LULLABY

PROLOGUE

Fame is a scream to the darkness.

And the stairwell is the quietest place in the entire building. At least, that he can find without stepping out into the crowds. The shock of his gold-blonde hair is too easy to spot and he left his jacket in the changing room. You can't wear your mask if you don't bring it with you, and you can't bring it with you when you're panicking.

Which is exactly what Yuri Plisetsky is doing. Standing in a stairwell that smells like stale bread and things decidedly much worse and lit by pale flickering green lights, he is so out of place he'd laugh if it was any other moment. He is far too overdressed for this tiny, cold space, with his royal blue and white and sequins and his hair braided and twisted in ways he's going to need help getting it undone later if he doesn't just go insane and cut it all off himself in a fit. He has somehow made it down two steps, his skate guards clunking awkwardly on the metal guards on the edge of each step, before he has to stop and tries to reason with himself.

Yuri is not one for panic. He is one for having control, for knowing exactly where everything is and how everything is going to go. But here he is, clinging to a handrail that is probably leaving a stain on the gloves of his costume, trying desperately not to throw up. He takes comfort in the fact that no one will think to look for him here, that he's already completed his Program and technically, if he could just get ahold of himself, he could go back and change and just get out.

But Yuri is not one for panic, and so he doesn't quite know what to do with himself when faced with it. He is, for all intents and purposes, alone here. Yakov and Lilia are the closest thing to family, but they are also the farthest. They wouldn't understand, anyway. This isn't about work, this isn't the time for these kinds of personal things.

His legs get shaky, so he drops down onto the step and wipes his nose with the back of his wrist before wrapping it around himself. This is stupid, and unavoidable, and his mind is too scattered to put anything together. Everything is too big, and the green light is too bright and he suddenly can't breathe.

So, of course, he's found. The door falls heavy and echoes hard. His jacket drops over his shoulders and there's suddenly a presence at his side. He wipes his eye with the butt of his hand and glances. Yuuri fucking Katsuki, of course. Of course. An hour ago, things would have been different. An hour ago, he wouldn't have had checked his fucking phone, too busy telling Viktor where to stick his heart-shaped smile and his promises of a free dinner. An hour ago, he wouldn't let Yuuri fucking Katsuki sit so close to him, lean his shoulder close to him.

But Yuuri doesn't say anything, just lets the silence settle back in, makes the space shrink back to a more normal size. Brings him back down to earth a little and gives him a place to be again. Yuri is suddenly exhausted, and cold, and tugs his jacket tighter, then shifts to pull it on and murmurs a quiet, "Thanks."

Katsuki just smiles and looks over at him, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He knows that look. He's seen it before, in so many faces. When Mama never came home when he was 10. When Dedushka died last fall. He's sick of that look and wishes he could rip it off Yuuri's face.

They sit for an eternity and Yuri tries to numb himself. His phone goes off in his jacket pocket and it all just slips through him again. He pushes himself to his feet before he knows what he's doing. Yuuri moves with him, concern in his eyes, but Yuri can't bring himself to look anywhere but straight ahead.

"I'm going back to the hotel." Yuri says, and hope it sounds stronger than he feels.

Yuuri shifts, weighs his words, glances behind them, "You have to go back, first. Everyone is-"

"Fuck everyone. This is more important. This is…" He can't finish, he pushes his hand into his pocket and wraps it around his phone. He wants that voice in his ear, wants to see that half-smile that will calm his frayed nerves.

Instead, he hears; "There's nothing you can do from here, and nowhere for you to go tonight. All you'll do is make yourself worse, and he won't want that. Come finish the closing ceremony, at least."

Go stand on the podium while your best friend lays in a hospital bed a million miles away. Yuri thinks bitterly. He laughs.

It's cold, and it echoes.