"This is a terrible idea." Chris's voice was muffled by the glossy white plastic of the restaurant's cheap table pressing against his cheek. It was unclear whether the dark circles under his eyes were due to the remnants of a hangover or rapidly dawning horror.
"Christophe," Viktor said, beaming at him, "This is genius. You need to give yourself more credit."
"The problem here is not confidence," groaned Chris. "The problem is that this involves pretending to be a vampire when I am physically incapable of lying and, on a related note, not a vampire."
"People see what they want to see." Viktor flapped a hand dismissively, flicking through the menu out of idle curiosity. Chris had demanded breakfast, and though the options were rather limited in the evening, he seemed satisfied with the American-style diner.
"You usually say that they see what's expected."
"It's the same thing, yes?"
"I want to see my boyfriend walk through that door wearing thigh high socks and nothing else." Chris smirked as he lifted his head from the table, the effect slightly ruined when his cheek stuck momentarily to the plastic surface. "And yet, my eyes are failing me."
Viktor laughed at the dreamy look in Chris's eyes before sobering. "You know what I mean. It's why Yuuri hasn't guessed I'm a vampire – he doesn't want me to be. It's why Yurio is convincing himself that Yuuri and Phichit can't really be hunters."
"That," said Christophe, "Sounds like hope, and we both know that Yuri hasn't been optimistic once in his entire life. Maybe you should listen to what he's saying."
"Yurio's different since Otabek showed up," replied Viktor. "He's… softer. And Yura sees the world in black and white – I think he's looking on the bright side for once, which isn't always such a good thing. That's part of why I don't want him involved in this."
"Have you considered that you might be too good at seeing things in shades of grey?"
They paused for a moment to thank the waiter who brought Chris's food to the table and refilled his cup of coffee, waiting until he was several meters away to resume their conversation. It was unlikely that he would either care enough to listen or be able to follow their rapid French, but Viktor preferred not to take unnecessary risks.
"You were right about Yuri. There's more to him than I thought," continued Chris between bites, "But you do this every time. That first hunter you met – they would have killed you without batting an eye if you hadn't done everything exactly right, and you talk about them like they're some sort of dark hero."
"If they hadn't wanted to give me a chance, nothing I could have done would have mattered," said Viktor quietly. "Are you saying you think Yuuri is…"
"We'll see." Chris's mood had begun to lighten after the delivery of pancakes, but the serious undertone in his voice remained. "I'll do your damage control, see if he seems sympathetic, feed him some false information if it's pertinent. I need to see if he's as cute as you say, after all."
"I appreciate it."
"I don't exactly have a choice," said Chris, rolling his eyes. "You and your bets were more fun before. Besides, you're paying for my food."
:: :: ::
:: :: ::
Beka: good morning
Yuri reread the text as he combed out his wet hair, taking a moment to relish the flutter in his chest at the sight of the once-again-familiar name on the screen. In the week since he'd given Otabek his new phone number, Yuri had woken to a message waiting for him. Even on those two or three days that Otabek had crept upstairs with a cat and a murmured question that was never and always can I stay here, Yuri would open his eyes to find his phone displaying a new message.
He typed out a reply - it's not morning, idiot – but deleted it again as a frisson of tension flitted through his fingers. The countless missed calls, years ago, to a phone he now knew had been lying abandoned somewhere in St. Petersburg, were still sour in his memory.
"I found your skates in the rink locker today, even though they cleared out your apartment last week. I thought I'd see you at the Grand Prix, at least, but… you're not coming back, are you?"
"Beka – Otabek – pick up the phone and tell me why you left, you fucking coward."
"It's not like I don't understand. I guess I'm surprised you stuck around me for so long. It's just… over two years, and it wasn't worth a word before you went."
The name flashing on his screen was a spell he didn't want to break.
Besides, Yuri thought as he slipped his phone into his pocket, he could say everything in person now, watch the corner of Otabek's mouth quirk as he replied morning is a social construct, Yura.
As his breakfast was warming in the microwave, Yuri unlatched the blinds covering the kitchen window, setting a timer on his phone as an additional reminder to close them again before sunrise. Otabek was sitting on the grass beside Viktor's garden, which was all but dormant as the edges of winter crept closer. He seemed to be carved from stone, another piece of the landscape, and Yuri guessed that Otabek had been outside since long before sunset.
Yuri slipped outside quietly, making no attempt to hide his presence, but unwilling to disturb Otabek's reverie. Moonlight coated the earth in strips of silver.
Otabek didn't move a muscle as Yuri approached, the absence of a response in itself an invitation – Yuri had learned early on in their friendship that Otabek required periods of solitude the same way others needed oxygen.
He settled himself on the ground behind Otabek, facing away, their shoulders close enough that Yuri could feel the heat radiating from his skin even though they weren't touching. Yuri gazed up at the clear sky. He had learned patience from Otabek years before, how to let the moments pass without succumbing to the urge to wrench each second from the unstoppable tug of time. The city lights were too close, muting the velvety black into shades of grey, but his sharp eyes could still pick out pinpricks of stars.
Minutes flowed by, uncounted but not unnoticed, before Otabek exhaled softly and leaned back into Yuri's shoulders. The dreamlike veneer coating the world shimmered and trembled, fragile as a soap bubble, but didn't break.
"I missed you," murmured Otabek.
The leaden coil of regret twisted in Yuri's stomach.
"I'm sorry," he whispered back. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm sorry you couldn't forget me. I'm sorry I let you go. I'm sorry I fell.
"No," said Otabek, and Yuri knew that he had heard all the unspoken apologies. "At first, I would sometimes wish I could forget that you ever existed because it hurt so much. But later… it made me happy to remember you. That you'd been there with me at all. I wouldn't have given that up for anything."
Yuri closed his eyes to stem the sharp prickle of tears. "Your phone's password. My birthday. You kept it."
"I still… somewhere along the line, I started to forget you anyway. Who you were. I made up this person who was perfect, who never fell or made mistakes, and I told myself that was you. You would have hated me then," said Otabek, his voice cracking with the unspoken and maybe you did. "I knew I needed to move on, but those memories were the last thing I had of you, even if they weren't real anymore. I kept thinking that I couldn't even remember the last thing you said to me before I left."
"'Go get some sleep, asshole,'" replied Yuri, opening his eyes again. "I wondered if that was why you left, that I couldn't be nice even when I was trying."
The silence hanging between them, the soft brush of Otabek's hair against Yuri's cheek as he let his head fall back, said more than their words ever could.
Eventually, Otabek broke the stillness.
"It hasn't felt completely real, you being here. Or maybe that this is real and the last couple of years were just a dream."
"When I realized you weren't coming back," Yuri heard himself say, "I kept thinking that there was so much about you that I'd never get a chance to learn. Not big stuff, just… you never told me where you learned to pick locks. Or, that time you broke into my hotel room and saran wrapped me to the bed, and I never figured out how you got the keycard. I always thought you'd be there forever, that we'd have time."
"Right after I moved to America. I was fourteen or fifteen, my English wasn't great, and my skating was weird. I- there was this guy, a hockey player who practiced in the same rink, I don't even remember his name, but I wanted to impress him. I spent weeks watching youtube videos and practicing on my bike lock."
"Fuck." Yuri didn't bother to bite back his surprised giggle. "That's why you refused to tell me?"
Otabek's voice held a smile. "That, and I was afraid of what would happen if you learned to pick locks."
"I still want to learn." He felt Otabek nod. "The hotel?"
"I thought you knew that one already," Otabek replied. "It was kind of obvious. After all, only one person had all the spare cards."
Yuri's jaw dropped. "He didn't."
"Mhmm."
"Yakov gave you my room key?"
"Yeah. It didn't take long to convince him, either," said Otabek with a chuckle. "He didn't say so, but I think he found it amusing."
"He's going to pay for this," muttered Yuri darkly. Otabek shifted slightly.
"You talk to him?"
"Occasionally," said Yuri. "He checks up on me, to make sure everything is going okay. And I'm pretty sure he and Grandpa gossip about me sometimes."
"That's… amazing, really."
"Hmm?"
"You- you managed to keep things kind of normal, as far as that goes," Otabek said, a tinge of melancholy in his tone. "You have a life here, but you didn't leave everything else behind, even... I've never understood how you can be so strong, but you always have been."
Yuri winced as the words sank needles into his heart.
"Whoever you're thinking of, that's not me," he snapped. "I wasn't strong, I fell apart."
"How-" Otabek twisted so he was facing Yuri. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- but how are you so- now-"
"I had a lot of help," Yuri said bluntly. "Viktor, even though I did everything I could to push him away. Grandpa. Chris, amazingly enough. Lots of therapy too. I was a mess."
"… Therapy?" Otabek turned the word over on his tongue like an alien fruit, wondering and worrying at the syllables. "Who? How?"
"When things got really bad…" Yuri caught his lip between his teeth before explaining further. "We- Viktor- found someone. She's like us. Works with normal people most of the time, but… yeah."
He could hear Otabek's thoughts whirling.
"Beka, is that- is that something you'd be interested in?"
"I'll… I'll think about it." The warmth of his gaze brushed Yuri's cheek. "Thank you for telling me, Yura."
The conversation fell away, like covers of a book flipping shut before the last sentence could be read.
But… we have time, now, Yuri let himself think.
"The moon is almost full," he said instead. "Do you have plans?"
"Three days," murmured Otabek, "I found a place to go last month, outside the city."
Yuri nodded, trying to quell his tension.
"Don't worry, Yura, please. I've done this a lot. It'll be fine." He wrapped an arm around Yuri's shoulders, pulling him closer. "I promise… I promise I'll be back the next day, okay?"
Yuri turned his head before he could think anymore and pressed a kiss to Otabek's cheek, the brush of his lips against heated skin so quick and gentle he would assume Otabek didn't notice if not for the blush coloring his ears and the smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.
"I know," he said.
:: :: ::
:: :: ::
Yuuri flinched as Yurio kicked the back of his seat, the impact managing to shake the entire car.
"You look like an idiot with your knees bent like that," growled Yurio. Yuuri glanced at his legs, which were indeed jammed against the glovebox, twisted to fit the small space. "Move your seat back, you're making my hips hurt."
Viktor had disappeared back into the house several minutes ago in search of vaguely-referenced 'supplies,' leaving the other two sitting in the driveway. Yuuri's eyes flicked anxiously to his watch, counting down the minutes until the concert was supposed to begin, trying to calculate the time it would take to drive and park.
"Are you sure you'll have enough room, Yuri?"
Yuri rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked his usual sardonic flair, and swung his legs across the back seat. Yuuri's years of ballet pulled his attention to Yuri's smooth turnout, which made his angry sprawl more graceful than teenage angst had any right to be. He wondered if the boy had danced, in whatever life he'd had before. A twinge of sympathy flashed through him; it had been hard enough for Yuuri to leave the ballet company even when he could feel the youthfulness of his body fading away, and he couldn't imagine what it would be like to have something like that ripped away without warning.
"Hey, Yurio?"
Yuri grunted, but it sounded more like what than fuck off.
"Can I ask how old you are?"
"Five hundred years," came the snarled reply.
Five hundred…Yuuri tried to peer at him through the rearview mirror, starting in surprise for an instant as a blank set was reflected back at him before he shook his head ruefully and turned around. He didn't look like a being that could possibly be centuries old, even discounting the incident Yuuri had seen several minutes ago (and promptly pretended to have missed entirely) in which Yuri had checked his phone and walked directly into the wall while distracted.
Yurio scowled out the window – not the front door, from which Viktor would emerge at any second, but at the moon rising between the trees like a silver coin.
"It's full tonight," Yuuri commented. Could he really be so old? And if he is, Viktor must be…
"Really?" Yurio glared at him, tugging harshly at the strand of hair he'd been braiding and unbraiding, before he switched to unraveling several strands poking out of the shredded knee of his black jeans. "I hadn't fucking noticed."
He was rescued from the rising tension, which had flooded the car like a wave of tar, by Viktor's return.
Viktor tossed a couple of bags into the trunk before hopping into the driver's seat. He was wearing a different shirt, noted Yuuri, and his hair was freshly combed and styled. Supplies, huh? Yuuri smoothed back strands of his own unruly hair, hoping he wasn't underdressed, or overdressed, or just dressed wrong for whatever sort of concert this was.
"Yurio," said Viktor as he pulled into the street, "You're welcome to stick with us tonight, if you want."
"Hah," Yuri replied darkly, "Because being a third wheel the whole night sounds like so much fun."
Yuuri picked at his fingernails, wishing he could disappear. Even Viktor seemed taken aback.
"Yura, I-"
Slouching farther down in the seat, Yuri sighed.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I'm meeting up with Mila. She was in town to check in with her surgeon today."
"Are you two going to the show?"
"Probably not," said Yuri, shrugging with obviously feigned nonchalance. "Not in the mood."
"Let me know where to drop you off, then."
They ended up letting Yuri jump out near a train station Yuuri thought he recognized from a couple of his expeditions with Phichit, where he was embraced by a young woman with bright red hair and a brace wrapped around her left knee, though the injury didn't stop her from lifting Yuri over her head while he shrieked and squirmed away, landing on his feet like a disgruntled cat. He removed one of the backpacks from the trunk, slinging it over his shoulder with an exaggerated scoff.
"Is he okay?" Yuuri asked hesitantly as Viktor started the car again. "Yurio seems a bit upset tonight."
"He's a little stressed," admitted Viktor. "Mila will keep him out of trouble for the night, though. They're old friends."
"Um, Viktor?" Yuuri, remembering his earlier conversation (to use a generous term) with Yurio, cast Viktor a look that he hoped spelled out if you are secretly a thousand years old we will have to talk about this but was probably closer to I am having digestive problems, turned to his boyfriend (boyfriend! Who might be ancient beyond mortal comprehension?). "I guess this is a weird question, but how old is Yurio?"
"Hmm?" Viktor swerved into a parking spot along the side of the road, giving Yuuri a minor heart attack in the process. "He's twenty. He's a little older than he looks."
"Oh. Has he, uh, been twenty for a long time?" Yuuri bit his tongue as a blush flared across his cheeks. This is why I let Phichit do the talking, he thought.
"I guess so?" Viktor locked the car, holding his own bag in a loose grip. "His birthday is in early spring."
The distant roar of a crowd made Yuuri tilt his head. It seemed small – he could pick out individual shouts – but enthusiastic, almost drowning out the rising threads of music.
"Is that the concert?"
"It's more of a festival, but yes." Viktor grinned.
"Outside?" Yuuri blinked at him. "It's almost December!"
Viktor toyed with the end of Yuuri's knitted green scarf, looping the long end around his own neck as he draped an arm around Yuuri's hips. He winked. "We'll just have to dance to keep warm, then."
:: :: ::
:: :: ::
This man is dangerous, realized Viktor, watching Yuuri dance under the colored lights. Despite the chill, he'd shed his jacket and hat somewhere along the way, leaving him wearing a fitted black tee and a sly smirk.
Yuuri had discarded his cup, which held only a few remaining drops of mulled wine, and turned to look up at Viktor with a smolder in his eyes. Viktor, who had been about to ask Yuuri if he was warm enough, was struck speechless by the heat of his smile as he was dragged onto the dance floor.
"Yuuri, you're- wow," he shouted over the music.
"This is why I only drink on special occasions." A flash of the usual quiet, contemplative Yuuri flickered through for a second with a sheepish quirk of an eyebrow.
Duality, thought Viktor. Medium: the most beautiful man in the world.
"What's the occasion?" He had to repeat himself several times before Yuuri could hear him.
"You are," purred Yuuri, pulling Viktor closer. "Dance with me."
:: :: ::
:: :: ::
"Yura," whispered Otabek, "Yura, I'm back."
Yuri's eyes snapped open as Otabek touched his shoulder lightly.
"Took you long enough," said Yuri, a wide smile stretching across his face. "Beka, you look like a trainwreck."
Otabek shrugged. Despite the streaks of mud and dark circles under his eyes, he seemed relaxed, if distracted.
"Long night," he replied. "Yura, why are you sleeping on the couch?"
"I was waiting up for you."
"With great success, I see," teased Otabek. "I'm gonna-" He yawned widely- "Gonna take a shower."
"And go to sleep before you pass out, yeah?" Yuri burrowed back under the blankets. Zoyenka, curled up beside his hip, stretched her feet as Otabek reached down to stroke her fur. "Hey, Beka?"
"Yes?"
"I wasn't worried. But… thanks for waking me up."
:: :: ::
:: :: ::
"What," sneered Yuri, curling his lip, "Is that?"
Otabek picked up the spiky green vegetable, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.
"Have you actually never seen an artichoke before?"
"That is not food. That is an abomination." Yuri appeared to be offended and deeply mistrustful.
He dropped it back in the bin – it was a bit dried out and worn, and Otabek had never been fond of the time and effort it took to prepare them. Yuri was already distracted, edging around a basket of garlic with a look of disgust.
Grocery shopping took much longer with Yuri accompanying him, even though Otabek no longer had to puzzle out the German labels with his phone's translation app and his own rudimentary vocabulary.
"I still think artichokes are unnatural," said Yuri, as Otabek packed the purchases into their bags. He lifted an eyebrow when Otabek handed him a sack. "You're eating this, you get to carry it."
He took the bag anyway.
"Aisulu was obsessed with artichokes for a while," said Otabek, remembering his older sister's teenage phases. "I think we had them in some form with every meal for an entire month."
"That's basically normal, for your family," Yuri snorted. "Are Aisulu's kids as weird as she is?"
Otabek tripped over a crack in the pavement and looked away, trying to shake off the pang of sadness. Not now, please.
"Beka?"
"Do you remember how to get to the bus stop from here?" Otabek avoided Yuri's eyes.
"Yeah, of course," said Yuri, tipping his head but mercifully not pursuing the question further. "It's the only twenty four hour grocery in Berlin, I could get around here in my sleep."
They didn't speak much on the way home. Otabek watched the landscape stream past the window, first the blocks of Berlin's anachronistic architecture outside the bus, then the line of trees set along the train tracks. Yuri played with his phone, but Otabek could feel the weight of his gaze without looking.
Yuri dropped the bags of groceries onto the kitchen counter, stashing the cold items in the fridge and leaving everything else for Otabek to sort through and arrange in the otherwise-empty cabinets.
"Beka," he said quietly, as Otabek climbed onto a chair to put away the box of noodles (Viktor's kitchen was designed for giants, apparently). "When you said I had a life here, I didn't leave everything behind… do you still talk to your family?"
He closed the cabinet with slightly more force than was strictly necessary, hyperaware of his pulse thumping against his ribs, his lungs gasping greedily for oxygen, knowing that Yuri could hear each beat of his racing heart.
"I write," he said shortly, wishing he didn't notice Yuri's eyes widening.
"You write to them." The words fell, accusing, on his ears. "But you don't- they don't know anything, do they? You've been lying to them."
Otabek knew his silence was more than enough of an answer for Yuri. He didn't need to speak out loud, let the damning syllables scrape his throat like sandpaper. He didn't want Yuri's pity, or his own guilt.
"Is this just the sort of person you are now?" Yuri's voice hit him like a slap. "Did you cut them off too?"
"We don't need to talk about this," said Otabek harshly. "It's not your problem."
"You made it my problem when you came back," replied Yuri, low and dangerous. "How am I supposed to trust that you won't walk away again, if you did it to your family? Have you even met your sister's kids?"
Something in his chest snapped, but instead of pain, a wave of numbness swept through Otabek's body.
"It's not like I had a fucking choice," he growled, gritting his teeth. "I would have destroyed them." I'm poison, don't you see? "I would have lost them anyway. This is the only way I had to keep them at all, don't act like it's something I wanted."
"So now you're being noble again," said Yuri, throwing it like a dagger, his aim true. "You don't give anyone else a choice, you just decide what's best, and what's best is leaving."
"Don't." Please. "Aisulu hasn't spoken to me in almost two years. You know, when I was there that summer, she kept talking about what a good uncle I'd be, how she was going to make me babysit all the time. I went back to Almaty before coming to Berlin. She wouldn't even let me see them."
"Shit," mumbled Yuri, regret dawning in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't, I shouldn't have-"
"When I went to Sweden, I told them I was backpacking." The words kept pouring out; Otabek wasn't sure he could stop himself. "It seemed like a good excuse. I thought I'd be gone for a couple of weeks, get my head together, be a functional human again. I was there for five months."
"You-"
"They thought I was dead, Yura." The kitchen air seemed hot and stuffy, suffocating. "I almost was, and they would never have known what happened. Then I showed up again, and I couldn't say anything, because how do you tell your parents that you're not even human anymore?"
He paced the room like a caged animal, or an animal that's spent so long trapped behind bars that it wouldn't know where to run if offered a chance at freedom.
"It was going to happen again. I fucked up every choice I made, and eventually…" Otabek closed his eyes. "If I stayed in Almaty, I couldn't have hidden it for long, and I didn't want to lose them. And I didn't want to hurt them like that again if- when- I disappeared. It was better for all of us if I kept my distance."
"I'm so fucking sorry, Beka." Yuri's voice was strangled, airless. "But you're- you're safe now, you can call them, you can-"
"I can't. I can't, Yura." I should be crying, Otabek thought dully, but he was left with dry eyes and trembling hands. "I'm sorry. I should have told you everything, but I don't know, I didn't want to think about it. I fucked it up again, and I dragged you into it too."
"Beka," whispered Yuri, "Tell me what? Please."
"I don't know anything about werewolves. I've been guessing on everything, trying to piece it together," said Otabek, unable to raise his voice out of the grey monotone. "My body temperature is basically like a wolf's. So is my hearing, and most of my other senses."
"What do you mean?"
"The first thing I found when I looked up wolves… They live six to eight years in the wild. Almost twenty, in captivity." He felt Yuri's hand touch his shoulder, but it was distant, the sensation fuzzy. "I don't know if I'm more like a human, or a wolf, or somewhere in between. I was turned close to three years ago. I might not-" The words were stones, and he choked on them, on their bitter taste, on the tears that had begun to course down Yuri's face. "I might not be here in ten years."