Meet Me at the Chapel
Yuri Plisetsky is an affluent twenty-six year old set to inherit his grandfather's lucrative company. But after being caught after a night of partying, his grandfather bails him out on one condition: that he take some time to rehabilitate in the country. The catch? If Yuri fails, he will be completely struck from his Grandfather's will and won't inherit a penny of the family business.
Yuri reluctantly agrees, planning on getting through the sentence as quickly as possible so he can get back to his life. That is, until he gets to know the farm hand he's going to be living with for the next three months...
Chapter 1: Arrival
Yuri Plisetsky knew he was in trouble when the smell hit him.
Gagging, both hands flew to his face, covering his nose and mouth in an attempt to keep the violating stench at bay.
Next to him an old woman chuckled and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "First time visiting the country?"
Yuri turned wide, angry turquoise eyes on the old woman. She laughed again and removed her wrinkly only hand from his shoulder. "Don't worry, young man, you'll get used to it."
Yuri considered, for a moment, opening the passenger window and throwing himself to his death off the train.
As soon as the train came to a full stop, Yuri scrambled off, elbowing other passengers out of the way so he could get his bag from the luggage car. His leopard print suitcase stuck out against the sea of other bland colors so he made it out in record time, aptly able to ignore the dirty looks he was receiving from the other passengers.
"What a shithole," Yuri grumbled under his breath, taking in the shabby, run-down station and extremely common-looking people. He could see fields spreading far and wide around the tiny town and though he hadn't thought it possible, the smell seemed to have gotten worse.
Exiting the station, Yuri flopped down on the only bench facing the town square and pulled out his cellphone. He growled to himself when he saw the blinking battery icon, but tapped his way to his call history and selected "Old Man".
"Ah, how was the trip, my favorite grandson?" his grandfather's voice chimed on the other end.
"Terrible," Yuri spat, sending a withering glare to a pair of elderly ladies walking near him. They scuttled to the far side of the sidewalk in alarm. "The train kept stopping for cows on the track and everyone acted like it was fine and they didn't have anywhere to be. And it smells like shit!"
"It's probably normal for them," Grandfather chuckled warmly, not put off at all by Yuri's bad mood or language. "I do hope you've been behaving."
Yuri scoffed. "Whatever. Look, my phone is going to die. Who is picking me up?"
"My old, dear friend Artem Babikov. You be polite to him, understand?"
"Yeah, yeah..." Yuri glanced around the street before him, eyes drawn to the steeple of a church on the other side of the square. Only half the shops around the perimeter seemed to be in business anymore, with the other half boarded up and abandoned.
"Remember our agreement, Yuri," Grandfather's voice turned serious. "You will not inherit a cent of this company if you cannot endure at least three months there. Artem will keep me informed the entire time, so I better not hear-"
The line went dead and Yuri breathed a sigh of relief. He did not want to endure yet another lecture about being well behaved on this ridiculous pilgrimage his grandfather sent him on.
All because he'd been caught one time with a little too much to drink and a bag of drug paraphernalia. The drugs weren't even his, he was just drunk out of his mind and his friend who handed him the drugs had bailed.
"Tch, what a bunch of bullshit," Yuri muttered, leaning back on the bench and lacing his fingers behind his head. In the distance, he heard the sputtering of a vehicle and Yuri closed his eyes, wondering if there was anything in this dilapidated town that wasn't at least one hundred years old.
The chugging engine came closer and closer until finally Yuri cracked open one eye to see where it was going.
Down the short set of steps to the ancient street was the oldest pickup truck Yuri had ever seen. And coming out of the truck was an old man in a straw hat and overalls and he was waving at Yuri.
Yuri groaned. "You've got to be fucking kidding m-"
"Yuri Plisetsky! Hello!"
"No, no, n-"
"How was your trip?" The old man was hobbling up the steps, smiling kindly and reaching out a hand in greeting. "I'm Artem Babikov, a friend of your grandfather's from the old days. It's nice to meet you."
Yuri looked between Artem's hand and the old man's face, not hiding the disdain he was feeling. Eventually, Artem grew tired of waiting and grabbed Yuri's soft hand, pumping it in a forced handshake. "Your grandfather has told me a lot about you. We're so happy to could join us this summer."
Yuri retracted his hand, wiping it on his black pants and frowning. He managed to mumble something in return before Artem escorted him down the steps and to the truck.
"Just go ahead and toss that suitcase in the back and climb on in," the old man instructed.
"The... back...?" Yuri looked from the cab of the ancient truck to the open bed behind it and it dawned on him what was being requested. "No, no, I'm not putting my Louis Vuitton carry on-"
"I'm afraid there's not room in the front, son, so just pop it back there and we'll be off."
"I refuse to put my designer bag-"
"Come now, we don't have all day."
"Old man, I'm telling you-"
"Tsk, we're losing daylight Mr. Plisetsky, it will be dark by the time we arrive at this rate."
Yuri walked around to the passenger side of the vehicle, looking inside to verify for himself that there was, in fact, no room. With a groan, the blond realized that the old man was right- the area between the driver and passenger seat that his bag could have gone was piled high with old papers, work gloves, a tool box and various other miscellaneous items. "Can't you move that junk to the back instead?" Yuri suggested not-so-gently.
Artem pulled the driver door shut and fussed with his buckle, oblivious to the young man's torment. He looked at Yuri through the open passenger window, grinning mischievously. "No, no, this stuff is much too valuable. Come on, now, let's go! The sun will set soon."
Nonplussed, Yuri stared open mouthed at the elderly man for a moment before he swore under his breath and gently lifted his designer suitcase into the bed of the truck, tucking it as close to the cab as possible.
When they were finally on the road, Yuri found out the old man was also chatty. The windows of the cab were rolled down completely, so Artem shouted over the sound of the wind whipping by while Yuri fruitlessly tried to keep his golden hair out of his face. He gave half-hearted answers to the old man's questions, his grandfather's voice always in the back of his mind reminding him that Artem was going to be giving reports on his behavior. And as much as Yuri was hating this now, he wasn't going to do anything to prolong his stay.
After about thirty minutes, Artem finally turned down a long driveway and Yuri was able to see a two-story farm house at the end. It was old fashioned and in desperate need of a paint job; definitely not the luxury Yuri was used to by any stretch of the imagination.
"This is where you live?" Yuri asked, unable to keep the disdain from his voice.
Artem laughed and cut the engine, unbuckling his seatbelt. The sudden silence rushed into Yuri's head, almost deafening him. He could see road dust swirling around the cab and gagged. "Oh, no sonny, this is where my farm help lives. The Misses and I have our own place up the road about a quarter mile."
Desperate to get out of the dirty cab of the truck, Yuri wretched the door open and stepped out. All around him was various fields, some with green sprouts popping out of the ground and others that were barren. A hundred meters from the house was a barn, the giant sliding doors wide open. Chickens roamed the grounds without any barriers and Yuri jumped when one came a little too close to him.
Artem laughed, coming around the truck to clap the young man on the back. "You ever meet a live chicken before, Yuri?"
Yuri sneered and brushed his matted hair out of his face, feeling the tangles between this fingers. "I prefer my chicken grilled, thank you."
"That can be arranged. Now, grab your bag and lets get you settled inside."
Artem ignored the cries of angst as Yuri pulled his dusty suitcase from the back of the truck and hobbled up the steps to the front porch.
Yuri, meanwhile, used the sleeve of his lightweight jacket to brush as much debris off his favorite suitcase as possible, cursing loudly at the state of his belongings. If this was an indication of how the rest of the summer would go, maybe he would be better off forfeiting his inheritance and trying to start his own business.
But for now, he was stuck. His Grandfather had taken all of his money and credit cards and he would have to earn his own ticket home if he wanted to leave early.
Artem gave Yuri a quick tour of the house, pointing out the out-dated kitchen, a small bathroom down a narrow hall, and gesturing up a set of stairs to indicate where the bedrooms were. He gave some quick instructions on how to contact him or his wife if Yuri needed anything ("This is a landline. Do you youngsters know what that is?").
Yuri's eyes soaked it all in, only half-listening to the directions the old man was giving him. He'd never stayed in a place so old before, his life having been spent in penthouses with a personal wait staff to attend to his needs. This place even smelled old, like rotting wood and fireplace smoke and peeling wallpaper.
Maybe this whole thing will collapse on top of me and I'll die, Yuri thought optimistically.
"Ah, there you are. I was wondering where you'd gone to."
The change in tone from the old man caused Yuri to turn and see what he was talking about. The sight that greeted him caused him to draw in a sharp breath and his eyes widened.
There, in the doorway, was a man. This man wore a set of denim pants and a blue button-up shirt, marred with dirt from working outside. His hands were gloved and he was in the process of wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist when his dark brown eyes locked on to Yuri.
"Yuri, this is my employee, Otabek Altin. He's been working for me for- how many years is it now, Otabek?"
"Four years," Otabek said and Yuri felt instantly intimidated at the other man's low voice, laced with a no-nonsense tone.
"Otabek, this is Yuri Plisetsky. As I mentioned before, he'll be staying with us this summer to get a healthy taste of the farm life. I'll leave him in your care." Smiling, the old man waved to Yuri, patted Otabek on the back, and left in a flurry of road dust.
Yuri felt frozen, not knowing what he should do now. From the distance, he guessed he had about an inch or two in height on the farm hand, but Otabek looked much stronger, his shoulders broad and filling up the doorway.
The silence stretched between them, Otabek looking Yuri up and down and glancing at Yuri's ecentric suitcase in curiosity. Finally, Otabek cleared his throat and spoke, "I have a few more chores I need to finish. Please make yourself comfortable until I return."
With that, Otabek spun on his heel and headed down the porch steps, the screen door clanging shut behind him.
Met with almost complete silence for the first time in twenty-four hours, Yuri stared for a long time at the empty doorway. As the full reality of the situation sank in, he shuddered. That farm hand looked so serious and strong… was he really safe in this situation?
Cursing his grandfather out loud, Yuri picked up his suitcase and started up the stairs, grimacing every time the old wood creaked under his footfalls. The top was narrow and he saw a relatively empty room immediately to the left. On the right was another door but it was shut tight.
That must be that other guy's room, Yuri concluded, before turning left.
The room had a full bed, a wooden dresser, and an old fashioned wardrobe. The rug in the center of the room was worn and old, but Yuri was relieved to see it was at least clean.
Searching carefully along the perimeter, Yuri exclaimed excitedly when he found an outlet. Plugging in his dead phone, he sighed and decided that a nice relaxing shower was the next thing on his agenda.
Opening his poor, filthy suitcase on the ground, he pulled out his toiletries bag and a fresh set of clothes.
Back on the ground floor, the bathroom was cramped and sighing in frustration, Yuri lowered the lid of the toilet to use as a shelf for his things. The sink protruded from the wall, rust stains in the basin from years of drips that went unfixed.
The clawfoot porcelain tub wasn't in any better condition. The blond pulled the plastic curtain aside, frowning. Despite the stains and oldness, everything appeared clean.
"What… the hell?"
Yuri stared in pure confusion at the antiquated knobs in the tub. Looking up, he saw there was a shower head, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out how to get the water to divert.
Tired, dirty, and miserable, Yuri marched out of the house and across the yard, dodging chickens as he went. There was barely any light left in the sky, but the barn was lit up and he used that has his guiding force. As he stepped through the wide opening, he was already yelling, holding back the urge to gag at the potent animal smells of the barn. "Oi, farmer man! How do I get the bath.. tub… to…"
His voice trailed off, his mouth suddenly dry and stench forgotten. There on the far side of the barn, Otabek stood stooped over a pile of hay, pitchfork in hand, and sweat glistening on the bit of his smooth chest that was visible from the unbuttoned portion of his shirt.
Otabek spared Yuri a quick glance before continuing with his task of feeding the horses in the stall behind him, patting the beasts on their muzzles as they gratefully tucked into to the food.
Yuri shook his head, frustrated over becoming so easily distracted by the man.
And not just any man. A country man. A backwoods hick, probably. Yuri scoffed.
He was over all of this before he'd even spent one night in this dump.
"What were you saying?" Otabek had hung the pitch fork in its place on the barn wall and was approaching Yuri, steps steady and sure.
Yuri clenched his jaw for a moment, looking to the side so he wouldn't have to address the other man directly. "The shower."
Otabek nodded and moved past Yuri, lightly brushing shoulders on the way. Yuri turned and followed him, face flushing with embarrassment. He couldn't get a stupid pre-millenium tub to work and he couldn't seem to think straight around this stranger whom he knew nothing about. It was the most dysfunctional he'd ever felt.
He was angry.
He wanted to put his fist through a wall.
Yuri glanced up at Otabek's back, wondering quietly to himself what was wrong with the other man that he would want to be here. Could he be a criminal on the run? Maybe he was a weirdo who got his rocks off to murdering his victims and eating them…
"Here," Otabek disrupted Yuri's ridiculous train of thought, snapping him back to the present. They had arrived at the open bathroom door and Otabek stepped forward to kneel next to the porcelain tub. "It's a little tricky because it's old, but you'll get the hang of it. Just turn on both knobs and give the plug lever a little wiggle-" he demonstrated as he spoke, raising his voice a bit to talk above the loud flow of water. Yuri listened raptly, watching the strong, tanned hands work. "Wiggle the lever and diverter at the same time-" the heavy flow of water ceased and the stream began spurting through the shower head. "-and there you go."
When Otabek turned to face him, Yuri suddenly became aware of how tiny the bathroom was. Flushing with more embarrassment, the blond scrambled out of the way to let Otabek pass by. "Uh, thanks," Yuri forced himself to say.
Otabek shrugged and turned to leave. "I just have to put away a few things and I'll be in to make dinner." Then he was gone.
Yuri didn't watch him go, rather he stood glued to his spot in the hall. Scowling, he finally stepped back into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him.
If Yuri was thinking that a nice shower would help quell his sour mood, he was sorely mistaken.
Only twenty minutes in and all the hot water was gone, forcing him to rinse his soapy body in freezing cold temperatures. He cursed under his breath, shivering as he dried off with the thinnest towel he'd ever held in his life and put on some comfortable fresh clothes.
It took him another ten minutes to comb through all the tangles in his chin-length hair. Every time he hit a snag with his brush he cursed aloud, not caring who heard.
Another twenty minutes of fussing, moisturizers, and examining bags under his eyes, Yuri finally opened the door to the hallway. As he exited the bathroom, he was met with the sound of piano music coming from the kitchen, the tune laced with static. Grumpily, he padded down the hall, the runner on the hardwood floor absorbing the brunt of his footfalls.
Cautiously, he peered into the kitchen and saw Otabek standing with his back to him, stirring something in a pot on the stove. To Yuri's surprise, the other man also looked freshly showered and he was wearing lounge pants and a long sleeved t-shirt.
Otabek glanced over his shoulder at Yuri as the blond made his way into the kitchen, flopping down unceremoniously at the small table. "Is there another bathroom here?" Yuri asked, suspicious that perhaps Otabek was withholding information about a better shower.
"No," Otabek responded, turning back around to resume stirring. "I washed up out in the barn."
A pang of something- guilt, maybe?- tightened Yuri's chest. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and leaned back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest. On the window sill above the sink, Yuri found the source of the soft piano music; an old radio with an antenna protruding from the top.
There was something oddly relaxing about the atmosphere and taking in a deep breath, Yuri did his best to try to let go of the tension he was carrying. After all, it wasn't Otabek's decision to drag him out here… Maybe Otabek hated it just as much as him.
This was his reality now. There was nothing he could do about it and it was going to age him more quickly if he held on to all of the anger.
Taking another deep breath, he inhaled the wonderful smell of the kitchen and let the crackly piano music fill in the silence.
"So," He finally said, watching Otabek walk to the old yellow fridge and remove a bottle of milk. "You've been here for four years, huh?"
Otabek glanced at Yuri again with an expression he couldn't quite place before returning to the pot on the stove. "That's correct," he finally responded, adding a bit of the milk to the dish.
When Otabek didn't make an effort to keep the small talk going, Yuri pouted and stood to his feet, walking over to look over Otabek's shoulder at the stove. "What are you making?"
"Vegetable soup," Otabek responded, reaching for some salt to sprinkle in to the mixture.
"Isn't it kind of warm for soup?"
"We need to use up the rest of the preserves from last harvest to make room for the new batch."
Yuri nodded in understanding, deciding that hot soup wouldn't be so bad. The season was still early so the nights were a little chilly yet. He watched Otabek stir the broth and bring the spoon to his lips for a test taste, arching an eyebrow in question. "Is it done?"
Otabek appeared to contemplate the question for a moment before dipping the spoon back into the soup and handing it to Yuri. "You try."
Both eyebrows lifted now, Yuri's surprise evident. He wasn't often asked his opinion on things so domestic. But he took the spoon handle and gave it a sip, still standing close to Otabek's shoulder.
As the broth passed over his tongue, Yuri licked his lips and handed the spoon back to the other man. "I think it needs cumin. Do you have any?"
Otabek nodded, gesturing to a cupboard above the counter. Yuri opened the door and dug around, eventually pulling out a little container marked "cumin".
"Perfect," Yuri said triumphantly as he took another sip. He watched Otabek stifled a grin, feeling more at ease at catching the brief display of emotion from the man for the first time.
Once dinner was on the table and they were digging in, Yuri felt his mood drastically improving. "So," he ventured, determined to get Otabek to talk to him. "Do you like working here?"
Otabek looked up, brown eyes piercing turquoise. "Are you interviewing me, city man?"
Yuri smirked, "Are you making a joke?"
Otabek, at last, let a grin lift his lips and Yuri saw, for the first time, how pleasant he looked when he smiled. "I do like working here. I like being alone."
Arching a brow, Yuri snorted and reached for a slice of bread on the table. "Sorry to disturb your solitude, farmer man. If I had it my way, I wouldn't be here either."
Otabek swallowed some of the warm soup, also reaching for a slice of bread. "You probably won't bother me. It's mostly nosy neighbors I don't agree with."
Yuri took a couple more spoonfuls of the soup before speaking again. "How do you stand the smell?"
"What smell?"
"You know," Yuri gestured vaguely. "The shit smell."
Otabek lowered his spoon, looking skeptically at Yuri. "It's really not as strong as you think it is. It's just different from what you're used to. You'll forget about it soon."
Yuri felt oddly comforted by this information. Otabek didn't seem the type to lie or deceive intentionally.
Both men ate until the soup was gone, along with Yuri's foul temper. Now that their atmosphere was calm and he was full, the blond felt much less bothered by the whole arrangement; and it helped that his new housemate was pretty decent to talk to.
"So what do you do for fun around here?" Yuri asked as Otabek carried their dishes over to the sink. He began running some water to wash them and Yuri watched, relaxed.
"I'm not sure what other people do, but I like to read," he said, coming back to the table to grab the empty pot.
Yuri snorted. "Boring. What about movies?"
"The closest movie theatre is an hour west of here. But the chapel in town has movie nights once in a while."
"Oh... What about online gaming?"
Otabek gave a light, airy laugh which made Yuri smile. "The Internet is... not the greatest for that. We pretty much can only check email."
Yuri was speechless. The look on his face prompted a chuckle from Otabek who turned his back to the room to get started on dishes. "You're not used to not having entertainment, huh?"
Yuri didn't answer. He watched Otabek's back for a while, envious of the man's broad shoulders, moving slightly as he scrubbed and washed. With a sigh, Yuri finally stood and walked to the brown eyed man's side, grabbing a dry towel off the handle of the stove. Picking up the clean dishes, the blond busied himself with drying, trying not to think about how bored he would be for the next three months.
"If it helps," Otabek broke through the silence, eyes glued to the soapy water below him, "There will be a summer festival next month. The town usually brings in entertainment and I've heard it's fun."
"You've heard? What, you haven't actually gone?"
Otabek glanced sideways at Yuri, the corner of his mouth twitching. "No, there's always been too much work to do here. But maybe we can get away now that there's two of us."
Yuri frowned, reaching for another bowl to dry. He detested small town gatherings and festivals. He much preferred the loud music and bright lights of the hottest city club.
But sneaking a sidelong look at Otabek's stoic face, he couldn't bring himself to say what he was feeling. Instead, he nodded agreeably. "Ok, that sounds fun."
Later that evening when Otabek insisted Yuri retire for the night to be "well rested" for his first day, Yuri retreated to his small, drab room and leaned back against the closed door.
With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger, trying desperately to look on the bright side.
At least he wasn't thrown in a rehab facility like his grandfather originally suggested. And at least none of his friends knew where he was to see his embarrassment.
And Otabek seemed cool. Though Yuri couldn't fathom being great friends with him or anything, at least he would make this shithole more bearable.
From across the room, Yuri saw something light up on the dresser and relief flooded his system.
He still had his phone! A connection to the outside world. He would at least be able to text and keep up with his social media presence.
Grabbing the cellphone, Yuri flopped back onto his bed, unlocking the device to see what he'd missed in the last twenty-four hours. But just when he was starting to scroll through his Instagram feed, an alert filled the center of the screen.
WARNING! NO SIGNAL!
Yuri stared at it until the screen dimmed to black.
The blond spent several minutes staring blankly at the ceiling, the phone forgotten on the mattress by his side.
Finally, he yanked his pillow from beneath his head, smothered it over his face and screamed.
AN: Thank you for reading this far! I'm sorry for any errors, I wrote most of this story on my phone. I was inspired by a Manga I read with a similar plot and thought Yura and Beka would be fun to write in those roles.
Coming up next: Chapter 2- Pushed