A/N: After a hiatus due to some health issues, I am back with a short chapter! Enjoy~

NINE

"You know, Yura," Otabek's voice was warm with laughter and Yuri was half inclined to not believe whatever was going to come out of his mouth next, but he turned his head to look at him anyway, "You can't get everything you want right away. You of all people should know that."

Yuri stuck his tongue out at him and looked back at the grey Gucci backpack with the embroidered tiger head that called out to him from the window display. He knew Otabek was right, and he definitely knew he couldn't afford whatever price tag something out of a Gucci store would cost, but it still didn't hurt to dream. He probably should have paid more attention when Viktor went off on one of his investment rants, but sue him, he was seventeen at the time, he was allowed to have a short attention span. He wasn't really sure what Viktor's excuse was.

Either way, he turned away from the window and shoved his hands in his pockets, "I know, I was just looking. Way to be a dream killer, Beka."

Otabek laughed and dug his elbow into Yuri's arm, teasingly, "Maybe I'll get it for you some day."

"Don't you dare." Yuri shot him a look, "That's too expensive on our horrible income. I swear to god, if I ever see it with your name attached to it, I'm disowning you." Yuri loves the way Otabek laughs, it almost makes it hard to breathe. He knows Beka only does it around him, never around the other skaters, and it leaves him with a warm feeling that he really hopes doesn't reach his cheeks.

"I didn't say any time soon. I said some day. I'll find it used and worn out in a few years and get it for really cheap."

Yuri's feet stopped and his mouth dropped open as Otabek kept watching, "I hope you're fucking joking. Why would I want a used one? That's...eww, Beka!" Otabek tipped his head back and laughed again, but kept walking, not turning as Yuri called after him, "Otabek!"

They paused at a street corner, Yuri being sure to shove his own elbow into Otabek's side, the older man barely avoided knocking into a woman on his other side. Justice, Yuri figured. Otabek pointed across the street, "Let's stop in there, I need a notebook."

It's a small stationary store, Yuri wasn't really big on that kind of stuff, but if Otabek wanted something from it, then whatever, he'd deal. It smelled like incense inside and Yuri wondered if all small-business stores sign paperwork before opening up that require them to smell like that. He lost Otabek while he was looking at a leopard-printed pen, so he put it back and headed to the front of the store to wait him out. Yuri knew Otabek took forever in places he loved, he dreaded places anything remotely related to motorcycles, they could be stuck for hours. Okay, maybe a little exaggerated, but it felt like hours to Yuri.

Yuri tugged out his phone, found some free WiFi to connect to, and pulled up Instagram. The other skaters were out exploring the city and most of the other posts were of places he'd already seen or looked very similar. He double tapped a lot of them anyway, commented on a few, then got into a discussion/argument with Phichit on Instant Message.

He was in the middle of typing up quite possibly the best paragraph to ever exist on who would win in a snow leopard vs siberian tiger fight when his view of his phone was suddenly blocked by the coolest looking tiger notebook he'd ever seen.

His head shot up to look at Otabek who only gave him one of his half smirks and shrugged, "You look like you're about to rip someone's head off. Maybe don't do that in public? But here, for you, since I can't get you the bag."

Yuri grabbed for it like he'd die without it, then held onto it like it was worth more than anything he'd ever held before, looking over the image on the front again, "Beka…" He looked up at him again, swallowing, "Tha-Thank you."

Otabek shrugged again and moved a plastic bag from one hand to the other, "It's nothing, let's get going. I need some coffee."

"That mess you drink can hardly be called coffee." But Yuri led the way out of the shop, pausing to look around to look for a cafe outside. Otabek seemed to know where he was going, though, and brushed into his side, nudging him to the left. How did that guy always know where the coffee was? Yuri rolled his eyes and pulled his new notebook to his chest, then stomped down the sidewalk, Otabek's warm presence following him like a shadow at his shoulder.

༺༻

Yuri wakes up on the floor and realizes he broke his promise. He rolls on his back, his shoulders protesting, and stares at the ceiling as сенімен steps onto his chest then down onto his stomach and lays down as the night before floods back over him in a tidal wave. The sun must still be low, the room is mostly dark with curling shades of pink and orange with the coming dawn seeping in from the window. He feels like a new weight has settled in him, an acceptance that fills him with both anticipation and dread.

He wants to see Otabek, but he also wants to flee. He wants Lilia to drill him in his dance until he can't think or to beat some sense into his head like she's wont to do. His phone buzzes his alarm somewhere nearby, so he rolls, brushing the cat off of himself and dragging himself to his knees.

His phone is next to the netbook, falling silent, it makes him hesitate. The image burned into his head. His secret Otabek. Otabek's secret Yuri. Around and around, he wonders how long this has gone on. If Otabek's photos really mean the same to him as Yuri's photo does to Yuri. He breathes deep.

The phone goes off again, a different type of vibration, signaling a Skype message. He picks the device up like it might betray him, but it's only Mila, who probably hasn't even slept yet, 'hw r u?'

He drags open the window to type a reply, then hesitates. How is he? He's just realized…realized what? Otabek cares about him? Well, duh, everyone already knew that. Otabek cares about him...possibly like Yuri cares about Otabek? Or at least he did. At one point. And Yuri would really like to know if it still stands or if…

He shakes his head to push the thought away, keys in, 'Still breathing, hag.' then sets the phone back down like it's burned him. He needs a shower.

And then he needs to see Otabek.

༺༻

Diaz is there already, Yuri can hear him from down the hall. He's suddenly thankful he stopped to get himself coffee or there would probably be homicide in his near future. He doesn't have a whole lot of time before he has to meet Lilia, but he needs to be here first. Yuri doesn't knock, figures Otabek wouldn't hear it over Diaz's talking anyway.

He's rambling in the strange mix of Russian, Kazakh, and English Yuri's learned is normal around Almaty and Otabek is watching him pace around the room with an amused expression. When he hears the door, his head whips around and he winces before he tries to hide it quickly. Yuri frowns, but says nothing, letting Diaz continue. The ranting Kazakh takes just long enough for Yuri to sit down to notice his presence, then grins, looking between the two of them, "I should give you guys some space. Think about it, Beshka, I know what I'm talking about." And then he's gone.

Yuri is left staring at the door as it closes and he blinks, frowns, looks back to his friend, "What was-" He cut himself off, lifting his free hand, "Never mind, I don't want to know." Otabek smiles and his brain short circuits, so he averts his eyes and drinks the last of his coffee to give himself a moment. Otabek is still watching him when he lifts his eyes again, looking at him through his blonde hair. Fuck, he hopes he doesn't start blushing.

"I," his voice cracks, he winces and coughs to clear it and try again, "I'm sorry I didn't come back yesterday. I lost track of time. Were you okay?"

Otabek nods, hesitates, then says, "Ali."

His eyes widen at the same time Yuri's mouth forms a surprised 'O'. Yuri slides tip the edge of his seat, "Ali? Alina? Oh, god, that's cute, I'm going to call her that now." Otabek shakes his head and waves a hand back and forth, "No? Don't tell me no. She likes me, she'll let me call her whatever I want. You're her brother, you don't get a say." Yuri sticks his tongue out at him, trying to cover the sound of his heart hammering in his chest.

Otabek pauses, then laughs, Yuri watches the tension slip out of his shoulders and feels his own dissolve and reform as butterflies in his stomach. This is new, and he kind of hates his body for doing this to him. But Otabek said a name, an honest-to-God proper name. It wasn't much, but it was progress. Yuri watches the light in Beka's eyes and smiles. His best friend is here.

Everything else can wait a little longer.

༺༻

He's somehow unsurprised to see Diaz when he leaves. The older man is leaning against the building, downwind from the entrance, smoking and watching traffic. When he catches sight of Yuri he puts waves him over casually and offers him a ride.

Yuri eyes him wearily, but nods, adjusting his skate bag on his shoulder and follows him to the car that still smells like cigarettes and something sickeningly sweet. He's not sure why, but he feels like there's tension between them now, like now they're competing for Otabek's attention and now Diaz is just scoping out the competition. Yuri sits on his hands so he doesn't fiddle with things in the console and Diaz lets the silence stretch between them.

Yuri's been in Almaty long enough now that streets are beginning to look familiar and they're only a few blocks from the rink before Diaz says anything. As everything that comes out of his mouth, it only serves to throw him off balance when the Kazakh says, "We're going to throw him a celebration in his room in a few days, you need to be there. I'll let you know the day so you can get out of practice early and help. Watch out for Medina, she's already started her planning and she's already got ideas for you."

Yuri frowns, looks at him, "A party? Is that a good idea?"

Diaz glances at him, then focuses back on the road, "He's in the hospital, not dead. He's awake and he remembers, sounds like a reason to celebrate to me." Yuri's not sure how to translate the thin pressing line Diaz's lips form, he doesn't sound happy, it doesn't sound like a celebration like that. But people have had thinner excuses before, he supposes.

"Does Otabek know about it?"

Diaz shook his head, "I suggested it, but he was a bit preoccupied, I'll bring it up again later."

"You're going back? You didn't have to drive me." Yuri sits forward, but Diaz waves a vague hand at his protest.

"Don't worry about it, he probably needs a few minutes to himself and I like hanging out with you. I see why he talks about you all the time. Though, really, I don't see why everyone calls you the Russian Punk, you're pretty easy to please."

Yuri huffed, "Only because I've been worried as fuck. With Lilia here to knock some sense back into me and knowing Otabek is going to be okay, I can…" he trailed off. He doesn't want to finish that sentence. He doesn't really know where he wants to go with it. What now? What can he do now? He looks down and toys with the shoulder strap of his bag, sucking in his bottom lip to chew on it.

"What do you want?"

"What?" Yuri looks up just as Diaz turns into the rink's parking lot.

He doesn't speak until he's parked in a space and turned in his seat, "Yuri. Less important is what you can do. What do you want to do?"

Yuri frowns, looking back down at his bag. Diaz doesn't say anything else, doesn't move and gives him the time to collect his thoughts into some semblance of order, "I…" He hesitates, then tries again, "I want my best friend back." It's all he's wanted since he'd gotten the message from Alina.

"What else?"

Yuri frowns, "What else is there?"

Diaz sits back in his seat, and Yuri feels like he's failed a test.

༺༻

Lilia is trying to kill him. He doesn't have proof other than the fact that he's currently laying on his back on the ice, staring up at the overly bright lights, trying to figure out what bruises were going to be bad tomorrow. He can even hear her talking in brisk Russian on the other side of the rink with, of all people, Otabek's coach, probably colluding with him on the best way to murder a Russian teenager and hide the body.

What do you want to do? He dissects the words, closes his eyes and inhales slowly. The scent of the rink around him throws memories at him and he's transported to hundreds of other rinks, thousands of other practices. The sound of laughter is his own rinkmates, the distant sound of Lilia is a familiar calm, the silence without an audience is like the crowd before the performance begins. It bites like adrenaline, but it all circles back to the same.

I want Otabek here.

༺༻

Like an addict, Yuri needs a fix. He discards his bag and jacket in the front hall with his shoes, impatiently pours food for the cat, then moves across the apartment to the room he'd forbidden himself from. Otabek's bedroom calls like a siren song and he can't resist. He flips the light on and heads straight for the bed, but the blue of Otabek's team jacket catches his eye and pulls his attention to the desk. He suddenly needs, and his fingers dig into the fabric and pull it from the chair before he fully recognizes what he's doing. By the time he's wearing it he's blushing furiously and buries his face in the collar, glad there's no one to see him.

Otabek's leather pouch is on the seat of the chair, the flap open and he can see inside, everything he'd abandoned since the discovery of the netbook. The two books, his notebook, the pipe-cleaner figure. He picks it all up and takes it to the bed with him, spreads it all out. He fixes the poor figure first, holds it up to eye level and smiles at it before setting it aside.

His notebook is a mystery to himself. He doesn't know when Otabek could have gotten a hold of it. He honestly doesn't remember the last time he'd seen it. He picks it up and flips through a few pages, sees his own handwriting, an ugly scrawl, glare back at him, so he sets it off to the edge and picks up the books. One is in Cyrillic, and he flips through it quickly, the other is English and he reads a few random pages before he decides maybe he'll try to read it for a little while. Maybe it will help him sleep.

He puts the other book back in the bag, then picks the bag up and shifts his weight, stretches his leg out and reaches for the notebook to put it away, too. But his foot hits it before his hand does and it spills to the floor, he hears the pages flutter and crunch as it lands open.

"Fuck." He sets the book he wants aside and tosses the bag over the side of the bed, then slides off to pick up the notebook. His hand freezes. The notebook is open to a random page somewhere in the middle. There's two lines scrawled in English before it changes to Cyrillic.

And I can't count the times

I stayed awake pretending you were mine

He picks it up like it's made of glass, like it's the most precious thing he's ever touched. His legs won't hold him, and he falls to his knees. сенімен pads up to him, nudges his knee, but Yuri can't move, can't even breathe. It's lyrics, Yuri realizes, and he drags his eyes down the entire page, but it's all in Cyrillic, like a secret code and he's not invited to actually read it. Why would Otabek put this in his notebook? He flips through a few more pages and finds more writing, flips back through them all and realizes it's all the same. It's the same song. Over and over, lines crossed out and rewritten. On and on until he hits blank pages again. He flips back to the last page, at the bottom are two more English words and then Otabek's DJ signature.

I Surrender

༺༻

The other end of the line rings and rings. Yuri paces, clutches the notebook to his chest and listens to the tone repeat over and over. When voicemail clicks on, he hangs up and dials again, long-distance charges be damned.

"Ngh, hello?" The voice on the other end is rough and sleep-filled. Yuri doesn't care.

"I want my best friend back."

"What?" The sound of fabric moving, "Yuri? What time is it?"

"I want to face off with him in the rink. I want to go explore cities with him. I want to ride his motorcycle with him. I want to see him smile and hear him laugh. I've been right here, waiting. I'm willing to keep waiting as long as I need to. But I want it, Diaz. I want what I-we had, and I want more. You've been fooled, Diaz, I am the Russian Punk and I always get what I want."

Please, if you go look up the song, do not mention the name/artist in the comments, just to be sure it doesn't get spoiled for others. I will announce the song when Yuri hears it for the first time. Thank you.

If you want more of my writing, I have a Mafia AU that's most definitely NSFW over on my AO3 account you should check out (check my bio for link)

Thank you for your support