In my memory I will always see
The town that I have loved so well
Where our school played ball by the gas yard wall
And we laughed through the smoke and the smell
There's a place deep in the countryside that has Otabek's heart, and indeed, his very first memory. A place that takes nearly three days to reach; between a rickety train and a car ride on perilous unpaved roads, the world transforms from the modern day to a small secluded village from a bygone era. It felt like another universe, one where fairies and myths walk amongst us. Otabek had believed his mother's jests about falling into a folktale by mistake for an embarrassing number of years.
When he thinks back as far as his mind can reach, he remembers the smell first; Wet earth, nicotine, and crisp clean air. The rising sun still an hour or so away from making her appearance over the looming mountains to kiss the valley beneath. And he remembers his grandmother, her dry cracked hands holding his, her crinkled skin and bright smile lit something like a fire in him.
"You're so cold, my little prince." She had chuckled, "We can't have that."
She wrapped him up in a jacket far too big for him and lifted him onto her bicycle. Otabek felt particularly special to be riding with his grandmother, not only because he craved her attention but because his father hated when she would ride it without telling anyone. That decrepit old thing rode like it'd been on its last leg for a decade and made some truly horrific sounds, but that bike was her little piece of freedom.
The village was spread so thin that it's hard to see one's neighbors from the front porch. Having a bike meant having the world to his grandmother and she relished in that little joy. For her to share it with him gave him such a deep sense of pride he smiled the whole way.
It is this place, he had decided long ago, that made him fall in love with Kazakhstan. From the air to the earth beneath his feet, he loved every inch of that little village. The colors of the sky were unmatched, everything tasted better under that sky. When he imagines something pure, that's the world he sees.
A quiet, irreverent village that one might say is indicative of the preserving nature of tradition. His grandmother's neighbors had been something of a second family to him. Everyone knows everyone, they were all raised in the same schoolhouse and played in the fields that Otabek so fondly remembers.
Almaty might be home, but that village made a patriot of him. Between the haphazard, poorly maintained playground and the schoolhouse that tripled its uses (community center, storm shelter, and marketplace), there was something distinctly familiar about it. Something that stuck to his bones like a transcending memory. One that everyone shared and revered in equal measure.
He remembers the village center and the particular way the sunlight filled the valley as it crested the mountains. It was hardly a center at all, and pitiful in comparison to Almaty, the small collection of government buildings that were on the verge of crumbling. But the park was ever alive with children like him; whose parents returned from their city dwellings to help with the planting and harvesting of the field. Some of the children were locals and Otabek had halfway convinced himself they were something like fae creatures.
He loved them, the children who were intrinsically bound to him through a shared history. He remembers playing and eating fresh fruits with friends he'd never see again. There's love there, though he doesn't realize until the years have passed him by.
All of this to say, that Otabek Altin is grateful for a home like this. A peaceful place that is warm and full of ties that bind. With good earth stuck beneath his nails and a pride in his heart for all this place has given him.
They call him a hero and he is honored to hold such a title. He wants to do right by them, to represent all they mean to him, and more than anything, he wants to show the world his love. Many skaters do the same, skating out their love on the ice, but no one skates for their nation like Otabek does.
He still thinks fondly of that little village, no matter how far away it feels.
Going home in the rain, running up the dark lane
Past the jail and down behind the fountain
Those were happy days in so many, many ways
In the town I loved so well.
Sometimes, he catches himself falling into a memory without realizing it. The rain always brings him back to seven years old and racing home with his older sister. The pair of them bumping into one another until they reach the apartment. They were greeted by their housekeeper, who attempted to give them a stern scolding (both for racing and walking home when they had been expressly told to wait at school for the driver).
The pair of them promptly ignored their housekeeper's discipline while teasing and tugging at each other. Otabek made a beeline to the television while Nali ran to the nursery to grab their younger two siblings. Every Tuesday they watched cartoons together, it was rare that the four of them were in the same place at the same time. They may have been young but their parents' high expectations waited for no one.
When Otabek was not at English lessons or skating practice, Nali was knee deep in tech club or football practice. Mais ran straight into Otabek's arms the little three-year-old girl practically worshiped the ground her brother walked on and she, more than anyone, cherished their time together.
Nali kept their baby brother on her lap as they settled in for their show. The rain grew louder than before, Otabek still remembers the way his skin prickled at the idea of being caught out in that torrential downpour. Something about the tackiness of his skin and the glimmering rain-soaked city sticks out in his mind.
The buzz of a television, the pattering of rain, the theme song to that odd little show; all of it takes him someplace older, as if for that moment he is displaced in time. Most people look for a way out of the world, they search for media to disappear into. Otabek is not one of them, he far and away prefers to find himself in times long gone.
He would rather fill up the sadness inside of him with memories and familiarity than fiction. It's something like a gift, he thinks, to love a place and a thing so deeply that he always wants to be there. It warms and fills him up like nothing else can.
He names that feeling love and god does he hold onto it, tightly, fervently, with every fiber of his being.
He had a happy childhood, he's lucky in that and he knows it.
He loved his school (and yes, he knows how fortunate and how rare an experience this was) though he had few friends outside of his family. He has somewhere in the range of fifty cousins, so it isn't as if he's spoiling for friends. In fact, he has more often found himself the observer, quiet and decidedly unperturbed by being forgotten in a crowd.
The only time he can remember craving friendship is when he first saw Yuri Plisetsky dance. He was entranced by the boy's beauty, how effortless and graceful he was. He was envious and captivated like he'd never been before; and he couldn't gather his courage enough to approach him.
For years the only thing he could imagine was finding himself in a position where they could talk. Where they might be equals, where he might find his courage and his voice.
In the meantime, he hones his craft, he builds up muscle and his confidence with each passing day. His body becomes a tool as much as anything else. He feels strong and powerful as the years go by, even if things change from those simple days in Almaty.
And when times got tough, there was just about enough
But they saw it through without complaining
For deep inside was a burning pride
In the town I loved so well
He is thirteen when his grandfather dies, he is thirteen when he sees that town for the last time. Perhaps it doesn't have to be, but it all felt very final. A good send off for a place that holds so many memories for him.
Over the years the paint on every building faded, the ground seemed to compact more beneath his feet, and overall, he began to dread the long trips to get there.
His dad decided to move grandma in with them for her final years. She wasn't exactly thrilled by that idea, she felt she had a right to die where she wanted to. Otabek was glad to take her away from that sad little place, even if she would eventually be buried there.
On the day of grandpa's funeral the sun was in just the right place amongst the clouds that it shone down on the best parts of town. The dewy grass practically shimmered and the smokey sky was broken apart by sunshine; it all felt like a tribute to him. Like the world needed to say goodbye to a good man.
Otabek remembers sitting with his grandmother as her neighbors came by to give their condolences. They were all so kind and each of them brought offerings in some form; most of them brought food, others carried happy memories.
The image of that little house disappearing behind them still sticks vividly in his mind's eye. He wonders now if the rest of that village has emptied out; if that house is still a husk of memories or if a new family has found a home there.
Grandma took up his place in their home because soon after that Otabek left for America. He took no joy in it, he wanted nothing more than to be with his family as they mourned for his grandfather. His parents wouldn't hear of that though, not when he already had everything squared away for his schooling and sport for the coming academic year.
That last night in Almaty he remembers seeing his grandmother awake, sitting on their balcony looking at the lights of the city. He took one step outside and she chastised him:
"You need your sleep, Beka." She muttered affectionately.
"Maybe I sleep in… maybe I miss my flight." He suggested, looking bashfully down at his feet as he spoke.
She held out her arms to him and he curled up beside her. "There are other flights, you'll leave here eventually."
"I-… I don't want to go."
"Yes, you do. Young people always want to go." She chuckled.
"Not me." Otabek clutched her shirt, "I don't want to leave now. I want to stay with you and mom and dad and-"
"Your dreams mean you have to leave." She told him sweetly but firmly. "You have big dreams my precious boy, you want to change the world. To do that, you have to see it."
"I don't want to change the world." Otabek pouted, he didn't feel powerful enough for that.
"Fine, you don't want to change the world, but you do want to change yours. You want to be the best figure skater Kazakhstan has ever produced and then you want to help others do the same. Those are big dreams, world changing dreams, and you will achieve them. Once you get out into the world and find your place in it, you will change this world in incredible ways."
Otabek blushed at the compliments she lavished him in. "I wish I didn't have to go to do it, though."
"I know… and one day… you will make a world where no one else has to do so. At least, no other little Kazakh girls and boys will have to go away to do incredible things in your sport." She kissed his cheeks. "You will make so many memories and friends. You'll see. You will love the new life you build."
And she had been right, grandmothers have some secret infinite wisdom that bends the world to their will. He does fall in love with America, he makes friends that he cares deeply for and his skills improve dramatically.
That doesn't make the ache in his chest go away. He still longs for the Almaty, for home and for the family he left there. He misses the little things more than he misses the big things.
Sure, having to speak English day in and day out exhausts him and the loneliness of his dorm is stifling. What he misses more is the way that Almaty looks at night, or after it rains. He misses the radio station that played the same six songs and the cafés that served thick rich coffee instead of whatever Americans have decided passes for coffee.
He misses the stray cat that would rub his ankles in the morning while he waited for the bus and the death-defying motorbike riders he was infinitely jealous of. He longs for summer more than he ever has, it's the only time he goes home, after all, and Almaty is at its heights then.
As his success became more and more evident, the more he longed to be home and to stay there. His bronze medal at Worlds finally grants him that opportunity and he is so grateful. He has a coach willing to follow him back home and he gets to spend his eighteenth birthday surrounded by his family.
Grandma holds his cheeks and smiles at him like he is something of a god.
"Our hero." She chuckles, "Our Beka, the hero of Kazakhstan… would you look at that? What did I tell you?"
He smiles and hugs her, he's never been more grateful to be home. He's never been so grateful to be thought of as a hero, regardless of his feelings on the matter.
He's home, there's nothing in the world better than that.
There was music there in the air
Like a language that we all could understand
There I spent my youth and to tell you the truth
I was sad to leave it all behind me
In the town I loved so well
Otabek has an incredible year, qualifying for the Grand Prix Final, gold at the Four Continents, and officially becoming friends with one Yuri Plisetsky. He's truly living the life he has always imagined for himself. He's home, he has friends, he's skating at a high caliber, and everything feels right in the world.
Yuri is a bundle of unexpected secrets; between his love of small creatures and his quiet care for his friends it's almost possible to forget he screams his way through practice. He is loud and full of fire, his bright eyes and impossible grace endear Otabek further to him.
He's pretty sure he's falling in love with the Russian fairy; although, Yuri is adamant that nickname is stupid. Otabek doesn't realize how right he is until two years into their friendship, when Yuri invites him to meet his family.
Otabek is halfway through purchasing a plane ticket to Moscow when Yuri laughs and tells him that he doesn't live in Moscow. His family lives in Mariupol and he's practically bursting at the seams with excitement to show him around.
When Yuri had come to Kazakhstan Otabek thought he had been something of an exuberant tour guide, but watching Yuri's eyes light up at the very mention of his home is enough to make Otabek's heart skip a few beats.
He is taken aback by the coastal city when he arrives. Yuri brings him to monuments and his favorite park on that first day. He buys Otabek street food and tells him stories of running through the playground as a little boy. Yuri brings Otabek to a house on the outskirts of the city, it's cramped and filled to the brim with children that call for Uncle Yuri.
Otabek's sore heart just about bursts at the sight of Yuri throwing toddlers over his shoulders with ease.
The next day they go to the beach, a few of those children (not actually his nieces and nephews according to Yuri) come with them. They fly a kite, they search for pretty rocks, and Otabek falls irreversibly in love with him.
They go to shops where Yuri calls the owners by name and an amusement park that Yuri says is where he lost his virginity. Otabek isn't sure how true that is, but he does get to see the child Yuri desperately pretends not to be. It's such a gift to see that Otabek won't break the illusion.
He manages to work up the courage on his last night there to kiss Yuri. It's quick and fumbling because Yuri just looked so happy. The pair of them sitting on the pier watching the sunset sharing a sundae. He was talking about his dreams and how he couldn't wait to skate for Ukraine in the Olympics.
It made Otabek's heart hurt because for the first time he really felt seen.
"I just want… I want everyone to love this place as much as I do. I want them to know that this place exists and it is just as incredible as the rest of the world. It's not New York or Toyoko or Egypt or any of those big places that people know about and want to explore. It's home and it's mine… I want to share that with the world."
Yuri blushed then, he was probably going to say something about how stupid that sounded or make a joke about how Otabek could never tell another soul.
Otabek kisses him before he can. Nobody understood the depths of his soul until that moment. Otabek's burning desire to represent his country, to show the world how wonderful Kazakhstan is. It sets his heart on fire and it makes him absolutely insatiable for the beautiful Ukrainian boy before him.
"Sorry… couldn't help it." Otabek mutters bashfully attempting to pull away.
Yuri pulls him right back in. "I've been waiting three years for this Altin, don't you dare skimp on me now."
Otabek is pretty sure he falls deeper in love than he ever has before. With Yuri, with Kazakhstan, with Ukraine; he feels so deeply connected to the world around him he can hardly breathe. For that moment it's just them; Yuri, Otabek, the setting sun and a wooden bench pricking splinters into their backs. It's a perfect picture, one of youth and a love so deeply ingrained in them that nothing can intervene.
A love like that, one where there is inherent understanding and reciprocation, is as close to perfect as anyone can get.
But when I returned how my eyes have burned
To see how a town could be brought to its knees
With their tanks and their guns, oh my God what have they done
To the town I loved so well
Yuri won his medal for Ukraine, but he doesn't look happy. He steps on that podium with a hesitance to his steps and he weeps when the national anthem plays around them. There have been murmurings of a war, Yuri says that the war has been ongoing since 2014. A quiet war that no one seemed to care very much about; Crimea was 'annexed' after all.
The night before the free skate, Yuri had shivered and cried as he told Otabek and Viktor he planned to throw his skate. What if Russia took it as a slight against them? What if winning for Ukraine is a catalyst for worse things to come?
Otabek had placated him with comforting words and a kiss to his forehead. It would be okay, it's just a sport, whatever the Kremlin does is on them.
A week later, the Olympics are over and Yuri is in Otabek's apartment in Kazakhstan. Sat on the floor and staring in wide eyed fear he watches the live coverage of Russia's invasion. He shakes and cries into the blanket Otabek draped over his shoulders. He flinches when the sounds of gunfire ring through the television.
Otabek sits next to him and cradles his boyfriend as closely as he dares to.
Mariupol flashes up on the screen, the park Yuri first took him to is rutted from the blasts of bombs and the carnage of broken buildings. They watch videos taken by frightened civilians as soldiers open gunfire and towering structures go up in flames.
Otabek doesn't dare turn off the tv, he had tried a few days ago and Yuri nearly bit his head off.
"I have to know!" He'd screamed, "I have to know if it's still th-there, if they're still-"
He's left the tv on ever since, even if he truly believes there's nothing worse than doing so. He can't take this from Yuri, he can't stop the world from falling and he can't force Yuri to look away while it does.
The beach is filled with warships, the amusement park looks like the set of a horror film, and the streets are covered in corpses. Reporters don't shy away from the blood and neither does Yuri; even if his leaking eyes and stuttering breaths suggest he should look away.
Otabek kisses him and squeezes him tightly. Everything hurts, Otabek's chest is tight and full of pain as he witnesses the love of his life suffer like this. It makes him so sick he nearly doesn't hear the knocking at their door.
His grandmother has brought dinner for them, her eyes are sad as she pushes the dish into Otabek's hand and walks passed him.
She struggles to the floor as she takes up her seat beside Yuri. She brushes his hair back with her shaking fingers and she speaks.
"I hated them too… For what they did." She says, "When the soviets wreaked havoc for no other reason than power… I realized how horrible it must have been for them. To hate the place that bore them so much they had to pillage and conquer others in order to feel big. In order to feel like they were strong… I learned to pity them because all they wanted… was what I have.
"What I have… what we have, is a place in this world that we love so deeply it sticks to our bones and makes us bleed. We have a place that lives inside of our hearts and makes us feel whole. We have a home and it seems like… with the way those Russian fucks are acting they don't understand that.
"This is a pain that our people and people like us have been feeling for so long, Yura. I am sorry that this cruelty persists, I'm sorry that my generation couldn't stop them… One day… I pray that one day there won't be a single soul who knows what we have endured to get here."
Otabek's grandmother takes Yuri in her arms and kisses the crown of his head.
"I want to go home." Yuri whispers. "I want to go home but I'm not a soldier."
The idea of Yuri being anywhere near that violence makes Otabek's head spin.
"You're not a solider, but we all fight, in our own way." She assures him. "You will skate at Worlds, you will represent Ukraine and when you win; all the world will see you. That matters, make them look at you and your home. Don't let them look away."
Otabek's grandmother has the boys help her stand. The three of them eat as the tv regales them with tales of a war none of them can stop.
That night, Otabek keeps Yuri in his arms as they lay in bed. Yuri's warm breath disperses across Otabek's wrist as he strokes Yuri's hair.
"Should I fight, Beka?" Yuri asks, his voice is weak and cracks with tears.
"I can't make that decision for you." Otabek whispers. He wants to say no, he wants to scream and shake Yuri until he swears he won't step foot out of this very apartment.
"You want to know something funny?" Yuri sniffles with a weak chuckle.
"Hm?"
"I… I want to fight… I think I should fight… I miss my home and my family… Mariupol is at the center of the conflict and it's not fair… but…" Yuri lets out a sob, "Your grandma said something about… having love that sticks to you… and I just… she said that and the only thing I could think about was you."
Otabek kisses Yuri's tear-soaked cheek when he hears that.
"I don't… I know I should have been thinking about Ukraine, and I did think about Ukraine when she was talking. But that love she mentioned, having a home. It was you, it's always been you. Wherever you are… I'm home."
Otabek pulls Yuri to him, tighter than before, their lips crashing together like the waves along the shores of Mariupol.
"Please don't fight, Yura, I don't think I could stand it if you did." Otabek's voice breaks when he speaks.
Yuri nods as his phone vibrates beside him, he picks it up like it is made of glass. His hands tremble as he pulls up the photo his cousin has sent him. The house they stayed in, Yuri family home, is ash and rubble now. Nothing remains except for the cracked walls the bombs couldn't totally obliterate.
Yuri throws his phone across the room and screams.
Otabek continues to hold him and whispers sweet soft words to him. He wonders if he will ever understand Yuri's pain. He wonders if he will ever know the horror of watching his childhood home be reduced to nothing. He wonders if he is strong enough to withstand a storm like that. He wonders if he is as strong as Yuri.
"I love you." Otabek whispers into Yuri's shoulder.
"Ти є мій дім." Yuri whimpers in response, "Ти є мій дім… Ти є мій дім, ти є все мое."
Otabek doesn't need to translate Yuri's word, he feels them in his soul. Even if Otabek doesn't know Ukrainian, he knows the language of heartbreak. You are my home, you are my everything.
The future is uncertain, the war rages on, but the pair of them are home. No matter what happens.
Now the music's gone but they carry on
For their spirit's been bruised, never broken
They will not forget but their hearts are set
On tomorrow and peace once again.
For what's done is done and what's won is won
And what's lost is lost and gone forever
I can only pray for a bright, brand new day
In the town I loved so well
Home as it turns out is a creature of our own making and that's a lesson Otabek doesn't think he'll ever forget.
Otayuri week – Prompt 1 – A song that gives you chills
Song is called The Town I Loved So Well, my preferred performance is by the High Kings… Yeah I cried when I saw this live, what about it?
Watch me be back on my soap box about the war in Ukraine. Because my heart hurts, because a town I loved so well is gone from this world and there is no bringing it back. I won't forget them; I hope you won't either.
The Donbas region is Ukraine. Mariupol is Ukraine. Crimea is Ukraine. Always.