Otabek wasn't sure how long he had been sitting in the car, the frigid air was starting to seep into his bones making his elbows and ankles ache. He white knuckled the steering wheel, while cursing himself mentally.
Shit, shit, shit, why did I think this was a good idea?
The old man had looked like he was set on killing him right there on the doorstep. Otabek was more than willing to let the man take his anger out on him, if it meant Yuri would come out unscathed, but Yuri's fate had been sealed though, with the slamming of the door.
His grandfather was a large, barrel chested man; and while age was not on his side, he could easily snap Yuri's willowy figure in two if he put his mind to it. Yuri was very small, and his grandfather looked like the type of man who had done things he wasn't proud of...or maybe he was...Otabek couldn't decide which was worse. His mind raced through all the ways he could put things to rights, but they all involved going back up those ice coated stairs, and speaking to, the most terrifying man he'd ever met. He was pretty certain that any attempt at apologizing would end with him, or Yuri, dead in a ditch somewhere in the frozen wasteland, not to be discovered until the Spring thaw. And Spring was a very long ways away.
Otabek shuddered at the thought. Yuri would be knee deep in shit after this, and it was all his goddamn fault. If it was difficult for Yuri to get away before, it would be damn near impossible for him to sneak out now. Otabek was positive he'd never see Yuri again after this, and it was all his own doing.
"Fuck!" He shouted slamming his hand against the steering wheel, " fuck, fuck, fuck!"
He laid his forehead on the steering wheel, and willed himself to breathe deeply. He was on his third exhale, when he heard a sharp wrap on the window. He froze, eyes slowly dragging towards the sound.
There, staring at him, was Yuri's grandfather.
Idiot. You've been sitting outside his house for how long now? You should have just tucked tail and ran. Nowhere to go now.
Otabek's heart started to hammer away in his chest, unsure of what to do. For a moment the two men just looked at one another, until the old man gestured for him to roll down the window. Otabek considered just starting the car and tearing off, but it would be a gutless move on his part.
The man tapped again. Otabek had made his decision. Whatever it was this man had to say, he wanted to hear it, no matter how terrified he was. He reached over to turn the crank, opening the window just a few inches.
To his surprise, the old man's face was no longer hard, and menacing. He looked softer now, almost penitent. Otabek stayed wary nonetheless
"I'm sorry young man, for the way I acted before. Would you come in for a bit? I have tea brewing, and you've been out here for so long you're lips are turning blue."
Otabek glanced in the mirror. He was right, he could see a light tinge of grayish blue outlining his lips. He had been so angry with himself he hadn't even noticed that he was shivering.
Otabek nodded tenatively, opened the door and made his way up to Yuri's home. The old man opened the front door, allowing Otabek to walk through first. He hesitated for a moment, either the man was truly sorry for his earlier actions, or he was smart, and didn't want any witnesses to the throttling he was about to dole out.
Either way it was too late for Otabek to back out now.
Otabek stepped inside. The place was clean, but cramped. The couch was lumpy, and sunken in the middle, as was the hunter green recliner that stood near the door. A worn brown carpet ran across the floor, and a small fire burned in the fireplace. There were dozens of photos on the walls, and the air hung heavy with the scent of cigarettes and last nights dinner.
"My names Nikolai." he says calmly, "I'm Yuri's grandfather. Tea's ready if you'd like a cup."
"I would, thank you. It was a long drive from Moscow, and my cars heater doesn't work very well."
Nikolai busied himself in the kitchen, while Otabek stayed on the worn runner near the door, waiting for his shoes to stop dripping snow. He looked at the pictures on the wall next to him. They were mostly family photos, in old mismatched frames. There was one of a woman with lwhite blond hair like Yuri's, holding an infant. The one next to it, was of a much younger Nikolai standing next to a young boy scowling at the camera. There were much older photos as well, a couple on their wedding day, and the same couple with a young blond girl resting on the woman's hip. They all looked so happy, and hopeful, with their whole lives before them. He scanned the walls, until his eyes fell on a familiar face.
It was Yuri, dressed in a costume of white, with a pair of ice skates strapped to his feet.
Yuri hadn't mentioned he had skated. Otabek's heart started to beat, yet another thing they had in common. Why didn't he tell him?
Nikolai handed him a mug of tea.
"I didn't know Yuri skated, he didn't tell me."
Nikolai stared at him dubiously, and Otabek stiffened. "You know which one is him?"
Otabek pointed to the photo of Yuri, "yes, of course I do. He's hard to miss."
Nikolai cleared his throat, "you, you must have met him before."
"No sir, not until a few weeks ago. I'm from Kazakhstan. I'm a figure skater as well," he said gazing at the picture of Yuri in his sparkling white costume, "but I've never met him. I haven't seen him at any of the competitions either."
"Has someone put you up to this young man?" There was no venom in Nikolai's words, it was as if all the energy had drained out of him.
Otabek was taken aback. "No sir. A friend, and I picked Yuri up a few weeks ago on the side of the road. We were headed to Mirage, and he said he was too. We gave him a ride, and we got to know each other. I met him there again a few nights ago."
Nikolai's hand started to tremble, his tea starting to slosh over the edge.
"Sir, are you alright?" Otabek asked. Nikolai looked as if he was about to crumple in on himself. Nikolai coughed a few times, and drew himself up, his trembling ceased.
"Mr. Altin, there's no way you could have met my grandson last night. He's been dead for over a year."
The words don't register at first. Nikolai must be joking. He'd heard that the Russian's had a dark sense of humor, but even this seemed excessive. Otabek expected the man to crack a smile, but he looked deadly serious. Nikolai picked up an old album off the coffee table, and turned to one of the last pages, pulling out an old newspaper clipping.
"Skating hopeful Yuri Plisetsky killed at age 19."
Underneath is a grainy photo of Yuri smiling, in that same white costume.
The mug in Otabek's hand dropped to the floor, it's contents spattering onto the worn brown carpet. Nikolai grabbed a towel, and laid it over the spill.
Otabek stood there, eyes locked on the towel, watching the tan liquid seep into it. He must've been standing there silent for a long time, his chest was starting to burn, and things were starting to grow hazy along the edges.
Breathe...you need to breathe...
Otabek inhaled sharply, "I...I saw him the other night." Part of him was speaking to Nikolai, the other part was talking to himself, trying to make sense of it. "He had long blonde hair, and green eyes. He...he had leopard print laces in his shoes. I'm not making this up sir, I swear! I spent two whole nights talking with him. He can't be dead."
He can't be dead...it's impossible...
"I assure you he is. He died walking to that club you went to last night." his voice faltered a little, "I told him it was too cold to go, but he snuck out and went anyway. It was dark, and it had been snowing for hours. He was..." Nikolai's voice hitched, as he recounted the demise of his only grandson, "struck by a car, while walking on the side of the road. The car kept going, they didn't even stop to see if he was okay. No one found him until the next morning. His injuries weren't severe, he would have survived. If the driver had stopped...or if someone had found him sooner. He died from the cold." Nikolai sniffled, and dabbed at his eyes with his worn knitted sweater. The man no longer looked like the hard, burly man that had met him at the door. Now he was just a withered old man who had nothing left, but grief and memories.
Otabek felt sick, he could feel his stomach starting to lurch. He sank into the worn, green recliner and ran his hands through his hair, tugging hard at his black locks, hoping it would somehow negate the roiling in his gut. Hot tears pricked his eyes, he squeezed them shut, forcing them back.
Not here...not now.
"We dropped him off at the top of this road the other night. He was wearing my jacket, and said he'd be fine. I came by today to get my jacket from him, and I wanted to see..." he didn't want to upset the man anymore than he already was. "if he wanted to be friends."
More than friends...
Nikolai patted his shoulder lightly. "He would have liked to have had a friend. I don't think he really had any except for me, and Potya." He pointed to an ancient looking Himalayan curled in a ball, snoozing by the fire.
"I don't have many myself." Otabek swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, "he was a figure skater too? I wish I had known."
Nikolai reopened the album that the clipping came from. There were dozens of pictures of Yuri at different ages, some in costume, others just skating on the ice in street clothes. He was smiling in every photo.
"He was a good skater, but he wasn't able to compete as much as he liked. We couldn't afford the coaching fees, or the cost of travel. He never made it to any of the big competitions, but he had always dreamed of someday winning gold at the..." he stroked his beard, searching for the words.
"Grand Prix." Otabek said blankly.
"Yes..." Nikolai nodded, "Yuri was a beautiful boy. He was even more beautiful when he skated. If he had lived, I have no doubt he would have made a name for himself. Yuri, was unstoppable."
Otabek's head was pounding, and his skin felt too tight. He couldn't wrap his head around any of it. Out of all the scenarios Otabek has dreamed up on his drive, this was not one of them. Ghosts weren't real, they belonged in story books, movies, and nightmares. They had no place in the real world. Yuri was solid when he'd met him. Solid, and breathing, and dazzling.
"But how? How did I see him? There must be a mistake." his voice cracked.
Nikolai couldn't give him an answer. He seemed just as confused, and distraught as Otabek. Nikolai, shuffled through the album, and handed Otabek a newer photo of Yuri. He was in a sky blue hoody, his silky blond hair framing his face. He was cheek to cheek with his cat, who looked none to pleased with being photographed. His green eyes were shining, and a grin of pure joy spread across his face.
No...this was definitely the same person. No one had eyes as green as Yuri's. Nikolai's were close, but they had dulled with age. Yuri's eyes had been coated in smudged eyeliner, but that only enhanced their sharp green hue. There was no doubt in Otabek's mind that the boy in the picture was the boy he had fallen in love with.
Otabek looked at the photo a while longer, then went to pass it back to Nikolai.
Nikolai held his hand up to refuse it. "Keep it, I have a copy. You seem like a nice boy, and I think he would have liked you. You should keep it, to remember him by."
Otabek held it reverently for a moment, before sliding it into his coat pocket.
"Thank you." he stood, fighting off the dizzy spell that threatened to take him down." Umm... Is it possible for me..to?" his voice trailed off.
"Pay your respects? Yes, he's buried in the little cemetery you passed on your way here. I haven't been able to see him lately, he'd like a visitor."
Otabek moved on wobbly legs, his kneecaps twitching in protest. "I'm sorry to have bothered you. I know how weird this must be. I'm so sorry if I've upset you. I never would have come if I had known he was-" he couldn't bear to utter the words.
Nikolai shook his head, "I'm not upset young man. I have to admit, I was at first, but I watched you while you sat in your car. You looked so upset. I figured if you were here to torment me, you wouldn't have sat there for as long as you did. This is all a bit strange, but you talk like you really did know him. " He swallowed, and solemnly held back his tears, the way only strong old men who have been through hell can do, and still look stately. "Anytime I can talk to someone about my Yurotchka is time well spent. Even if it is under these circumstances."
Yurotchka...Otabek felt a pang in his heart at hearing the nickname. It was such a sweet little name for someone as vibrant, and audacious as Yuri. If only he'd had the chance to call him something so dear.
Otabek shook Nikolai's hand, and walked to his car.
It wasn't long until the little cemetery came into view. He stopped the car and stumbled through the snow. There weren't many headstones, most were old and worn from decades of hard weather. It wasn't difficult to find the shiny, black granite headstone with 'Yuri Plisetsky' carved into it.
The snow had piled up on top of the headstone. Otabek started to clear it away when his hand raked over something soft, and slick. He brushed the snow away, as all the air left his lungs.
It was his jacket, stiff and frozen from the cold.
He picked it up, and brushed the remaining snow off of it. Underneath his jacket, laid a bouquet of wilted, frozen lilies.
Lillies and snow...
Everything came crashing down around him, and Otabek's last bit of strength gave way. He sank to his hands and knees, letting the snow soak through his jeans, while the cold bit into his bare hands. The tears he had been holding back broke through. He let out a hard, broken wail.
"Yura...why?" he sobbed.
He sat there drowning in his grief, until his toes went numb, and his chest had started to burn from the frigid air.
"Beks? You home?" JJ opened the door to Otabek's room. He had seen the car parked outside, and knew Otabek had come home. He wanted to hear the dirt on his day with Yuri, and get his keys. Izzy was back in their room, wanting to go get dinner.
"Beks?" he called out.
He heard the distinct clink of glass on wood. JJ squinted through the darkness, and saw the sillohuette of Otabek, sitting in the over stuffed chair in his living room, a bottle of whiskey sat by his feet. The drapes were pulled back, letting blue moonlight spill into the room.
JJ fumbled for the light, and turned it on. Otabek made a painful hissing noise as the light hit his eyes.
"Jesus, Otabek, what the fuck happened? Did find Yuri?"
"I found him." his voice was gravelly and, his face set in stone.
"Did you get your jacket back?"
"I did." Otabek lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips, finished it, and refilled.
"Did he not want to see you again?" JJ asked, his voice had gone soft after seeing the state of his friend. He should have given Yuri the shovel talk when he'd had the chance.
"You could say that." Otabek made no moves to stand, or even make eye contact with his friend. He took another generous sip of whiskey.
"Aw fuck Beks, I'm sorry. You two seemed to really hit it off too." JJ's words dripped with sympathy.
"Yeah we did. How about that?" he said bitterly "The one person I click with and.."
And what? He couldn't tell JJ that Yuri was dead.
But, JJ had seen him too, right?
No, JJ wouldn't believe him, not when he was so drunk he couldn't see straight. It would all be waved away as a pitiful mix of drunken ramblings, and heartbreak.
"And?" JJ prompted.
"And...nothing." Otabek slurred, "guess you're here for the keys?"
"Uhh, yeah."
Otabek threw them to him, a bit harder than he had anticipated. JJ caught them, and shook the pain out of his hand.
"You want me to stick around Beks? Maybe order some food?"
Otabek shook his head, "M'fine."
JJ backed out of the room, concerned for his friend, but willing to give him some space. "I'm gonna check in on you later. Make sure you're not dead."
Otabek barked out a sharp, bitter laugh, that made JJ jump. He turned to look at his friend, wanting to console him in some way, but he was at a loss for words. He shook his head, and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Otabek finished his glass of whiskey and closed his eyes, praying for sleep to take him.
Otabek sat up, as he felt a cool hand brush his cheek. He looked up at the green eyes staring down at him.
Otabek shook his head in disbelief, "No...you're dead.." he rasped.
Yuri stood, and gently took one of Otabek's hands, and held it to his cheek.
"Are you sure?" he snickered, "I feel real, don't I?" He dragged Otabek's hand down, laying it over his heart.
He did feel real. He felt solid, and alive, as he panted over him.
"I don't' understand..." Otabek choked, hand still splayed across Yuri's chest.
Yuri didn't answer. He leaned over, giving Otabek a hard kiss.
Otabek hummed hungrily into Yuri's mouth, no longer caring how or why he had appeared. He carded his fingers through his soft blond locks, pulling him roughly into his lap. Yuri straddled his thighs, settling comfortably on top of him, his lips never breaking the kiss.
Otabek's lips traveled down to Yuri's neck, nipping and sucking at his throat. Yuri's hand cupped the back of Otabek's head, pressing him against his neck, urging him to be rougher. He let out a pleasured moan, as sharp teeth bit into his skin.
"Beka..." he whined.
At the sound of his name, Otabek recaptured Yuri's mouth, hands digging into Yuri's slim hips, grinding up against him. Yuri gasped, and began tugging at Otabek's shirt, quickly peeling it off of him. He ran his fingertips down Otabek's taught rib cage, and back up to his pecs, grazing his thumb over a nipple.
Otabek yanked Yuri's shirt off, and threw it to the floor. He gaped at the expanse of white flesh before him. He wanted to taste his skin with his tongue, and trace his fingers over each vertebrae, as he skimmed down his back.
Yuri embraced him, pressing his body against Otabek, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
"I'm so cold Beka...warm me up." he gasped.
Yuri's cool skin pressed up against his own naked flesh made him shiver. His hair trailed against his shoulder, sending ripples of gooseflesh down his arms. Otabek inhaled deeply against his skin. He breathed in the scent of lilies and snow.
Lilies and snow...
Something shattered inside Otabek, sending him crashing back to reality. "No.." he broke the kiss roughly, "you're dead!"
Yuri sat back, and tilted his head, eyes punch-drunk and pleading, "Beka please, kiss me..." he begged, hips beginning to roll against him.
"No, no, no! You're dead...this isn't real!" he stood up abruptly, dumping Yuri unceremoniously to the floor. Yuri looked up at him in pained disbelief, he reached a slender white hand out to Otabek.
"Beka, don't...don't you want me?" he mourned.
Otabek stared down at Yuri, still in a bedraggled heap on the floor. His green eyes shimmering with tears. Otabek couldn't refuse him, he was there, in his room, sobbing on the floor, begging for his touch. He reached out to him, and felt the cool touch of his delicate fingers in his hand.
"Yuri, I-"
Otabek was jolted awake by the piercing sound of the alarm on his phone. He fumbled for it, sliding his finger hastily over the screen to silence it, letting it clatter to the floor.
He was drenched in sweat, and reeked of stale whiskey. He stood up, squeezing his eyes shut against the harsh morning light. He fumbled to close the blinds, and tripped, tumbling over to his knees. The room began to spin, and a hot flush swept over him. His stomach roiled and lurched, as he emptied the meager contents of his stomach onto the floor.
He sat back from his mess, wiping a shaky hand across his mouth.
It had been a dream, and now he had to face the cold light of day.
Yuri was dead, and all Otabek's hopes and dreams were dead right alongside him.
