NOTE BEFORE READING: This chapter contains the first of the two Otabek/Yuri sex scenes I mentioned at the beginning of the story. This one is the fade-to-black scene, so it's actually kind of difficult to recommend a place to stop reading if you're uncomfortable with sex scenes. Hmm...I would say it starts getting sexual around the paragraph beginning with "At that point, Yuri ceded control to Otabek, more than happy to let his experience take over"? But again, the actual sex takes place off screen at the end of the scene, and mostly what follows is Otabek making certain Yuri wants to go through with it and reassuring him that he is loved. There are some lines of crude dialogue and talk about condoms and lube, but that's about it.

If you're sex-averse, I would recommend skipping the part in italics at the very beginning, though, since it's a dream/flashback to a young Yuri witnessing his mother in bed with one of her boyfriends. The sex is mostly just suggested since he's too young to understand what's going on, but it should be pretty clear to readers what Aleksandra and Ivan are doing. It also briefly gets violent at one point. The dream just gives extra context to the memory Yuri brought up at Nikolai's funeral reception of overhearing Aleksandra saying that she wished she had gotten an abortion, so it's easy enough to skip if you'd rather not read about it.

Chapter 6

He needed to go potty.

Little Yuri rubbed his eyes as he padded down the hall to the bathroom, stifling a yawn. He did his business as quickly as possible and started to head back to bed when he heard voices coming from his mother's bedroom. Curious, he stopped at the door to her room, pressing his ear against it. The voices were too muffled to make anything out, but he heard what sounded like a woman's voice moaning. Was somebody hurting his mother?

With a shaking hand, he screwed up his courage and quietly turned the doorknob, cracking the door open only far enough so that he could peek inside. His mother and some man were on the bed, half-dressed, his mother straddling the man's lap with her back to the door. Yuri couldn't see the man's face from his position, but he recognized the sleeve of grisly tattoos running up the man's left arm.

The man was his mother's latest "friend" – at least that's what she always called them. Yuri was seven years old, though, and not as dumb as she seemed to think he was. He knew from conversations he had with classmates at school that they were really "boyfriends", men his mother did all sorts of disgusting stuff with, like kissing.

His mother had a lot of boyfriends. They never stayed in her life for long, although her current boyfriend seemed to be sticking around longer than usual. Yuri didn't like him at all. He missed Makar, the guy she left for this one. Makar had been one of his mother's nicer "friends". He'd sneak Yuri pieces of candy when his mother wasn't looking and didn't yell at him for existing like some of the others did. The guy on the bed yelled at him a lot, calling him all sorts of bad things: bastard, asshole, shithead, son of a bitch. Yuri sometimes wondered if the man even knew his actual name.

"Vanya, we have to be quiet." His mother giggled as the man – Ivan – trailed slobbery kisses up her neck. "Yura's sleeping."

"Fuck. I swear, that kid's a pain in the ass even when he's asleep."

"Tell me about it," she said with an annoyed groan. "I'm only twenty-three years old. I should be going out to clubs, staying out all night and getting shitfaced drunk. Instead, I'm stuck here, being all 'responsible'."

"Hey, whatcha need ta go clubbing for when you already got me?" he asked, grabbing her butt.

"Just talking hypothetically, baby." Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him and let out another loud moan. Her hips rocked against him. "You know you're the only man for me…"

"Better be."

"So when am I gonna be your only woman?"

He groaned. "Not this shit again. I made a vow before God." Ivan held up a hand, the gold band on his ring finger flashing in the light.

Yuri's mother laughed, throwing back her head. "God? Since when are you the religious type?" she asked. "Just divorce her already. You know you don't love her anymore."

"Never did, really."

"Then why did you marry her in the first place?"

"Knocked the bitch up, though luckily she miscarried a week later. Sometimes I wonder if she was ever pregnant at all, or if she just wanted to trap me."

"Sounds horrible. You should leave her."

He chuckled. "God, you're persistent, woman."

"I'm serious, Vanya." She stopped the motion of her hips, pulling back. "Don't you love me?"

"'Course I do, babe." Ivan reached behind her back, unclipping her lacy black bra and pulling it off of her. "I love every single inch of you – especially these inches."

He lowered his head to her chest, Yuri's mother letting out a loud moan.

"Oh, that feels good. You always make me feel so good… But, Vanya, stop trying to distract me." She again pulled away, placing the palms of her hands against his cheeks. "I want more than just the occasional fuck. I'm tired of all this sneaking around."

Sighing, Ivan ran a hand through his greasy dark hair. "You really want me to divorce her? Fine, lose the brat. Then maybe I'll consider it."

"Lose him? You aren't suggesting I –"

"Jeez, what kinda horrible person do you think I am, Sasha? Just pawn him off on his old man or something."

"Can't. I have no idea where his father is, and I don't care."

"You mean, you have no idea who his father is," Ivan said. "Isn't that right, you little slut?"

She gasped. "How dare you!"

Yuri's mother raised her hand.

From his spot behind the door, Yuri flinched, but the expected slap never landed. Ivan managed to grab her wrist before she made contact, the two of them hurling profanities at each other as she struggled to break free of his grasp.

"Let me go, you son of a bitch!" she yelled as he pushed her down, pinning her against the mattress. She kicked her legs, Ivan shouting in pain when she hit him in a particularly sensitive area.

"Damn it, I've had enough of this shit," he said, climbing off of her. "I'm going home."

Gasping as Ivan starting putting on his discarded pants, Yuri scurried away from the crack in the door and flattened himself against the wall, his heart pounding against his chest. The hallway was dark, other than the sliver of light coming from his mother's room. Maybe if he was really quiet, Ivan wouldn't notice him...

Before Ivan could open the door, however, his mother called out for him. "Wait, Vanya, don't go! I-I'll do it."

"You're gonna get rid of your kid just like that?"

"Why not? I never wanted him anyway," she said dismissively. "I should have aborted him when I had the chance. I would be rich and famous right now, if not for Yura."

"Ah, right. Your little singing career," Ivan sneered. "So, what are you going to do with the brat?"

"I'll drop him off at Papa's after his skating lesson tomorrow. Let Yura be his problem for a while."

Yuri pressed both his hands to his mouth, choking on a sob that threatened to escape his mouth. Tears stung at his eyes, rolling down his cheeks. He'd always known his mother wasn't like other mothers, more likely to raise a hand to him than to shower him with hugs and kisses, but he thought she had loved him, at least a little.

"Hey, ya hear something?" Ivan asked.

"You're imagining things," his mother said. "Now, come back to bed and fuck me..."

Yuri awoke with a start, gasping as if he had just been saved from drowning. He clutched at the front of his T-shirt, his heartbeat racing, and looked around at his surroundings. It was difficult to see anything with only the moonlight coming through the window for illumination, but he calmed down when he realized he was in his old childhood bedroom at his grandfather's apartment.

That dream… No, that memory. He hadn't thought about that night in years, pushing it back to the dark recesses of his unconscious mind, but seeing his mother at the funeral had brought it back to the surface, reopening the wound her cruel words had caused. Just forget about it, Yuri told himself, laying back down. He pulled his blanket tightly around his body and closed his eyes, attempting to go back to sleep, but it was no use. He was wide awake.

A few minutes later, someone lightly knocked on the door. Yuri fumbled around for the old-fashioned analog alarm clock on the bedside table, squinting as he tried to make out the numbers in the dim lighting until he remembered he had yet to replace the batteries after the funeral. After putting it back on the table, he reached for his cell instead. It was only ten-thirty? He had barely slept at all, maybe an hour at most.

"Hey, Yura, you still up?" Otabek asked softly from the other side of the door, knocking one more time.

He was tempted to stay quiet, to let Otabek think he had already gone to sleep, but a larger part of him had to admit he wouldn't mind the company. Sitting back up, Yuri switched on the lamp beside his bed and told Otabek to come in.

"Scoot," Otabek said as soon as he closed the door behind him.

Yuri glanced over at the space beside him. The twin bed was not meant for two people, especially not two full-grown adult males. It was barely big enough for himself. If he shifted over much further, he would than likely fall on the floor, flat on his ass. "There's not enough room, Beka."

"Don't care. Scoot."

Yuri moved to the far side of the bed, as close to the edge as he dared, and turned to lay on his side in order to maximize the available space. Otabek joined him underneath the blanket, also laying on his side so that he was facing Yuri. His hand bridged the small gap in between them, brushing back the hair that had fallen over Yuri's eyes.

"I'm fine," Yuri said without prompting, answering the question before Otabek could even ask.

"No, you're not."

No, he really wasn't.

But Yuri still wasn't ready to talk about it. While Otabek and Mila knew some of the story of how he came to live with his grandfather, he had never told anybody about what he overheard that night in his mother's bedroom or the abuse he had suffered in his early years. Not even Grandpa had known the whole truth, although Yuri suspected he hadn't entirely believed the sob story she had given him about being too overwhelmed as a single mom to properly raise Yuri. Despite everything, he had always loved his daughter, so Yuri never had the heart to tell him the real reason why she had abandoned him.

"Can… Can you just hold me for a while?" Yuri asked.

"Yeah, of course. Come here."

He moved closer toward Otabek, the two of them struggling to find a position that was comfortable for both on such a small bed. They eventually settled on Otabek laying on his back, Yuri curled up at his side in the crook of his arm. His head rested on Otabek's chest, allowing Yuri to hear the soft thumping of his heartbeat. The sound was comforting, although his heart was beating a little faster than Yuri expected.

Oh. Right.

Yuri snuck a peek at Otabek's face. He was so good at masking his sexual desire, at making sure that Yuri never felt pressured in any way, that he sometimes forgot that, yeah, Otabek was attracted to him in that way, too.

"Okay?" Otabek asked, noticing Yuri staring up at him.

"Y-Yeah." He looked away, focusing his attention on a poster of a teenaged Viktor Nikiforov in his iconic green costume pinned to the wall next to the door. "Don't tell Vitya about the poster." Viktor could be insufferable enough without the knowledge that it was watching him compete at his first Olympics that inspired Yuri to begin figure skating in the first place.

Otabek made a noise somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

Come to think of it, those Olympics were one of the few truly happy memories Yuri had of his mother before she had abandoned him. Every night they had watched the prime time coverage of the day's events together, his mother even allowing him to stay up past his bedtime to do so, and cheered whenever a Russian athlete made the podium. They had both liked the figure skating events the best, though, the skaters in sparkly costumes entrancing young Yuri as they jumped, twirled, and danced across the ice. He remembered watching the medal ceremony after the men's event and telling his mother with all the confidence of a kid declaring that they were going to be an astronaut or a doctor when they grew up that one day he was going to stand on top of the podium, the best skater in the whole wide world – never mind the fact that he had yet to even set foot on the ice at that point.

Yuri blinked back the sudden tears that had welled in his eyes. He didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry. He had achieved his childhood dream of winning Olympic gold, yet his mother hadn't even congratulated him. He wondered if she even knew, if she had watched him skate on TV and cheered for him as she had for Viktor all those years ago.

It didn't matter. Not anymore.

They lay together for a long time in silence, Otabek's fingertips brushing against Yuri's skin as they ran up and down the arm he had thrown over Otabek's stomach. His heartbeat had settled into a more steady rhythm, Yuri unconsciously matching his breathing to the rise and fall of Otabek's chest.

"Thank you," Yuri said after a while. Though he spoke in little above a whisper, his voice sounded unnaturally loud, disrupting the quiet that had fallen over them. "You know, for everything. For standing up to my mother like that."

Otabek kissed his temple. "I knew you two weren't on the best of terms, but I never –" He shook his head. "God, I hate her. I really do. I'm sorry. I have never wanted to hit a woman before, but I – I'm glad Mila did it."

"Me, too," Yuri admitted with a sigh, his fingers gripping the front of Otabek's T-shirt. "That probably makes me a horrible person, huh?"

"Then I guess we're both horrible people."

Despite the situation, the corner of Yuri's mouth twitched in something of a smile. "Aren't you supposed to tell me I'm not a horrible person?"

Otabek shrugged. "You wouldn't believe me even if I did." Which was true enough.

"You know, she said you looked like a low-life thug, as if her…whoever was some kind of great prize himself," Yuri said, feeling himself getting worked up all over again as he remembered. "God, she always had the worst taste in men. I'm glad I don't know who my father is. He was probably, like, a mobster or a junkie, some pathetic loser…" Yuri shook his head. Wasn't he supposed to not be thinking about his mother? "Anyway, you're not, though."

"What? A loser? I hope not."

Yuri lifted his head off Otabek's chest, propping himself up on his elbow so that he was looking down at his face, a curtain of hair falling over Yuri's eyes. "A horrible person," he said. "You're the best person I know, Beka."

"Then maybe you need to find some better friends."

"Probably. You would still be the best, though."

Leaning forward, Yuri tucked his hair back behind his ear, and after a moment of hesitation, brushed his lips against Otabek's mouth.

Otabek's eyes widened in shock. Yuri almost never physically initiated their kisses, preferring to give Otabek permission to kiss him instead. "Yura, w-what –"

Even Yuri was surprised by what he had done, but… "It's okay. You can kiss me."

To prove it, Yuri kissed Otabek again, longer than the first time. Otabek didn't reciprocate, but by the third kiss, he started to respond, his lips parting as he brought his hand to the side of Yuri's neck.

At that point, Yuri ceded control to Otabek, more than happy to let his experience take over. Kissing – especially French kissing – wasn't his favorite thing, but as long as he didn't think too much about the fact that Otabek's tongue was in his mouth, lapping against his, it wasn't so bad. Sometimes, he even enjoyed it.

Tonight was one of those times. Yuri's mind went blank, his body seeming to move on instinct in response to Otabek's touch. He rolled over on his back, Otabek situating himself in between Yuri's legs, and wrapped his arms around Otabek's neck, pulling him closer. There was some resistance at first on Otabek's part, some murmured protests in between kisses, but they soon quieted as Otabek finally surrendered to the desires he tried so hard to keep hidden.

"Yura…" He pulled away a couple of minutes later, breathing heavily as he stared down at Yuri beneath him. "Yura, seriously, we need to stop."

"Don't," Yuri practically begged. "It's okay."

"Do you realize what you're saying?"

"Yeah." He reached up, caressing Otabek's cheek. "It feels good. I don't want you to stop. I want you to keep going."

Otabek averted his eyes, still trying to recapture his breath. "But your grandfather just died… And I don't have any condoms. Or lube."

Ah, right. No need to carry condoms around when his girlfriend was already knocked up.

"Wait here a sec," Yuri said, pushing Otabek off of him.

He walked over to the chest of drawers in the corner of the room and kneeled down, pulling open the bottom drawer. Unless Grandpa had gotten in an uncharacteristic mood for a deep cleaning and threw them out, they should still be in there… Yuri rummaged through the collection of broken toys, forgotten CDs, and failed quizzes until he located the unopen package of condoms near the back.

He stared at the box in his hand, inhaling sharply as he remembered how he came in possession of it. Grandpa had given him the condoms on the night of his sixteenth birthday, along with a truly mortifying lecture about the importance of safe sex. Having no need for them at the time, he had thrown them in the bottom drawer and forgot all about their existence until now. Never would he had guessed they would one day come in handy, the night after he had buried his grandfather…

"Something wrong?" Otabek asked from his spot on the bed.

"No, it's nothing." Yuri pushed the junk drawer close and stood back up. "Here." He tossed the package to Otabek, who caught it easily.

"Why do you have a box of condoms?

Yuri shrugged. "Grandpa gave them to me, before I realized I was ace."

"Before… How old are these?" Otabek searched the packaging for something, frowning when he apparently found it. "These expired six months ago."

"Oh." Yuri took the box back and tossed it in the empty garbage can next to his old desk. Who knew condoms even had expiration dates? "It doesn't matter. I'm obviously clean, and you haven't been with anybody else besides Mila for the past few years, right? As for the lube…" Well, he wasn't even sure he wanted to go that far, but maybe they could improvise if the need arose. Would lotion work? There was probably a bottle in the bathroom across the hall. Grandpa usually had some on hand to deal with his dry skin.

"Yura…" Otabek sat up, scooting to the edge of the mattress. "Come here."

Yuri moved to stand in between Otabek's spread legs, taking in a deep breath to calm his nerves. Rather than reaching for the drawstring to his pajama pants, however, Otabek took his hands instead, giving them a gentle squeeze as he looked up at Yuri.

"Are you certain you want to do this?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Why?

"W-What does it matter why? I know you want to do it." Yuri might not have had much experience when it came to sex, but he knew enough to recognize an erection rubbing against his groin when he felt it. "Enough talking already," he said, yanking his hands out of Otabek's grasp to untie the drawstring himself. "Pull my pants down and suck my dick, or whatever. I'm giving you consent."

"Not until you tell me why."

Yuri was half-tempted to just say forget about it. The moment was ruined anyway, whatever stirrings of arousal he felt when Otabek was kissing him already beginning to wane. "God, do you interrogate Mila like this every time you fuck her?" he asked. "You don't have to be so damn responsible all the time."

"Why, Yura?"

Otabek was still gazing up at him, dark eyes questioning, almost pleading for an answer. Yuri had to look away, running his hand through his loose hair. Maybe it really wasn't the best idea, but who knew when he would feel like this again? Another four years? When somebody else he cared about died? Did death make him horny?

Fuck, he was seriously messed up.

"Because… Because…" Yuri stared up at the ceiling, swiping his forearm over his watery eyes. "B-Because I want to feel good for a little while, okay?" he confessed. "I want to just forget about this whole freakin' day, and I want… I want to feel…"

Rising from the bed, Otabek wrapped his arms around Yuri and pulled him close. "Loved?

Yuri nodded, burying his face into Otabek's shoulder and digging his fingers into the back of his T-shirt. The faint scent of Otabek's body wash filled his nose, comforting in its familiarity.

"Yura, look at me. Please."

He didn't want to, embarrassed by the way he was acting. This wasn't him, all clingy and…vulnerable.

"Please."

Yuri forced himself to lift his head back up, Otabek cradling his face in between his hands. "You are loved. You are so, so loved, Yuri Plisetsky," he said, rising on his toes to bridge the slight height difference between them and pressing his lips against Yuri's forehead. "You know that, right? By me, by Mila, by Coach Feltsman and Madame Baranovskaya, by Viktor, Yuuri and Nikita, by Yuuko and Potya –"

"Potya is a cat."

"The point still stands."

"Yeah, okay." Not like he could argue when he himself loved Potya more than most of the people on Otabek's list.

Otabek smiled. "Our baby's going to love the hell out of you, too."

Yuri looked back down, his arms dropping to his sides. "You don't know that."

"I do."

"No, you don't!" he said, pushing Otabek away.

It wasn't a hard shove, Otabek only taking a couple of steps back, more in surprise than anything else, but the shock of what he had done horrified him, Yuri bringing a shaking hand to his mouth. "I'm sorry. I-I don't – I didn't –"

"Hey, it's okay."

"No, it's not!" Yuri sat back down on the edge of the bed, drawing one knee up to his chest and wrapping his arms around it. "What if –"

He couldn't even bring himself to say the rest aloud, burying his face in his arms.

"Yura…"

He felt the mattress dip underneath him as Otabek joined him on the bed, placing a hand on his back. "What if, what?" Otabek asked in a soft voice.

Yuri shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it. Not tonight."

He knew he was going to have to face his past sometime, that he couldn't keep Otabek in the dark for much longer about his painful childhood secrets and the fears seeing his mother for the first time in years had brought to light, but for now…

Bringing his knee down, Yuri scooted further up the bed and laid back on the mattress, legs dangling off the side.

"I want to feel good, Beka," he said when Otabek twisted around to look at him, Yuri's fingers sliding across the sheets to reach for him. "Make me feel good, okay? I just want to forget for a little while. I told you why, so you'll do it, right?"

Otabek was still hesitant. Yuri could tell by the way he curled his hand into a fist, moving it just out of range of his touch, but after a long moment, he laid down on his side beside Yuri, bringing a hand to his cheek.

"We can stop this at any time, for any reason," Otabek said. "The second you start to feel uncomfortable with something, let me know. I promise I won't be mad, okay?"

Yuri inhaled a deep breath and nodded. As annoying as all his questions were, he did understand and appreciated Otabek's concern.

"Do you want to continue, Yura?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Okay." Otabek swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as his clumsy fingers finished untying Yuri's drawstring belt. "Okay."

Yuri was first to awaken the next morning. He blinked his eyes, startled when he saw Otabek's sleeping face right in front of him, only inches away. They were both laying on their sides, Otabek grasping his hand underneath the blanket. Trying his best not to disturb him from his slumber, Yuri untangled his fingers from Otabek's, then looked around his childhood bedroom as he rolled over on his back, trying to reorient himself.

Right. It was the morning after his grandfather's funeral. The morning after he and Otabek had sex for the first time.

Otabek's eyes fluttered open a few seconds later, his hand automatically searching for Yuri's. "Yura?" His voice was husky, still drowsy with sleep.

"Hey." Yuri didn't know what else to say. He had never awoken to another person naked in his bed before.

"Hey," Otabek echoed, pulling his hand from underneath the blanket to caress the side of Yuri's face. "How are you feeling?"

"Um…weird."

"A bad weird?"

"No, not bad… Just weird."

"Okay."

After five years, Yuri had gotten much better at understanding Otabek's subtle facial expressions, but the look currently on his face was unreadable, impossible for him to decypher. "I-I don't regret it," Yuri said in an attempt to reassure him. "It was, you know, nice. It's just…"

"Weird?"

"Yeah." He wished he could think of a different word, but that was the only one that came to mind.

Otabek propped himself up on his elbow. "Hey, you know this doesn't have to change anything, right? I don't expect anything more. If you want last night to be a one-time thing, it's fine."

"And if I don't?"

"You want to do it again?" Otabek asked, clearly surprised.

"I…don't know. Maybe?" He still didn't really understand the obsession some people had with sex, but he supposed it had been an okay experience once he got over the initial awkwardness of everything. Yuri wasn't necessarily against the idea of trying it again, perhaps under better circumstances next time.

"You don't need to make any decisions right this moment." Otabek sat up, the blanket falling away to reveal his nakedness, and reached for his discarded nightclothes on the floor. "Come on, I smell coffee. Mila's probably making breakfast."

Yuri's eyes widened.

Mila.

He had forgotten about Mila. Was she upset that Otabek never returned to bed last night? Did she suspect what happened? Would she und—

"Yura?" Otabek's voice broke him from his thoughts. "You coming?" he asked, tugging down his T-shirt.

"Uh, yeah."

Yuri located his pajama pants and pulled them on, then grabbed a clean shirt from his suitcase since the one he had worn last night had some dry ejaculate on it. They'd used it to clean up, afterwards. After putting on the clean one, he tossed the soiled shirt on top of the small pile of dirty clothes on his desk chair and followed Otabek out to the kitchen.

Mila was making her famous omelets for breakfast, humming an off-tune pop song to herself. Usually the smell of her omelets made his mouth water in anticipation, but Yuri's stomach lurched instead as he slumped down at the rickety old kitchen table his grandfather had refused to get rid of even when Yuri offered to buy him a new one. Otabek immediately joined her at the stove, kissing her good morning before they began talking in low, hushed voices.

Yuri frowned. Even without being able to hear most of their conversation, he knew exactly what they were discussing – what had happened between him and Otabek. If he'd had a choice in the matter, Yuri would have rather kept the events of last night private, but for their relationship to work, they had all agreed not to keep secrets.

Yuri planted his elbows on the kitchen table, the table wobbling under the weight, and sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck. He hoped Mila would be okay with what happened. It wasn't as if he and Otabek weren't allowed to sleep together. Mila had said she was fine with it if Yuri ever changed his mind and decided he wanted to have sex with Otabek, but she might have only said that assuming it would never be an issue because of his asexuality. After all, he'd been fairly sex-repulsed when they made that agreement.

Someone placed a plate in front of him, interrupting his thoughts. Yuri glanced behind him, immediately averting his eyes when he saw that it was Mila. She placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, before sitting down beside him with her own plate. Otabek joined them after pouring himself a cup of coffee, sweetening it with his customary two packets of sugar.

Yuri wasn't very hungry, but he forced himself to eat at least a little, barely tasting the food. When he finished eating what he felt was an acceptable amount, he scraped the rest in the trash and went to sit on the couch in the living room, his knees tucked up to his chest as he stared blankly up at the icon of St. Elizaveta hanging on the wall. In the distance, he heard Mila and Otabek cleaning up in the kitchen, their voices again low as they held a private conversation.

"Hey, Beka, could you make a run to the store?" Mila asked, the abrupt change in the volume of her voice startling Yuri. "I have a sudden craving for apples."

"Apples? Yeah, okay," Otabek said, heading to Grandpa's room to change out of his nightclothes. "Yura, do you want anything while I'm out?" he asked when he came back out a couple of minutes later.

Yuri shook his head.

After Otabek left, Mila joined Yuri in the living room, carrying two mugs. She set one mug down on the coffee table; the other, she offered to him, taking a seat on the couch beside him. "Here, it's Russian Caravan tea. It's all I could find."

"Yeah, it was Grandpa's favorite," Yuri said, accepting the drink and taking a small sip. He had never been particularly fond of Russian Caravan, but the smoky taste was warm and nostalgic. "Thanks."

"No problem." Mila reached for her own mug on the table, lifting it halfway to her mouth before bringing it down again. "Yura…"

"You know, you can have that if you want," Yuri said, nodding toward the icon. "It originally belonged to my grandmother – or maybe it was her mother's? I can't remember. It's pretty old, though. I think St. Elizaveta's supposed to protect pregnant mothers or something like that." He probably got that wrong, but admittedly, he had never been the most pious.

"Oh. Um, thanks, I guess." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "But, Yura –"

"I'm sorry," he blurted out before she could say anything.

Mila's eyes widened, the look on her face softening as she set her untouched drink aside and placed her hand on his raised knee."Hey, it's okay," she said. "I'm not mad. A little surprised, yeah, and some advanced notice would have been nice, but you didn't do anything wrong."

Yuri scoffed. "Ha. I bury my grandpa, the only family member who ever gave a crap about me, then a few hours later, I'm in bed with the father of your child? Sure, I'm a saint."

"Grief affects people in different ways."

"But I'm asexual. I'm not supposed to – I mean, I shouldn't –" He sighed, twirling his mug in his hands. "Maybe I really was gay all along, but in denial? Or maybe I'm demi?" He'd learned that term from Yuuri, who admitted he identified as demisexual when Yuri confided to him and Viktor about his asexuality. "I don't even know anymore."

"It's possible, but let me ask you a question. Do you still consider me bi? Even though I've been in a relationship with a man for the past four years?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, you still find girls attractive, right?"

Mila smiled. "Yes, very much so. So, what about you? Are you sexually attracted to Beka?"

Yuri took a long moment to consider the question, thinking back to the night before and what led him to decide to take that step with Otabek. "No, not really," he decided. "It's not like I thought he was hot and wanted to jump his bones. It just felt good when he touched me. And I-I wanted to feel good…"

His voice cracked.

Mila took the mug from his hands and set it on the coffee table beside hers before wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Oh, Yura, Yura… Come here."

No longer caring if he looked weak, Yuri allowed Mila to pull him closer to her, hiding his face in her shoulder. A sob shuddered through his body, breaking through the dam he had built the moment he got the call from the hospital. Mila's embrace tightened, and he felt her lips press against the top of his head, murmuring unintelligible words of comfort.

"I-I never even got the chance to show him my gold medal," Yuri cried, thinking of the promise he made on the podium in Beijing.

There hadn't been time to visit his grandfather after the Olympics, not with all the media appearances, sponsorship obligations, preparations for Worlds, and the post-season shows and tours. He'd even had to skip out on his usual birthday celebration with Grandpa, forced to attend some impersonal party one of his sponsors threw for him instead. Yuri didn't think it would matter at the time. The doctors had said Grandpa was doing better, and he had been in high spirits the last time they spoke, making plans for their annual summer trip to his friend's dacha in Sochi at the end of August. He had planned to bring his medals with him, but now…

"He sacrificed so much so I could skate. I wanted… I wanted to give it to him and thank him for everything he had done for me. And I-I wanted to tell him that I loved him." Yuri swallowed hard, bitter tears burning his eyes. "I n-never –"

"He knew," Mila said softly, rubbing circles on Yuri's back. "Your grandfather knew you loved him."

"But I never told him… I sh-should have told him…"

The tears kept flowing, soaking the fabric of Mila's nightshirt. He gulped for air in between sobs, finding it difficult to properly breathe. Never had Yuri cried so much or so hard, not even the night his mother had dropped him off at Grandpa's apartment, leaving him with only a perfunctory hug and kiss on the cheek as a goodbye.

The world ceased to exist around him. He didn't even notice when Otabek returned from the store until his strong arms wrapped around him, Mila continuing to hold him from behind.

"Beka... H-He's gone," Yuri sobbed, clutching the back of Otabek's T-shirt. "Grandpa's dead, and I'm never gonna see him again."

"I know." Otabek tightened his embrace, kissing the top of Yuri's head. "I'm so, so sorry..."

DISCLAIMER: "Yuri! On Ice" doesn't belong to me.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you want the full story behind the forgotten condoms in Yuri's junk drawer, feel free to check out the side story I wrote called "Puberty Sucks". The next chapter of this story should hopefully be posted in early June.

Feel free to follow me on Tumblr! My username is kaleidodreams.