NOTE BEFORE READING: This fic is a sequel to "It's Complicated". It would probably be helpful to be familiar with that story before reading, but I don't think it's strictly necessary. As long as you know that Yuri is asexual, Otabek and Mila are bi, and that Yuri and Otabek are queerplatonic partners while Otabek and Mila are romantic sexual partners, you're probably good to go.

Since I'm aware that that some of you readers are probably asexual yourselves and might not enjoy reading sex scenes, I do want to be upfront with the fact that there are a couple of sex scenes planned for later in the story involving Yuri and Otabek. One will be a "fade-to-black" situation; the other will be a little more explicit, but focused on foreplay and consent. Nothing will be non-consensual; that's kinda a huge part of both scenes, as Otabek is very respectful of Yuri's asexuality and boundaries. I'll warn for those scenes and summarize them in the end notes if you would rather not read them, for whatever reason. This fic will also deal with some serious topics like death and child abuse.

This first chapter involves drinking and implied off-screen drunk sex.

The Bonds We Choose

Chapter 1

Gold.

Yuri had won Olympic gold before – a team gold in Pyeongchang four years ago and another one less than a week ago – but this was the gold he had wanted more than anything. The gold that rendered all his many sacrifices over the past decade worth it. The gold that made all his childhood dreams come true.

His heart swelled with pride as the medal was slipped over his head, his hand immediately grasping it to reassure himself it was really real and not a figment of his imagination. From the moment he heard his world-record breaking free skate score and realized he was the new Olympic champion, he'd been living in a dream, but the medal was solid and heavy around his neck, undeniably the genuine article.

He glanced to his right, down at the lowest step. His partner Otabek had captured the bronze, achieving his goal of making the podium and winning the first figure skating Olympic medal for his native and beloved Kazakhstan. Sensing Yuri looking over at him, Otabek shot him a "thumbs up", which Yuri returned, his smile widening even more. Sharing the podium with Otabek made his victory even sweeter. He knew how much the bronze meant to Otabek, how hard he had worked and how many sacrifices he had made in order to make his dream come true.

The only thing that marred the experience – well, besides JJ Leroy on the other side of him, doing his stupid "JJ Style" hand signal – was the fact that his grandfather wasn't there to witness it in person. He wasn't in the best of health, and his doctors had feared traveling to Beijing would be too much for him in his condition. No doubt he was watching the medal ceremony on TV, though, waving his tiny Russian and Kazakh flags in celebration.

I'll go visit him as soon as I can, Yuri promised himself, waving to the crowd.

After the flags of Russia, Canada, and Kazakhstan had been raised and the Russian national anthem played over the speakers, Otabek and JJ joined Yuri on the middle step to pose for pictures for the press.

"This is incredible!" JJ said – or more accurately, yelled – into Yuri's ear. "Can you guys believe we're actually Olympic medalists?"

Yuri winced, rubbing at his ear. JJ was lucky he was in such a good mood at the moment, or else he would have been seriously tempted to kick his ass off the podium, international incident be damned.

"This isn't the first Olympic medal you won, you know," Yuri reminded him, referring to the silver and bronze Team Canada had won in the past two team events.

"Yeah, but this…" JJ brought the silver medal to his lips, kissing it. "This is the dream, man!"

As annoying as he sometimes found him, Yuri had to hand it to JJ – he was a good sport. Considering Yuri had also narrowly defeated him for the bronze at the 2018 Games, he expected JJ to be upset that he had beaten him once again – and this time, for the ultimate prize – but he showed no signs of bitterness, throwing an arm around Yuri's shoulder and grinning broadly as the cameras flashed.

"It really is incredible, though," Otabek said in a much quieter voice than JJ had used. He discreetly reached for Yuri's left hand, knowing that Yuri disliked public displays of affection, and squeezed his fingers through their gloves. "I'm glad I was able to experience this moment with you."

"Yeah, me, too."

After the photographers got their fill of pictures, they were finally free to leave the podium. JJ joined up with his parents and wife, Isabella, while Yuri and Otabek searched for Mila.

"Beka! Yura!"

The two of them turned in the direction of the familiar voice, Mila pushing her way through the crowd and running straight into Otabek's arms. With no effort at all, he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his hips as they locked lips in a passionate display that caught the attention of passers-by, several who took out their phones in order to capture the moment. Yuri gave it ten minutes before the kiss pics were trending worldwide on Twitter.

He rolled his eyes, but for once he didn't mind, looking on with an affectionate smile instead of his usual gagging.

At least for the first minute.

"Okay, okay, come up for air every once in a while. Geez!"

When they finally broke apart, Mila giggled. "Oops, sorry," she said, Otabek gently setting her feet back on the ground so that she could hug Yuri. "I'm just so, so proud of both of you. Congratulations on your gold, Yura. You were amazing tonight."

"Thanks." He hugged her back, kissing the top of her red hair. Mila had always been like a big sister to him, and if he couldn't have his grandpa there, she was the next best thing.

"And you…" She broke away from Yuri and stretched her hand out to Otabek, pulling him closer and wrapping her arm around his waist. "You made history," she said, pecking Otabek on the cheek. "How does it feel, Hero of Kazakhstan?"

Reaching for the bronze medal hanging from his neck, Otabek shook his head. "Indescribable."

"See, I told you moving to St. Petersburg and training with Yakov would pay off," Yuri said, feeling he had earned the right to be a little smug.

Otabek smiled, pulling Yuri to his free side. "Best decision I ever made," he agreed, pressing his lips against Yuri's temple before doing the same to Mila. "For many reasons."

"Yurio!" two voices called out, interrupting the moment.

Yuri again rolled his eyes, knowing exactly who it was without turning around. Five years had passed, and he still hadn't been able to shake that stupid nickname Mari Katsuki had given him, Viktor and Yuuri continuing to call him that against his repeated pleas for them to stop.

At the same time, another voice called out for Otabek, Yuri recognizing it as belonging to his younger sister, Inzhu, who was waving her arm high above her head to get his attention amongst the crowd. His entire family had made the trek from Almaty to Beijing to cheer Otabek on. "We should go talk to them," Otabek said, releasing his hold on Yuri's waist. "Come find us when you're finished."

He nodded and turned around to greet Viktor and Yuuri, who had caught up to him. Viktor was carrying their sleeping two-year old son, Nikita, in his left arm, the toddler bundled up in a purple snowsuit and noise-cancelling headphones.

"Congratulations, Yurio!" Viktor said, hugging a squirming Yuri with his free arm. "Welcome to the Gold Medal Club! You were amazing – almost as incredible as my Yuuri when he won his gold in Pyeongchang."

"You do realize I broke Katsudon's free skate record, right?" Yuri couldn't resist pointing out after breaking out of Viktor's hold. "That means I was better."

Viktor waved his hand dismissively. "Bah, Yuuri set his record when the max was only plus-three GOE, and it still took four years for somebody to break it. You can't compare scores like that, right, Yuuri?"

"You skated wonderfully," Yuuri said with a warm smile, ignoring his husband's bait as he stepped forward and gave Yuri a hug as well. "Congratulations on the gold and breaking my record. You deserve it."

"Oh, um, t-thanks." Unexpectedly, Yuri's cheeks warmed. Viktor may have been his initial inspiration to start figure skating, but it was Yuuri's skating that he came to idolize. Despite what he said, Yuri actually agreed with Viktor that Yuuri's gold medal winning free skate in 2018 was the best Olympic performance of all time – although his was a close second. "Isn't it a little late for the kiddo to be out?" he asked after pulling away. "It's probably way past his bedtime."

"It is, but Niki-chan insisted on watching Uncle Yurio get his gold medal," Yuuri said, pulling the fur-lined hood of the snowsuit over Nikita's head. "We should probably head back to the hotel soon, though. It's getting colder. I don't want him getting sick."

"We should also check in with Kenjirou, make sure he's doing okay," Viktor added, referring to Kenjirou Minami, the current Japanese national champion. He had made big strides in his skating since moving to train under Viktor and Yuuri a couple of seasons ago, but a disastrous free skate had left him in twelfth place after achieving a new personal best score in the short and even making the prestigious final warm-up group for the free. "It was a disappointing day, but he can still redeem himself at Worlds." He glanced over at Yuri. "Speaking of which, are you and Otabek still planning to go?"

Yuri shrugged. "That's the current plan." To be honest, he wasn't looking forward to it, exhausted by even the thought of trying to peak at another event so soon after achieving his life-long dream, but the federation was bound to pressure him to go anyway in order to help keep Russia's three spots for next year's Worlds. "Guess I'll see you then, huh?" Since Kenjirou was the only Olympian they coached, there was no reason for them to stay for the rest of the Games. It made more sense to get back to the rest of their students in Hasetsu and prepare Kenjirou for Worlds.

"Well, tell Nikusha I appreciate him cheering for me," Yuri said, affectionately rubbing the top of the toddler's head as Viktor and Yuuri exchanged smiles. "What?"

"It's nothing," Viktor said, tilting his head to the side. "It's just that you've really grown up from your days as the Russian Punk."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "I'm gonna be twenty-one next month. Of course I freakin' grew up. And I'm still the Russian Punk." He unzipped his Team Russian jacket halfway, revealing the awesome cheetah print sweatshirt he wore underneath. "See?"

"Yes, yes, totally badass…"

Yuri flipped Viktor off just as his ringtone started playing. He pulled his cell out of his pocket, grinning when he saw the name on the display.

"Your grandfather?" Yuuri guessed correctly. "Then we'll get going. Come on, Vitya," he said, taking Viktor's free hand. "We'll see you at Worlds, Yurio. Bye!"

He gave them a dismissive wave good-bye, tapping the screen to accept the call and bringing the phone to his ear as he moved to a quieter spot. "Grandpa?"

"Yurochka, is this a good time?" his grandfather asked. He'd tried calling earlier, shortly after the free skate, but unbeknownst to Yuri, Yakov had turned off his cell so that he would actually focus on his post-skate interviews – a fact that had infuriated Yuri when he finally noticed and saw the missed call.

"Yeah, perfect timing," Yuri said. "Sorry, I meant to call you back, but it's been kind of crazy here with all the interviews and press conferences…"

"I imagine. I won't keep you long. I'm sure you probably want to celebrate with Beka and Mila. I just want to let you know –" Grandpa's voice cracked. "I've never been more proud of you, my Yurochka," he said after a brief pause to compose himself. "Congratulations on making your dream come true. I always knew you could do it."

"Thank you, Grandpa." Yuri swiped a hand over his cheek, wiping away a tear that had somehow managed to escape. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Oh, I'm sure you would have found a way somehow... Anyway, tell Beka I said congratulations on his bronze and let Mila know I'll be cheering her on in the ladies' event."

"I will," he promised. "See you soon. Bye."


The afterparty was rocking when Yuri arrived at Russia House after going back to his and Mila's room to change out of his official Team Russia gear into something more appropriate once the Closing Ceremony had concluded. The rest of the Games had passed by in a blur. With all the events over, everyone was letting loose, the medalists celebrating their wins and the losers drowning their sorrows in massive amounts of alcohol. Yuri grabbed himself a mug of beer at the bar, then pushed through the crowd, searching for Mila and Otabek.

It took him a while to locate them. He kept getting stopped by his fellow Olympians, either wanting an autograph or to take a selfie with him. Normally, such behavior bugged the crap out of him, but Yuri was still riding the high of winning his Olympic gold, so he didn't mind...much. At least they weren't as annoying as his Yuri's Angels could be.

He finally found the new ladies' figure skating bronze medalist arm-wrestling on the other side of the room, surrounded by several hulking members of the silver-medal-winning Russian men's hockey team. Her current opponent was the goalie, a brawny fellow with a nose that looked like it had been broken several times. At the moment, he appeared to be winning, his teammates chanting his name, but Mila wasn't giving up, biting down on her bottom lip as her arm strained to push his back. As Yuri approached, she found an extra burst of strength, slamming the goalie's hand against the table.

"Woohoo!" She sat back in her chair and threw her fists in the air in victory. "In your face, Petrov!" she said, taking a swig of beer before putting her elbow back on the table. "Okay, who's my next victim? Come on, guys, don't be shy… I'm just a pretty little figure skater, after all, right?"

The hockey players exchanged looks with each other before backing away from the table. "Okay, you've made your point," one of them said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "We give. We're sorry. See ya around."

"Wusses," Mila muttered as the group dispersed, Yuri taking the seat vacated by Petrov. She cocked an eyebrow. "You wanna give it a try?"

Yuri knew better by now than to take her up on the challenge. "No point. You already know you'll kick my ass."

"Damn right I would."

"So, what was the final tally?"

"Five wins, one lost." She sighed, taking another sip of her beer. "Kulik was too strong for me."

"Still, five out of six isn't bad," Yuri said. He sat back in his chair, taking everything in. "Wow, this party is wild!"

Mila grinned. "I know. Isn't it great?"

"Where's Beka?" Never much of a social butterfly, it wasn't like Otabek to go off on his own during a party. "Bathroom?"

"DJ booth." She nodded toward the dance floor. "The DJ's running late, so someone asked him to fill in and play a set." After knocking back the rest of her drink, she slammed her empty mug on the table and stood up. "Come on, let's dance."

"I'm game."

Yuri took a couple of large gulps of his beer and set it down, following Mila out onto the crowded dance floor. A pulsating song Yuri recognized as one of Otabek's latest remixes was playing, the beat pounding in his ears, and neon lights were streaming over the reveling dancers. They made certain to pick a spot in view of the DJ booth, Otabek nodding in acknowledgement and giving them one of his rare smiles when he saw them.

Mila blew him a kiss. "God, he is so freakin' hot."

Yuri rolled his eyes, but he had to admit Otabek looked really cool when he was deejaying. It reminded him of a certain night five years ago in Barcelona.

It must have brought up similar memories for Otabek, because as the music transitioned into the next song, Yuri recognized it as Welcome to the Madness.

Even though he hadn't performed his "Madness" exhibition since the previous Olympic gala four years ago, people still remembered the viral sensation. Around them, people started chanting "Yura! Yura!", clapping and forming a circle around Yuri and Mila.

"I think they want you to dance!" Mila shouted.

Yuri grinned, taking a pair of sunglasses a nearby woman offered him and slipping them on. "Then I better give them what they want."

He moved to the center of the circle and began performing a modified version of his exhibition program. Even after so many years, he still remembered most of the choreography, and whatever parts he forgot or wouldn't work on the floor, he made up on the fly. Since Otabek was in the booth and Yuri wasn't wearing gloves, they couldn't do their iconic move, but he improvised with Mila, miming it instead to hoots and hollers from the audience.

A part of him was embarrassed. At the time, as an inexperienced fifteen year old, he hadn't realized how suggestive sticking his finger in Otabek's mouth was, only thinking it was cool and shocking, suiting the vibe of the program. As somone who now identified as asexual, it kind of annoyed him that that became the most talked about part of the program, but, oh, well. He didn't mind acting sexy as long as people understood it was just a performance, a role he played for fun, not seduction.

The crowd broke into loud applause when the song ended, Otabek giving them a shout-out from the booth as Yuri and Mila took their bows.

Yuri danced with Mila for the next couple of songs, then they headed to the bar for another round of drinks. It wasn't much longer before Otabek joined them, taking a seat on the empty stool on the other side of Mila. "I'll have what they're having," he told the bartender, indicating their half-drunken glasses of beer.

"Hey, great set, babe," Mila said, leaning over to kiss Otabek on the cheek. "The crowd really seemed to enjoy it."

He shrugged. "Thanks. I wish I had been able to prepare more. Deejaying was the last thing I expected to do tonight." The bartender set the glass down in front of him, Otabek taking a large gulp. "Speaking of which, you two caused quite the scene out there."

"As if you didn't know what would happen when you started playing that song," Yuri said.

The barest hint of a smirk crossed Otabek's lips, mostly hidden behind his glass. "I might have had some idea."

Yuri laughed. Otabek didn't show his mischievous side that often, but he always loved it when he did. "Hey, can we get another round over here?" he called out to the bartender, holding up three fingers.

"How much have you two drank so far?"

"Not enough." Tonight was the last night he'd be able to cut loose and party before it was time to seriously start preparing for Worlds in a few weeks, and Yuri intended to take full advantage of it. If he wasn't falling-down, shit-faced drunk by the end of the night, he would consider the evening a complete failure. "Here, have another," he said, sliding one of the mugs the bartender set down in front of him over to Otabek, some of the beer sloshing over the side and spilling onto the counter.

Otabek pushed it back. "I haven't even finished this one yet. Anyway, I've already had two glasses. That's my limit."

Yuri rolled his eyes. In all the years he'd known Otabek, he had yet to see him truly drunk. Buzzed, yes, and occasionally tipsy, but never to the point where he lost control of himself. "Beka, you don't always have to be so…responsible." He said it like a dirty word. "It's a party – loosen up! It's not like we have training tomorrow."

"Yeah," Mila said, adding to the encouragement. "You deserve to have some fun!"

"I am having fun," Otabek insisted. "You don't need to drink yourself silly to have a good time."

"But it definitely helps. Just one more won't hurt." Yuri once again pushed the fresh glass in Otabek's direction.

Otabek contemplated the glass for a few seconds before finally reaching for the handle. "You know, you're right. What the hell...why not?" He took took a couple of large gulps, swiping the arm of his sweater over his mouth. "I'm an Olympic bronze medalist. It's time to celebrate!"

"That's the spirit." Yuri held up his glass for a toast. "To the Olympics!"

"The Olympics!" Otabek and Mila chorused, the three of them clinking their glasses together.


As the night wore on, Yuri somehow found himself hanging out with a group of Russian snowboarders. One of them had approached him for an autograph, mentioning that he, too, was a cat lover – the cat ears his Angels wore were trending on Twitter after Yuri had taken a picture with a group of them at the Closing Ceremony – and the next thing he knew, Yuri had become a part of their group, exchanging funny cat videos on YouTube while knocking back glasses of whatever alcoholic drink was put in front of him.

After a while, though, he started to wonder where Otabek and Mila had gone. The last he saw them, they had been heading out on the dance floor, but there was no sign of Mila's distinctive red hair amongst the dancers.

"Hey, taking a bathroom break," Yuri said to the snowboarder sitting nearest to him – he thought his name was Gleb – finishing off his vodka tonic and standing woozily to his feet. Gleb gave him a thumbs up, probably not even hearing him over the laughter of the other guys as they watched another video.

He really did need to take a piss, so Yuri headed toward the men's room, keeping an eye out for Mila or Otabek along the way. He found them in a darkened corner, making out against the wall.

Of course, he thought. Mila had a tendency to become rather...amorous whenever she was drunk.

Not wanting to interrupt, Yuri continued to the restroom and took care of business. On his way back, however, he noticed their make-out session had progressed beyond simple groping and kissing, Mila having fallen on her knees in front of Otabek.

"What the –"

Yuri staggered over to them, grabbing Mila by the arm. "Okay, upsy-daisy!" he said as he yanked her back to her feet.

Mila laughed, throwing her arms around Yuri's neck as she stumbled forward, trying to find her balance in her stiletto boots. "'Upsy-daisy'? What am I, a two-year-old?"

Catching a whiff of her breath, Yuri wrinkled his nose. "Wow, you're drunk."

"So are you," she giggled.

Yeah, but not as much as she was.

Otabek wasn't in much better condition. He was still leaning against the wall, his eyes half-closed, and it looked like he was barely managing to stand. "Milasha…" he moaned. "Want you to blow me so bad…"

"Coming, babe."

"No, you're not." Yuri held her back, placing himself in between the two of them as a barrier. "Mila, stop. You can't do that here."

Her lips curled into a pout as she rested her chin on his shoulder. "Oh, don't be such a party pooper, Yura. I'll give you one, too, if you want."

"Yeah, no, thanks." Even if he wasn't asexual, he wouldn't take her up on the offer.

"Come on, somebody suck me off already… Please… Don't care who…" Otabek whined, starting to unzip the fly of his jeans.

Yuri slapped his hand away. He was beginning to understand why Otabek usually kept his drinking in check. If he'd known that alcohol would lower his inhibitions to such a ridiculous degree, Yuri never would have encouraged him to drink so much in the first place.

"Seriously, you can't do that here!"

Grabbing Otabek and Mila by the wrists, Yuri began dragging them toward the front entrance. They needed to get out of there before they completely embarrassed themselves. Fortunately, everyone else was about as smashed as they were, so they didn't draw much notice as they weaved through the crowd.

"Where are you taking us, Yura?" Mila asked. "Oh, do you wanna have a threesome? Beka's always wanted to have a threesome with us. It's his fantasy." She said the last part in a stage whisper.

"Mila, that was supposed to be a secret!" Otabek said in an equally loud whisper, bringing a finger to his lips. "Shh!"

She slapped a hand over her mouth. "Oops, sorry!"

"Will you two shut the hell up?" Yuri sighed as they finally reached the entrance. "We're not having a threesome – not now, not ever. Both of you are going back to Beka's room."

"Aw, but the party's not over yet!"

"It is for you. You've partied enough." He turned to Otabek, releasing his grip on their wrists. "Do you think you can make it back to your room on your own?"

"Yeah, sure." Otabek threw his arm around Mila's shoulders, the two of them swaying. "Not like we're driving," he slurred.

Their behavior wasn't inspiring much confidence in them walking a straight line, much less managing to make the trek to the building where the Kazakh athletes were being housed, but at that moment, one of the snowboarders Yuri had been partying with earlier caught up with them, bursting through the front doors.

"Dude, Yura, they brought out the jello shots! You gotta get back in here," the snowboarder said. "We're gonna see who can drink the most before they puke!"

"Oh, my god, I looooove jello shots!" Mila squealed, pulling away from Otabek, who almost stumbled into the wall upon losing his crutch. "We gotta go back."

"Beka, do something," Yuri begged, once again holding Mila back. He was so not cut out for being the responsible one in the group.

"Come on, Milasha," Otabek said, pulling her back toward him and kissing her neck. "Wanna get you naked…"

That did the trick. "Oh, okay!" she said, the jello shots forgotten, much to Yuri's relief. "Let's go!"

"Try to keep your clothes on until after you get back to the room," Yuri called after them as they staggered down the sidewalk, "okay?"

Mila waved back at him. "Not making any promises!"

Yuri rolled his eyes. Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to let them go off on their own. The least he could do was follow them and make sure they got there safely without violating any public indecency laws, but the snowboarder grabbed him by the elbow, pulling him back inside the building.

"Come on, Yura. It's about to begin!"

Ah, well. They were adults. They could handle themselves. Probably.

"You're on!"

That had been the most epic party ever in the history of parties.

Yuri could barely feel any of his limbs, laughing at nothing in particular as he exited the elevator filled with still-partying snowboarders and staggered down the quiet hallway in search of the suite he was sharing with Mila. He was going to feel like shit when he woke up tomorrow morning, but totally worth it.

That is, if he could remember his room number and actually get some sleep. Was it 316 or 319? Hell, he wasn't entirely certain it was on the third floor.

It should be printed on the key card, Yuri thought, leaning back against the wall next to Room 316 and rummaging through the pockets of his leopard-print jacket. A momentary feeling of panic arose in him when he discovered the pockets empty except for a couple of ketchup packets, of all things, but then he remembered that he had put the key card in the back pocket of his jeans.

"Found it!" he shouted in victory to the empty hall.

Squinting, Yuri held the card up and attempted to make out the number printed on it. "306? Where the hell did that zero come from?"

Well, who was he to argue with the key? Yuri doubled back the way he came until he found Room 306 and attempted several times to slide the card into the lock, muttering profanities under his breath with every miss. Eventually he gave up and began banging on the door instead.

"Mila, open up! It's me – Yuri Nikolayevich Plisetsky, three-time Olympic gold medalist and winner of the Russia House Jello Shot Showdown!" he yelled, waiting a few moments before starting again. "Are you in there, or are you still in Beka's room? If you don't open up soon, I'm gonna tell everybody that you used to – Oh, geez! Put those things away!"

The door cracked open, revealing a messy-haired Mila, naked except for a tiny pair of striped briefs. She groaned, rubbing at her temple. "Oh, grow up, Yura. They're just boobs. You're lucky I put on panties," she said with a roll of her eyes, opening the door wider. "And get in here already. You're going to wake up the entire floor."

"Sorry." He lowered his voice to a loud stage whisper, entering the suite before Mila closed the door behind him and following her to their shared bedroom. "The damn key wouldn't...work…"

Yuri's voice trailed off. In the dim light of the lamp next to Mila's bed, he saw various articles of clothing haphazardly strewn about the room. A human-shaped lump hid underneath her blanket, lightly snoring. "Is that Beka? I thought I told you two to stay in his room if you were going to, you know…do stuff."

"Too far, too drunk," she mumbled, crawling back in bed with Otabek and pulling the blanket over herself. "Don't worry. We're finished. We won't do anything else."

"Better not."

After slipping off his boots and tossing them on the floor, Yuri stumbled over to his own bed. Another round of profanities escaped from his mouth when he stubbed his big toe against the footboard.

"Yura, we're trying to sleep," Mila whined, although Otabek had yet to move a muscle since Yuri arrived, seemingly dead to the world. Either he was the type who could sleep through anything or he had drunk even more than Yuri thought and passed out.

"Sorry, sorry."

Yuri shrugged out of his jacket and took off his jeans before crashing face-first into the mattress, passing out himself within minutes.

The next morning, someone shook Yuri by the shoulder.

"Yura, time to get up," a voice that sounded like Otabek's said.

Groaning, Yuri slowly cracked open one eyelid. The blurry human shape in front of him also resembled Otabek. "Five more minutes," he mumbled, yanking his blanket over his head.

"You've been saying that for the past twenty," Otabek said. "Come on, wake up. You still need to finish packing."

Oh, right. The Olympics were over and they were flying back to St. Petersburg that afternoon.

His entire body protesting, Yuri pushed the blanket aside and moved to a sitting position on the bed. He grimaced, rubbing at this throbbing forehead. It felt like his entire brain was being pricked by a thousand sharp needles.

"Here." Otabek, dressed only in his jeans, handed him a couple of tablets and a half-drunk bottle of water. "I thought you might need these."

"Thanks." Yuri popped the pills in his mouth and took a swig from the bottle, washing them down. "Mila taking a shower?" he asked, hearing a faint spray of water coming from the bathroom.

"Yeah."

Yuri shuffled over to the bathroom door and knocked. "Hey, don't take too long in there, hag," he called out, the volume of his own voice causing him to wince. "I still need to take a shower, too."

Mila shouted something back, but he couldn't really make it out. Probably some threat of revenge for calling her a "hag". Turning back around, Yuri smirked at the sight of Otabek sitting on the edge of Yuri's bed, massaging his temples.

"Hungover?"

Otabek nodded, letting out a soft groan. "I don't think I ever drank so much in my entire life…"

"Yeah, you were really knocking them back," Yuri said. "I never saw you cut loose like that before."

"I didn't do anything too embarrassing, did I?"

"Besides stripping down to your underwear and singing the Kazakh national anthem at the top of your lungs?"

Otabek's head shot up, his eyes widening in horror. "I didn't, did I?"

As fun as it was to tease him, Yuri decided to put him out of his misery. "Don't worry. The pride of your country is still intact. Other than a sloppy make-out session, you didn't do anything too scandalous."

"Make-out session? With you?"

"You wish." With a roll of his eyes, Yuri started going around the room, gathering his dirty clothes. "With Mila, obviously. You're lucky I caught you two when I did, though. You two were ready to tear each other's clothes off right in front of everybody"

"Oh…sorry. And thanks."

He shrugged, dumping the dirty clothes on Mila's bed. When he was younger, the sight of Mila and Otabek devouring each other's mouths like that would have grossed him out, but he didn't mind it so much anymore. "It's fine," he said, deciding not to even mention the threesome thing. He'd rather forget that altogether.

Yuri grabbed one of his suitcases from the closet, deciding that while he waited for Mila to finish her shower, he might as well do some packing.

"Hey, can I borrow one of your sweaters?" Otabek asked.

"What happened to the one you wore last night?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I…uh…I spilled something on it, I think. There's a big stain."

Huh, that was strange. Yuri didn't remember Otabek spilling a drink on himself at the party, although his memories were admittedly a little hazy. It wasn't outside of the realm of possibility.

"Well, I don't know if I have one that will fit you…" Otabek was more muscular than he was, but Yuri searched through his dresser, finding a white cable-knit sweater that looked like it would be big enough for his frame. "Here," he said, tossing it to Otabek. "Try this."

Otabek held it up, inspecting it. "Hey, isn't this mine, the one Inzhu sent me for my birthday? I've been looking for it for weeks."

"Uh, maybe?" He had a vague memory of stealing one of Otabek's sweaters to wear to a holiday party, needing something oversized to wear with his outfit. "Consider it returned."

"Better late than never, I guess." Sighing, Otabek pulled the sweater over his head and yanked it down. It was a perfect fit. "Honestly, you and Mila… I wouldn't mind you two borrowing my clothes so much if you would at least have the courtesy to ask beforehand."

"Oh, Beka, when are you finally going to realize that your clothes are our clothes?" Mila asked, coming out of the bathroom dressed only in a towel, her hair still wet and slicked back. She kissed him on the cheek.

"And when are you going to learn not to walk around naked all the time?" Yuri said. Seriously, he was never going to room with her again.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm wearing a towel. It's not like you can see anything."

"Whatever. I'm going to go take my shower. Don't do anything gross."

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

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I hope you enjoyed! My current plan is to update this fic bimonthly, so Chapter 2 should be up some time in August.

If you're wondering about about Nikita's name being so similar to Nikiforov, Viktor and Yuuri decided to give him Yuuri's family name since they used Viktor's name for the patronymic. (Viktor and Yuuri kept their own names when they got married.) His full name is Nikita Viktorovich Katsuki. Nikita is a nod to Viktor's surname, as well as one of the few Russian boys' names that also worked well in Japanese.

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