sorry this took longer to update

also sorry this chapter is rushed as fuck and badly written tbh

content warnings for mentions of abuse, also vaaaaguely sexual mentions in the first section

The early morning sun dripped through the parted curtains, shining directly into Yuri's eyes, bright enough to make him stir. A couple of hours ago he had pulled the alarm clock from its socket and tossed it across the room, determined to get a couple of hours more sleep. Otabek's warm figure lying next to him was a rare luxury that he wanted to appreciate.

Nikiforov would surely complain about the two of them bunking first lesson, especially after his grandeur lecture and dumbass set of 'rules', but the first period was just sports anyway. Staying in bed was much preferred over spending two hours on a field pretending to give a shit about javelin. It wasn't as if the rest of the class would show up, either; no-one wanted to wear the disgusting kit that showed way too much skin, and the lesson hardly contributed to their education. Sir would have a perfect opportunity to bond with JJ and Minami, since JJ was a sports nerd and Minami was idiotic enough to care.

"C'mon, we gotta get up." The Kazakh mumbled, blinking sleep out of his eyes and sitting up in bed. Now that daylight was illuminating the room, Yuri could clearly see the bruises and scratches that painted a rather gruesome watercolour on his back.

"How many of these were from me, and how many were your parents?" He croaked, fingers tracing lightly over the injuries. Otabek flinched at the touch but soon relaxed against it.

"You did the scratches."

"Well, that's hardly my fault. You didn't even remember to kiss my cuts with how distracted you were."

"Oh, yeah. Guess I'll do that now then."

The sudden movement of the bed shaking caused Yuri to yelp, an expression of surprise which quickly turned into a smirk when he saw the other boy leaning over him. True to his word, Otabek bent down to drag his lips across the scars on the blond's thighs, on his hips, the few that strayed across his chest. His lips lingered on Yuri's for a second before feathering down onto his shoulders and forearms, making Yuri blush slightly. This was always strangely more intimate than sex. He didn't show his scars to anyone else, let alone let anyone touch them, yet here Otabek was, running his lips over the patchwork skin of white lines and semi-fresh wounds.

"What's this?"

He had moved onto the other arm without Yuri noticing, and had stopped mid-forearm with a frown. Yuri glanced down to see what he was looking at.

"Oh, that? Didn't even realise I did it at the time."

"Cigarette burn?"

"Mmhmm."

"Don't make it a habit. They're a pain in the ass to heal and get infected easily."

There was never any judgment, no lectures or sad looks, and Yuri couldn't explain how much he appreciated that. A mutual understanding between the two of them that created a comfortable space to either cry or joke about what they were going through. Besides, it wasn't as if Otabek's skin looked much better, and Yuri reminded himself to give his friend some antiseptic cream and band-aids.

"Want me to kiss yours?"

"Nah. I'm good. We gotta get up though."

He was right, Yuri reluctantly acknowledged. They couldn't afford to miss the rest of the day, especially not with the threat of Nikiforov contacting their parents if their attendance fell too low. Next lesson was only art, anyway, which most people took as an opportunity to graffiti the classroom with even more obscene shit that was already decorating the walls. Emil had been rather proud of his 'Guang Hong sucks cock 2k17' mural.

Uniform was scattered across the room and it took them a couple of minutes to identify what belonged to who, and Yuri left the house pretty certain he was wearing Otabek's tie. Not that it mattered- the two of them ended up sharing most of their possessions, everything from clothes to food to textbooks, although it was mostly Yuri on the receiving end. He knew that Otabek didn't mind. He hardly had many other ways of getting things he needed, and Otabek's parents were rich, even if they were complete assholes. Yuri on the other hand…

Home life was a conversation for another day. Now they had to focus on getting to school before lunch was over and the register was taken.

Hooking his thumbs into the holes in his shirt to keep his sleeves from riding up, Yuri stepped out of the house, and couldn't decide if the dread in his stomach was from the thought of going to school in general or being greeted by the same infuriating cover teacher.

(line break)

First lesson had been a trainwreck. Viktor's enthusiasm for the new day had immediately dwindled thanks to the sheer absence of his students- the classroom was hardly bursting at the seams even when everyone turned up, but it looked pathetic when only Jean-Jacques and Minami were perched at their seats. Well, JJ was sitting on his desk and Minami was half lying on the floor, but Viktor hardly cared about the details when he was having an internal monologue about whether he should just cancel Sports Education or not. What was he supposed to do? Have the two of them race each other around the athletics course?

In the end he had settled on giving them free rein of the Sports Hall, complete with badminton nets and shuttlecocks. They could play a singles match against each other or see who could throw the racquets across the room the furthest- Viktor didn't care, he was too busy trying to figure out where the rest of his class went. A glance at the attendance charts from the last month or so illustrated that skipping sports was a common occurrence, and one that Viktor was determined to put a stop to. Teenagers needed exercise and a healthy way to let off some steam.

So, when he went back to his class after lunch and was greeted by a full classroom, he didn't waste his energy trying to get them to explain themselves. None of them looked even vaguely regretful anyway. During his break he had visited Mr Feltsman and had a hearty conversation with the grumpy old man, and had managed to switch things round a bit, resulting in a slightly different timetable that he knew would make them hate him.

"Okay, listen up." Viktor began, handing around sheets of paper. "These are your new timetables. I've had words with the principle, and he agrees that you guys skipping Sports class is going to eventually leave you with an attendance percentage that will require contact with your parents."

Some kids immediately groaned, a couple cursed, one or two closed their eyes in annoyance. They all knew where this was going.

"So, Sports has been swapped to second period. The period before is Literature, one that you cannot afford to miss, and none of you will be allowed out of the room at break time so I can keep an eye on you all. Skipping Literature first period every Wednesday will result in an immediate email or phone call home." Was it harsh? Maybe. But them skipping class was going to lead to legal problems, and Viktor really hated paperwork.

"I know, I'm awful. There is good news, too. Mr Feltsman has agreed to let me give you Lord of the Flies for your literature exam focus, so you don't have to worry about deciphering Shakespearean anymore."

"Thank fuck. I never did figure out what a hurly-burly is."

"Yes. Thank you, Mila. We ordered some copies of the books, they should be here in the next couple of days. In the meantime…"

With a flourish and a glimpse of his usual optimism, Viktor turned his attention to the two cardboard boxes on the floor in front of the whiteboard, excited to explain what was inside of them. Nobody would ever call him an artist, but he had never been more grateful for a few tubs of paint in his entire life. The classroom was horrific and he was going to use Art class to make a difference.

"We're going to redecorate!" He grinned, already picturing plain walls that weren't covered in genitals or death threats that were written in running-out Sharpie. Raiding the caretaker's cupboards had resulted in a collection of different coloured emulsion paints, coloured paper for display boards, a couple of sets of new blinds. It wouldn't be anywhere near enough to restore the class to its non-existent former glory, but it was a start. Carpet cleaner and new desks would have to wait for another day.

"What is this, 3rd grade?" Leo asked with a raised eyebrow. Guang Hong was sitting on his lap and shared a look of equal boredom.

"No. Technically this isn't any grade since you're all different ages due to failing your exams." Viktor replied, a sarcastic smirk sitting on his lips. He really wasn't in the mood to be pushed around today. Last night he had had a chat with Yuuri, who said that being firm was sometimes the best way to make them listen, which was advice that Viktor didn't hesitate to accept. "Guang Hong, either sit in your own seat or come here and hand out paintbrushes."

Ten minutes later, everyone was holding something from the box, and were complaining loudly about the task at hand.

"This is fucking bullshit." Michele muttered to himself, crouching down to paint the area underneath the window with a large roller. Students were dotted around the classroom here and there, some standing on tables to reach the higher-up areas, others simply sitting on the floor and half-heartedly painting the same area over and over again. Emil practically had a meltdown when Viktor started painting over his infamous cock graffiti, and was now lying face-down on the floor and getting in everyone's way.

At first, he had tried to spur everyone on with words of optimism and encouragement, but now Viktor was keeping to himself on the other side of the room. Every now and again he turned around to make sure they weren't drinking the paint or similar acts of self destruction.

Yuri and Otabek were both leaning against the window, struggling to fit the new blinds. In a fit of rage Yuri had torn the old ones off their bracket and was now cursing in Russian while fiddling with the new ones. Like most of the other students, he was pissed off at the new rule regarding Sports Education, and was trying to brainstorm ways of getting out of it.

"Well, why don't we just forget our kits? Like, every single time we have the dumbass lesson." He suggested, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

"There's bound to be spare kit, Yura." Otabek sounded equally as dismal.

"Fuck. Guess we'll have to cut our limbs off entirely then."

"That's rather overdramatic."

"Yeah, well, I don't know about you, Beka, but I don't feel like showing Nikiforov the beautiful Picasso transcription on my arms." The teen spat, and threw the blinds to the floor, too overwhelmed to care about them. "He's doing it again. He thinks he can fucking control us and make us respect him."

"The dude has been here for a day and a half. He doesn't know how fucked up we all are. It's not his fault."

"Are you sticking up for him?"

"I… No. Sorry."

Yuri sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. But it ain't just me who's going to have an issue- its ninety percent of this entire class. I'm pretty certain Seung-gil nearly passed out the other day because he was wearing too many layers."

"And if we skip class…" Otabek didn't need to finish the rest of his sentence.

"Exactly. If my mother gets a call from school again… Well. What she did to me last time was just the warm up."

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, not in the awkward way but in a way that left an air of stress and unspoken fear that settled in their lungs and burnt in their throats. Like cigarette smoke it spread throughout the rest of the room, until the students were working almost in silence, everyone thinking the same thing: Nikiforov had no idea what he was getting himself into. He had no idea that even Minami, the happiest person in the room, had faint reminders of a breakdown on the inside of his left arm.

"There's nothing we can do." Someone said from across the room. Yuri had no idea what they were talking about- it could have been about the painting or the lessons or just general conversation, but it didn't matter. The context of the words hardly mattered when they had already successfully planted the sensation of dread in the pit of his stomach.

Just like that, without a single word of warning, his mood had switched from pissed off and vaguely angry to completely horror-stricken, from mellow and depressed to holding back the tears that were threatening to spill from burning eyes. A sharp stabbing in his stomach left him bent over slightly with his palms pressed against his gut. This feeling wasn't unfamiliar, he knew every sign of a panic attack better than he knew his own name, yet it had never happened in school before. It had never happened in front of other people.

Usually he would be crouching in the corner of his bedroom, hands over his ears, trying to block out the drunken screaming from his mother.

"There's nothing we can do." No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he was steadily awaiting the too-familiar feeling of her shoes against his ribs as he curled into foetal position in a vain attempt to protect himself. She was violent on a good day and mercilessly ruthless on a bad one, she would throw empty alcohol bottles at him for no reason and smash them against his head if he ever provoked her. He couldn't win. All he ever wanted to do was take care of his sick grandpa, but that came with beatings and migraines from the one woman who was meant to love him.

"There's nothing we can do." Yuri Plisetsky was feared throughout Sandbrook High, he was the tough kid who wouldn't hesitate to punch someone in the face if they so much as looked at him the wrong way. Teachers labelled him as violent. Other students thought he was crazy. Only Otabek knew that he acted that way because if he didn't, if he let his guard down for even a second, they would see how broken he was.

And now he was facing the realisation that next Thursday he would be coming to school covered in cuts and bruises thanks to Viktor phoning home to tell his mother about the cuts on his arms or him skipping class.

Yuri hated Viktor. He hated this bastard who had walked into their lives, trying to play Superman, trying to make a difference.

He hated Viktor almost as much as he hated himself.

There was nothing he could do except sink to the floor and dig his nails in to the flesh of his arms.

(line break)

"Yuri?"

A soft voice was echoing inside his head, bouncing around his brain like an irritating lullaby. He didn't have the energy to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from, so instead he just listened to it and let his muscles relax. He could vaguely identify a cold wall against his back and pain shooting from his arms, but otherwise he was oblivious, oblivious in the fog of post-panic attack.

Or was it a flashback? The last thing he could remember was seeing the fire in his mother's eyes, yet he hadn't felt the pain that had come with her raised fists. Everything had seemed so real and he wasn't yet sure if he was safe or not. The voice was helping, though, the repetition of 'Yuri' becoming a soothing mantra and slowly coaxing him back to reality.

Stinging skin protested as he removed his nails from the crescent-shaped beds they had made. The slick of blood would have made him cringe any other time (for someone so self-destructive, he never had gotten used to watching himself bleed), however now it was merely an inconvenience that was tossed aside, something to worry about once he had sorted himself out. Things were becoming clearer now, both physically and mentally; he felt the throbbing in his head almost as vividly as he could feel an edge of panic lying at the back of his throat. Aching muscles were begging to be stretched and his heart was pounding, louder and louder, telling him to stop holding his breath, telling him to just breathe and everything would be okay.

Yuri cracked his eyes open, slowly, almost closing them again when they were attacked by the artificial light of the classroom. Surprisingly, he wasn't met with the sight of the rest of his classmates peering over him like some kind of zoo animal. Instead he made eye contact with the teacher who was kneeling in front of him.

"Hey there. Welcome back." Viktor said gently, calmly- way too calm considering he just witnessed someone practically crumpling to the floor in a state of panicked terror. Blue eyes crinkled as the man smiled softly. "Are you able to stand up?"

The blond boy shook his head, not trusting his legs to take his weight, not able to form words just yet. If his head didn't feel so fuzzy he would have been humiliated to be perceived as weak and vulnerable. All strong, unbreakable facades had faded away and left him blinking like a deer in headlights, attempting to gather his thoughts.

"Otabek is here with you, everyone else has left. You don't need to be embarrassed. We're here to help."

Glancing down at his arms, Yuri winced to see the marks he had made, and mentally kicked himself for allowing his sleeves to ride up. Only a few scars were visible, thin white lines that almost blended in with his pale skin, however they were more than enough to give his secret away. Luckily the thicker, redder, newer marks on his forearms were still concealed. Viktor had definitely noticed them. Probably why he was sounding so pitiful.

"'m fine. Don't need no help." He scowled, turning his head away so he wasn't forced to stare into those concerned eyes, eyes that belonged to a teacher who wasn't convinced.

"Care to tell me what happened?"

"No."

"Yuri…"

"Fuck you."

Viktor sighed, leaning back slightly to give his student some more room. Otabek was sitting a metre or so away from Yuri, not making any noise, and Viktor took this as a sign that the teen didn't want to be crowded. That was easily done, he'd just move away, but what next? How could he get Yuri to speak? One second he was rolling his eyes at Mila and Sara flicking paint at each other, the next second he was leaning over the last person he would expect to see whimpering on the floor. It was frightening.

"Is it something I've done?"

No answer.

"Is it… something that has happened in class?"

A shrug. Better, but not good enough.

"Yuri, is everything okay at home?"

"Don't talk about my home, you prick! Who do you think you are!"

The explosive anger was back again, and Viktor quickly noted that mentions of home got an aggressively quick reaction. He held his hands up in an apologetic gesture and let his eyes wander to the blood that was pooling on his student's arms.

"Otabek, could you get me some tissue, please?"

The Kazakh nodded and left, leaving Viktor and Yuri alone in class for the second time in two days.

"Yuri… I'm not going to force you to talk. I'm not going to keep you here against your will. But it's my duty to care for you, and I want to do whatever I can to help. Tell me what I can do. You're good at telling me how to help your classmates, but I want to focus on you."

Yuri shrugged again, and mumbled something that Viktor couldn't quite catch.

"Excuse me?"

"I said I don't fucking want to do Sports, god dammit!"

It was such a mundane request that Viktor had to take a second to consider whether he heard correctly. "Well… Okay. That's easily solved. You can skip Sports."

The look of relief on Yuri's face was more saddening than it was pleasant.

"But I need to give you something to do instead. So, instead of going to Sports every second period on a Wednesday, I want you to go to see the new therapist who is starting tomorrow. He's very good. He won't pester you for your life story, but he's a good listener, and will happily let you just catch up on homework or have some alone time if you'd prefer it. Does that sound okay?"

"I… Yeah. Whatever." The fight had gone from his voice and he was left sounding exhausted. Viktor stood up and offered Yuri a hand, which was immediately declined, and watched the teen push himself up just in time for Otabek to return with the tissues.

It was funny, Viktor thought bitterly, how he used to have such strong resentment against this boy. Now his protective instincts were kicking in and he found himself constantly glancing at Yuri out of the corner of his eye, noticing everything from the hickies that covered both his and Otabek's necks to the strange mood swings and outbursts. It wasn't just Yuri, either; he could feel himself getting closer to all of his students. Even if they didn't return the feelings and were intent on hating him. It was only his second day, yet with every passing second he could feel his confidence growing. New ideas forming for lessons and ways to help them. New perseverance that would let him make a difference.

He watched as Otabek tenderly pressed the wad of tissue against Yuri's arms, pretended he didn't notice the scars that glared from white skin, and made a mental note to go a bit softer on them for the rest of the day.

Getting through last period would be a breeze compared to this one. Yuuri was starting tomorrow, the sex ed teacher was apparently taking over for half of the day, and Viktor had a stack of worksheets to mark and forms to fill out. He grabbed two aspirin on his way out the classroom and prayed for 3pm to come quickly

next chapter will be the Grand Introduction of Yuuri and Chris, and the dreaded sex ed lessons. I'm going to somehow include Phichit, maybe as Yuuri's friend and someone else who works in therapy? Not as the main therapist, just to like... comfort the students and such.

pls review if you can, i hope this chapter was okay even though it was clearly rushed asdfgh