and Yuri sags on his feet and curls into the open kindness. Yuri squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face into Otabek's collar, and he lets the careful control he's always had over his grief and his apprehension slip even further. He hates that he's become so emotional at such a pivotal moment in his career, but fear and desperation have sunk their claws in deep.

Ignoring it has become painful. He's reached his limit. He can't handle any more.

"Sorry," Yuri mumbles when he think he's composed enough to speak.

"For what?" Otabek asks.

"Crying like a fucking brat."

Otabek sighs through his nose, but he doesn't sound irritated. It's an empathetic sigh, the sort people make in understanding.

"You're tired," Otabek says.

And Yuri knows he doesn't mean the regular sort of fatigue that comes with too much activity. This exhaustion is soul-deep. It saps his strength and leaves him feeling like an empty shell, like everything that makes him who he is has been sucked out of him and shattered beyond recognition.

Yuri's throat closes up around a response, so he nods instead.

Otabek's arms tighten, and he says, "I've been tired, too."

They stand together in silence after that, seeking and offering comfort. Eventually, Yuri's hands loosen their hold on Otabek's jacket and he throws his arms around Otabek's neck instead.

It should be awkward. The last few days have not offered them the chance to know one another as well as they will in the next few years. It shouldn't feel as welcoming as it does. Yuri's not usually one for physical contact; Otabek doesn't strike him as the type either. They've spent so long standing at a distance from everyone around them that they're not sure how to interact with other people when circumstances call for it.

Yuri's known too much unkindness in his life, too much misery and pain. He's wrapped himself in bitterness, and he's forced down every last drop of affection and compassion, because not giving a shit is easier than caring too much. He learned that at an early age, when the world first showed him how unfair it could be. He doesn't quite know how to accept comfort, nor does he have any idea how to give it.

He wonders how Otabek learned. Was it family?

That thought makes the ache in Yuri's chest tighten.

He sags against Otabek even more. In spite of everything, the hug feels right. It makes Yuri feel secure. He's spent so long taking care of himself, he's nearly forgotten what it's like to rely on another person. Otabek is stable and real, and Yuri doesn't feel the need to hide from him.

Yuri considers how things might have been different if he'd had this before, if Otabek hadn't waited five years to finally approach him.

Lilia comes through the bathroom door a while later. If she's surprised to see Yuri clinging to Otabek, she doesn't show it. Then again, she's already grilled him over that stupid article about the Russian Fairy riding off with the Hero of Kazakhstan.

"Yuri," she says. "The medal ceremony."

Yuri nods and begins to pull away, but Otabek's arms stay around him until Yuri can stand steadily on his own. Then Yuri wipes the remaining tears from his face while Otabek wets another paper towel for him. It's cool against his burning cheeks and swollen eyes. Yuri does what he can to conceal all evidence of his breakdown. No doubt there are already countless pictures of him crying on the ice circulating around the internet. He has no desire to offer the opportunity for more.

Lilia approaches. There's no indication that she ever had tears in her eyes, but Yuri can see that her features have softened. She lifts a hand to cup the side of his face, and she looks into Yuri's eyes with that piercing stare or hers. Her impassivity is a front. Yuri knows it when her fingers gently brush a loose lock of hair out of his face. She's proud of him, and Yuri thinks it runs deeper than a teacher's pride in her student. She might be a bitter old hag, but there's a tenderness beneath her severity that Yuri recognizes, because the grim way she faces the world while concealing her every weakness reminds him of himself.

Suddenly, Yuri wonders if that means he's well on his way to becoming a bitter old hag like her.

The thought makes him vaguely ill for reasons he's unable to explain, except that Lilia seems so cold and alone, and sometimes Yuri feels so tired of being alone.

"Come," she says. She tucks another loose strand of hair behind Yuri's ear. "You can rest soon."

Yuri takes a deep breath to settle his nerves and nods.

It's more difficult than it should be, but with Lilia leading the way and Otabek next to him, Yuri finds the strength to leave the bathroom and return to the ice.

Being up on the podium is a strangely lonely experience.

Even with the cheering crowds all around, even with Yuuri on his right and JJ on his left, Yuri feels incredibly isolated. Though the center podium is a familiar place from his days competing at the junior level, he's never felt as young and as insignificant as he does now. Yuri's unsure why he should feel that way when his win, though narrow, is hardly insignificant, but the feeling persists throughout the entirety of the ceremony. He's sandwiched between two more experienced skaters — one who very nearly beat him, and another who might have if not for a disastrous short program — and Yuri is suddenly very afraid of them both.

Not as people. They're both annoying yet entirely harmless off the ice. But they're terrifying as competitors, because they both have a strength and a stamina that Yuri lacks. He had to push himself beyond his limits to get where he is now, and he's not sure it's something he can continue with determination alone. Since Moscow, he's felt like he's been going too fast. He's heedlessly thrown himself further and further ahead, hurtling closer and closer to the inevitable crash.

The gold medal that's draped around Yuri's neck feels far too heavy for something so small. Yuri has a sudden, irrational fear that it might strangle him, tighten until he can't breathe again.

The crowd is cheering. There are cameras flashing in every direction. The ceremony itself isn't long, but reality seems to slow for Yuri, and the minutes drag by like hours.

He makes an effort to keep his face neutral. He's not really the type for forced smiles. They always look too strained and unnatural on his face, so he avoids them when he can. Neutrality is better under the circumstances, or it would be if his neutral expression didn't make him look angry. The muscles around his eyes feel tight. His brows feel furrowed. He knows his mouth is turned down at the corners, but it's all he can manage with his emotions in such turmoil.

When it's time to climb off of the podium, Yuri finally looks to his right and tries to catch Yuuri's eye. They've not said a word to one another. They don't speak much in the midst of competition to begin with, but the silence between them today has been more tense than usual. Yuri wonders if the feeling is one-sided. Yuuri is smiling. He's clearly found a level of joy in silver that Yuri hasn't even found in gold.

Yuuri makes his way toward Viktor, and Yuri has to fight down another wave of nausea.

A hand appears to help him down from the podium. Distracted, Yuri takes it on instinct. His mind is blank as he steps off. He's vaguely aware of several more camera flashes, but he's too busy watching Yuuri's slow retreat to pay attention to anything else.

The fingers around Yuri's hand are long, and the palm beneath his is warm and broad. Yuri snaps back to awareness when his hand is squeezed. It feels a bit like comfort, but all of the people he's used to receiving comfort from are waiting for him off the rink.

He turns, and JJ is there.

Shock and mortification struggle to break through the numb feeling that fell over Yuri as he left the bathroom. At any other time, Yuri would have snatched his hand away the moment he realized JJ was helping him. Instead, Yuri feels rather lost and disoriented. He stands there and he stares dumbly as another wave of anxiety rises into his throat.

It's JJ who lets go of his hand. Unlike the previous two occasions they've shared a podium together, there's not a trace of the shit-eating grin Yuri's used to. JJ doesn't wink at him, doesn't smirk at him, doesn't look as if he has any intention of mocking him. Now, JJ's smile is amiable, and his eyes seem genuinely warm.

"Congratulations," JJ says.

Yuri wishes he could shove his win in JJ's face, flaunt his gold medal like he would have done earlier if he'd managed to beat JJ in Moscow. He's been itching to knock JJ down a peg since Skate Canada, since the very first time JJ showed him that smug look and made Yuri feel at least ten times smaller. Yuri wants to be a petty bitch about it now, wants to mock JJ's short program, wants to call him names and fling insults into JJ's face — make him feel as frustrated as Yuri's felt with every sound defeat.

But Yuri can't do it, and he doesn't really know why.

He knows it's not pity. He didn't feel a shred of it when JJ choked, and he doesn't feel it now. The only thing Yuri recognizes about his tangle of emotions is fear, because he's been afraid since before he took the ice for his free skate. He's not sure why it's lingered for so long, why it's only grown worse since he received his score. His throat is tight with it, and his nerves are on edge. He has to curl his hands into fists to hide their trembling.

Yuri swallows heavily, but his voice still cracks when he says, "Thank you."

JJ's smile grows wider, warmer, and when he motions for Yuri to head off of the ice before him, he says, "Go ahead."

There's no smarmy "ladies first" this time, no exaggerated gestures. The lack of harassment makes Yuri feel a bit off-kilter. He glares because he doesn't know how else to respond, and he stalks away before JJ can get another word in.

Yakov, Lilia, and Mila are there to hug Yuri when he steps off the ice. Mila loops her arms around his waist and lifts him up. She spins him around in circles like he weighs nothing. Yuri lets her because it's something she's always done, and he craves the familiarity when everything else about the day has felt so peculiar.

Yuri catches sight of the others when Mila sets him down. JJ is back with his parents. Phichit Chulanont is taking a selfie with Christophe. Otabek is talking with his coach, but he's not very far away, and he looks over at Yuri every once in awhile, like he wants to make sure Yuri's calm enough to remain among the crowd. Yuri desperately wants to leave, but he knows he won't be satisfied until at least a small portion of his anxieties are put to rest.

He finds Yuuri with Viktor. The sight of Viktor frays Yuri's already rattled nerves, so he ignores him completely and focuses all of his attention on Yuuri instead. Yuuri stares back at him with the same intensity Yuri saw on his face earlier.

They're not really rivals, no matter how angry Yuri's been, or what sort of stories the press might like to spin. Yuri knows that. He thinks Yuuri might know that, too. They ceased being rivals after Onsen on Ice, when Yuri decided he didn't need Viktor's influence to win, didn't want it, when he decided to become something beyond Viktor instead of another version of him.

Yuri's not certain what they are now. They haven't worked that out yet, but there's a part of Yuri that hopes they might have the chance.

Like many of the thoughts and feelings swirling around in his head, Yuri doesn't understand why he should care, why he should feel hopeful. He's confused by the distress and distressed by the confusion, but he knows that he doesn't hate Yuuri. He's wanted to hate him, but hating someone who won't return the favor is too exhausting to keep up.

"Are you retiring?" Yuri asks, and it comes out sounding as strained as everything else he's said recently.

Yuuri looks at him for a little while longer. Whatever Yuuri sees brings a small smile to his face, and he says, "No."

Yuri's breath shudders through him. A bit of the tension in his shoulders dissipates. He feels relieved, but he hides it beneath a gruff response. "I'm going to break your record."

Yuuri's smile grows a little wider when he says, "I know."

He says it with kindness, but with certainty, too. It's an honest reply, and Yuri thinks Yuuri might actually look forward to seeing it.

Yuri doesn't know what to say after that. He shifts on his feet awkwardly. He knows what other people might do in this situation. They would shake hands or hug, but Yuri doesn't know if he wants those things, if Yuuri wants those things, so he stands back and he meets Yuuri's level stare and he lets the silence spread between them.

Phichit is the one who breaks it. He pleads with them all to join him for a group picture. Phichit and Yuuri, friends for several years already, stand in the middle. Christophe and JJ take one side, while Yuri ends up between Yuuri and Otabek on the other.

Two different arms find their way around Yuri in a loose embrace. One drapes over his shoulders, and the other circles his waist.

With threads of fear still twisting through his brain, Yuri thinks the close proximity should be overwhelming.

But it isn't.

It feels safe.

By the time Yuri makes it back to his hotel room, the exhaustion has become unbearable. He responds to the congratulatory texts from Georgi and Yuuko, calls his grandfather, then collapses into bed and passes out with every intention of sleeping until Yakov comes to drag him out of bed the next day.

He regains consciousness about three hours later. The sense of dread he thought was resolved with Yuuri's decision against retirement is back with a vengeance. Yuri tosses and turns for twenty minutes before he's forced to accept that he won't be getting back to sleep any time soon. His brain is wide awake, his thoughts flying through his head so fast he's unable to decipher them. He's tense and on edge, only he's even less sure what to blame it on now than he was before.

The rink felt too big after his free skate. Now, his hotel room feels too small, like the walls are closing in on him at an alarming rate. Yuri considers using the television as a distraction, but he doesn't think it'll do anything to alleviate the feeling of confinement, so he snags his phone from the side table and rolls out of bed. He grabs his room key, pulls on a hoodie, and shoves his feet into his shoes.

He's out the door before he can think better of it.

The hotel is mostly quiet, the elevator empty when he steps in. It doesn't stop on any of the other floors, so Yuri rides it straight down to the lobby. He chews on his thumbnail and watches the numbers change. The passage of time has been inconsistent all day — going fast, then slow, then fast again. The elevator ride is torturously slow even without frequent stops to break up the steady drop down.

Out in the lobby, Yuri struggles to determine what he actually means to do now that he's up and about. It's well beyond midnight. Though he's been to Barcelona before, he has no desire to go out into the darkness alone. He's used to being solitary, yet the thought of walking the streets by himself when his head is such a mess unnerves him. This place might be reasonably familiar, but it isn't home.

Yuri's contemplating a thorough, floor-by-floor exploration of the hotel when he realizes he's not the only one in the lobby.

JJ sits on one of the couches, talking on his phone with his head in his hand, and his elbow propped on one knee.

"It's just a lot all at once, you know?" he says quietly.

He looks uncharacteristically weary, tired and drawn. His hair's been mused, though it's unclear whether it's the result of sleep or repeatedly dragging his hand through it. JJ must have tried to settle down at some point, because he's in a faded t-shirt and the most unfashionable sweatpants Yuri's ever seen. They're a dull blue, with one leg proclaiming "Maple Leafs" in bold white letters that have Yuri rolling his eyes.

Yuri almost turns around and walks away. He tells himself he doesn't really care what JJ's up to. He doesn't know much about JJ to begin with, and what he does know annoys him, but Yuri's also feeling glum and restless, and he has nothing better to do this early in the morning.

Without really thinking it through, Yuri stomps over to the sitting area and throws himself onto an armchair in what is clearly an obvious attempt at gaining JJ's attention.

JJ looks up and stares tiredly, then says into his phone, "Alright, I'll let you go. No, it's fine. It's late. The exhibition and the banquet are tomorrow. Or later today. Whatever, you know what I mean. Anyway, I should try to get some sleep. I'll call you later. Yeah, you too. Thanks, man."

Yuri doesn't stare back. He scrolls through his phone and pretends to be completely unconcerned by JJ's presence.

There's no sound for a while. Yuri would be grateful for it if it didn't feel almost painfully awkward. He doesn't know what he intends to accomplish by this. He has nothing to say to JJ, and he isn't sure he wants to try holding a conversation anyway — not with someone who has a habit of making him feel so resentful.

The longer he feels JJ's eyes on him, the more Yuri regrets his hasty decision.

"Can't sleep?" JJ finally asks.

Yuri keeps his hard gaze locked on his phone. "Obviously."

"You and me both," JJ says. He drags his hands down his face and settles his weight against the couch cushions in a jaded sprawl.

There's none of JJ's customary arrogance in his posture. Yuri can't see the look in JJ's eyes, but he knows JJ's not smiling. There's something very grim about him that Yuri would not have expected from someone who usually has such a jovial outlook on everything.

"Who were you talking to?" Yuri asks. He makes himself sound churlish because he doesn't want JJ to think that he cares.

He doesn't, of course. He has no reason to. But JJ's demeanor does inspire a certain level of curiosity.

"Leo," JJ says.

"Who?"

"De la Iglesia."

Yuri recognizes the name. That JJ knows the American doesn't really come as a surprise; that JJ and Leo seem to have the sort of relationship that involves early morning and late night pity sessions does. He's rarely seen JJ around anyone who isn't his girlfriend, his parents-turned-coaches, or his simpering fangirls.

"Whining about your humiliating defeat?" Yuri asks.

JJ laughs, but it sounds low and humorless. "No, actually, we were talking about how me and Izzy might take a break."

Despite his best efforts to appear disinterested, Yuri's head snaps up. "What?"

"You heard me," JJ says.

"Didn't you just propose to her?"

"After Rostelecom, yeah."

"And now you want to break up with her?"

"She's the one who brought it up, not me."

"What, she doesn't want to marry you if you don't win gold?"

It's a low blow and Yuri knows it, but JJ doesn't react to it at all. He's got his eyes closed with his head pressed back into the couch cushions. The tight smile on his face looks self-deprecating. JJ's present demeanor is such a considerable departure from his usual cocky self-assurance that Yuri feels uncomfortable staring at him.

When JJ's being a piece of shit, Yuri can hate him and curse his existence in peace, but when JJ actually looks like he might have it in him to be less of an intolerable human being, Yuri's forced to confront the idea that all the "King JJ" bullshit is as much of a defensive front as Yuri's identity as the "Russian Punk."

Yuri doesn't want to think about that. He doesn't want to analyze JJ any more than he wants to do the same for himself.

"Lay off. It's more complicated than that," JJ says.

He's being vague on purpose. Yuri can tell by the quiet tone of JJ's voice. The curiosity hasn't eased, but Yuri doesn't want to admit to it because he thinks it might make him seem like he gives a damn about the situation. Even if he asked for clarification, he's not sure JJ would consent to explain anyway. It seems like too much effort for what will probably be very little payoff.

So Yuri goes back to his phone. He doesn't care about JJ or JJ's girlfriend or any of their relationship drama. If anything, the fickle way they seem to be treating their engagement pisses Yuri off. Then again, relationships irritate him in general. They're a waste of time and effort, and they require a level of trust in other people that Yuri just doesn't have.

He centers his attention on social media instead, but because he doesn't have any interests or friends outside of figure skating, everything he sees is about his win that evening.

There are gifs of his performance. There are news articles highlighting his career. His fangirls gush, and other skaters congratulate him. He sees a post from Mila with a selfie she dragged him into earlier that night, him with his gold medal and Mila with her silver. Georgi's posted a photo, too, but this one's from several years ago, soon after Yuri began training under Yakov. It's the four of them together — Yuri, Mila, Georgi, and Viktor. Yuri stares at it for a while, even if the sight of it makes him feel a bit homesick.

The group photo Phichit requested is wracking up thousands of likes and reblogs. Yuri looks through dozens of comments, then glances back at the picture to examine each of their faces in turn. JJ grins widely on the far left, presenting his bronze medal with pride. Christophe makes a kissy face beside him, flower crown still perched on his head. Phichit and Yuuri both appear wide-eyed and happy in the middle. Otabek looks as stoic as always on the far right, but there's something sort of warm and relaxed about him with his arm slung around Yuri's waist.

Yuri hates the tired look on his own face. His eyes look dull, his expression a bit strained. He almost wishes he could have smiled, if only so he might have looked marginally happy instead of ragged and worn down.

There are other pictures of him with a similar expression during the medal ceremony, spread far and wide over the internet, accompanied by silly comments or snide remarks that touch a nerve.

"I'm already a fucking meme," Yuri grumbles.

"What?" JJ says.

He's scrolling through his phone now, too. Yuri glances up, a bit unsettled when he realizes they've just spent the last ten minutes sitting in companionable silence.

"Pictures of me on the podium," Yuri says.

"Oh," is JJ's response. The way he says it, Yuri's sure JJ knows exactly what he's talking about.

It would be funny if the comments were made about anyone else, but Yuri's always been too sensitive to be amused by jokes made at his own expense.

"There's this one picture of you…" JJ says, and he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees while he thumbs at his phone. "Hold on, let me find it."

It takes him a minute to locate the photograph in question. When he does, JJ passes his phone over the coffee table. Yuri sits up in the armchair and reaches out to take it from him.

The picture shows Yuri at center ice that evening. It headlines an article in English titled "Russia's Yuri Plisetsky, 15, Wins Grand Prix Final." The picture must have been taken just as his music ended, that split second before he gasped for air, burst into tears, and then fell to his knees. There's no sign of tears in his eyes in the photo. His gaze is narrowed determinedly, his chin lifted, his expression fierce and driven. His arms are spread in his final pose; he looks thin and small, but strong and tenacious, too.

It's exactly how he's always wanted to be perceived. Seeing it there so clearly — that perfect blend of power and prettiness — nearly takes Yuri's breath away.

"Fucking fantastic, isn't it?" JJ says.

All Yuri can do is swallow thickly and nod.

He spends some time staring at it, burning the picture into his memory. Out of curiosity, he reads the accompanying article and finds it full of glowing praises. The author labels Yuri's performances "breathtaking," calls Yuri a "truly gifted prodigy," commends Yuri's "masterful technique." The only time Viktor's mentioned in the article is to credit him for his short program choreography. There are no comparisons between the two, no side-by-side analysis, no commentary about Yuri being "the next Viktor Nikiforov."

'Yuri Plisetsky seems poised to surpass all expectations.'

Normally, a statement like that might make Yuri swell with pride. He nearly does; Yuri can feel it growing somewhere deep in his chest, but it's quickly stifled beneath his fraying nerves.

"I want the picture," he says when he hands the phone back to JJ.

"I can send it to you," JJ says.

Yuri watches JJ's fingers move over the phone screen. He's considering which method he'd rather JJ use to send the photo when his own phone vibrates in his hand. There's a text message from a number he doesn't recognize, with a link to the article.

"How the fuck do you have my number?" Yuri snaps.

JJ shrugs Yuri's caustic tone off and says, "You harassed me at the banquet last year. Made me send you all the pictures I took."

Yuri struggles to remember. It's not that he can't recall the night in question — he does, with startling clarity — but he accosted quite a few people that night with the intention of collecting as much blackmail material as possible. JJ's face doesn't stand out in his memory.

"So you decided to keep my number?" Yuri says.

A wide, teasing grin finally breaks through JJ's melancholy. "Maybe I have a thing for leggy blonds."

"Fuck off."

JJ laughs. It's a warm, pleasant sound, and Yuri hates how companionable it makes them seem. He hates how it makes JJ come off as open and friendly instead of the smarmy asshole Yuri's spent the last couple of much imagining him as.

"You know I'm just giving you a hard time on purpose, right?" JJ says.

Yuri curls back into the armchair and glares at him. "Why?"

"Because you're young and new and you make it so easy."

"I'm not the only one who's young and new this season."

"Yeah, but you're still the youngest," JJ explains. His grin hasn't diminished at all. "You're the baby. The itty bittiest. The tiniest dancer."

Yuri scoffs and turns back to his phone.

JJ takes the opportunity to sing, "Hold me closer, tiny dancer~..."

"You're a piece of shit," Yuri says.

"Count the headlights on the highway~..."

"Seriously, fuck you."

"Lay me down in sheets of linen~..."

"God, I hate you so much."

"You had a busy day today~..."

JJ doesn't stop until Yuri looks up to glare at him again. The obnoxious grin grows a little smaller then, back to the amiable smile JJ wore when he helped Yuri off the podium that evening. It makes Yuri wonder what JJ really thinks of him, and he hates that the thought makes him feel suddenly self-conscious.

Sometimes he wishes he didn't care what anyone thought — not JJ, not Viktor, not some random jokester on the internet — but he hasn't spent years cultivating the conflicting identities of the Russian Fairy and the Russian Punk for it not to matter.

There's a beat of silence. Then JJ hoists himself off of the couch and stretches with a quiet groan.

"Busy day tomorrow, too," he says. "I should try to get some sleep."

Some of the sadness from before returns to JJ's eyes. Yuri turns away and curls further into the armchair so he doesn't have to see it. The turn in their conversation never did kill Yuri's curiosity, but he refuses to give into the temptation to ask about it again.

"Night, Yuri."

Yuri doesn't answer. He keeps his eyes glued to his phone. While JJ rounds the coffee table to make his way toward the elevator, Yuri opens the link JJ sent him and stares at the picture again.

Of the thousands of pictures already saved to his phone, Yuri thinks this is one of his favorites.

A thought strikes him. As much as Yuri tries to resist, he can't hold back the sudden cry. "Wait!"

It's sudden — out of his mouth before he can think better of it. For just a moment, Yuri considers pretending as if he didn't say anything at all, but he's not sure JJ will just let it go, so Yuri rolls onto his knees to lean his elbows against the top of the armchair, staring at JJ over the back of it. He makes an effort to look petulant so JJ won't think his answer is important.

JJ doesn't say anything, just stands in the elevator with his hand out to keep the doors from closing.

"The picture," Yuri says. "You like it. Why?"

JJ's quiet for a little while, like he's trying to figure out what he wants to say. It's obvious he wasn't expecting the question, because he looks a little surprised by it. He studies Yuri's face, stares into Yuri's eyes over the distance, and Yuri is glad that JJ finds the restraint not to tease him this time. The silence that passes between them is very deliberate. Yuri's question was sincere, and the look JJ gives him in return makes him certain JJ has every intention of providing him with an equally sincere answer.

"Because it's inspiring," JJ finally says. His voice is soft, sort of reverent. "Everyone keeps saying Viktor's the one to beat, but I saw that picture and realized they've got it all wrong."

Yuri doesn't bother disguising his confusion. His brows furrow and he frowns.

JJ's mouth curves into another smile when he says, "The one to beat is you."

He moves his hand and lets the elevator door close, leaving Yuri alone in the lobby.

Yuri stares into nothingness for a while, then turns away and settles back into the armchair. His heart pounds wildly. He has to swallow convulsively to force down the apprehension that rises into his throat.

Inexplicably, tears spring into Yuri's eyes when he looks at the picture again.

It's everything he's ever thought he always wanted, but he's already so close to the breaking point.

He doesn't know how much further he can really go.