II
#
"What the actual fuck."
Yuri hasn't visited Losta since before Grandpa moved away, but he remembers what the inn looks like. Or used to look like. He frowns; the dilapidated mess that stands before him is an absolute eyesore.
The shingles on the roof are crooked, nearly falling off. There's only one window on the ground floor that's still even there, the glass spiderwebbed with cracks. The rest are boarded up. The left half of the porch steps are caved in, and the wrap-around beyond them is sagging in spots. The old porch swing has fallen off its chains, laying on the ground in a heap.
Grandpa would be fucking appalled.
Yuri doesn't know what to do. He's been left the place and selling it is the obvious choice, but this throws a wrench into his plans. It's not that he can't afford to renovate it, it's that he doesn't want to deal with it. He's too busy, he's got his training, he's-
He's already forgotten that he's quit skating entirely. Yuri bites at his lip. So really, he doesn't have much of an excuse. Maybe he can sell it as-is, let whoever buys it deal with the aftermath, but the moment he thinks it the thought sours.
No, no, he can't. The inn's been left to him, the least he can do is fix the place up before offloading it. He owes it to Grandpa.
"Looks like a lot of work," Yuri says to himself. "Too much fucking work."
The door's unlocked, but Losta is small enough that Yuri knows the place is undisturbed. This is the kind of village where people leave their doors unlocked at night; everyone knows each other and each other's grandmas and who you've dated for the last four years.
The inside isn't too terrible, considering. There's still furniture covered in tarps and blankets. The floor is covered in sawdust. Some walls have been knocked down and framed back up, so maybe Grandpa had done a little work.
"Must've kicked the bucket before it finished," Yuri muses, covering his pain with humor. It only half-works.
He soon learns there's no working electricity, though, and the tap water comes out brown at first, sediment having settled in the pipes from disuse. Yuri sighs, resigning himself to wash in a bucket of water from the well the next day. If it isn't frozen over.
It's already late in the day and Yuri is tired. There's the beginning of holiday happenings around the village, but all he wants to do is take a nap, so he hauls himself up the stairs to a familiar room that was never rented out.
This room hasn't been touched, preserved by time and covered in dust. Posters of skaters and tigers frame the walls, a few stuffed animals tucked into various corners and the quilt his Grandma made thrown over the twin bed, tucked neatly into the corners.
The first thing Yuri does is open his suitcase and pull Grandpa out, placing him in the windowsill. It's dumb to think that a wooden box would even care, but Yuri turns it to look at the winter wonderland outside, covered in tree trimmings and lights and snow.
Then, Yuri drops onto the bed, not even bothering to beat it clean. The dust tickles his nose and the pillow smells a little like mold, but his eyes slip closed before he can think anything more of it.
Maybe it's the comfort of home or some weird bullshit like that, but it's the first decent sleep he's had in months.
#
Yuri wakes to the sound of someone rummaging around in the kitchen.
Fight or flight kicks in and he's high alert on instinct, snapping up in bed and ready to fight. He doesn't bother with slipping on his shoes, tiptoeing out of his childhood room and down the stairs in only his socks. They creak under his weight and he bites back a curse.
Whoever is in the kitchen pauses, having heard the sound. Hesitates. Then goes back to their pilfering.
As Yuri passes by the old cane stand, he grabs one, fingers smoothing over the weathered wood and the carved raven handle. Grandpa always liked this one because ravens were his favorite type of bird.
He turns the corner to find a man in the kitchen. Or what used to be the kitchen; the place is beyond a mess, nearly everything ripped out aside from the antique wood-burning stove. His foe is short, barely five-foot-seven, but the hammer he wields puts Yuri and his cane at a disadvantage. Still, Yuri towers over him and looks a fright. Maybe the man will run off on his own, having not expected someone to be there.
The intruder doesn't, looking utterly baffled instead as they stand there and stare at each other.
"What are you doing here?" Yuri snaps, calmer than he thought manageable. He's always been good under pressure but this isn't the same as skating on an international platform, billions of eyes watching.
"Working," the man says as though it were obvious, brown eyes blinking slowly. He's handsome and stupidly muscular, entirely Yuri's type. Even if he's short, Yuri can work around that.
Yuri blinks at the thought. How can he consider boning the man who's broken into his grandfather's inn? His dry spell must be hitting him harder than he initially thought.
"Look, put the hammer down and I'll call the cops without bashing your head in, yeah?"
The man looks from Yuri's face to the glorified wooden stick in his hand. "With a cane?"
"I'm stronger than I look." The man then looks to the twenty-pound sledge in his hand and quirks an eyebrow. Yuri swallows. "Okay, so maybe I'm at a disadvantage, but you're the one who's broken in."
"The door was open," the man says. "Lock's been broken for nearly a year and I just haven't fixed it yet. Other priorities."
"Other priorities— what does that even mean?"
The man grunts. "I told you, I'm working."
"Look, little man," Yuri says, "this is my Grandpa's inn and I'm telling you to get the fuck out—"
"Grandpa?"
Yuri hesitates and then says, because he's not entirely without manners, "Yes."
"You're the grandson." Not a question, but an observation.
"Wait, you knew my grandfather?"
"He hired me." Then the man's gaze turns shrewd. "You didn't know?"
Okay, so this makes a lot more sense, Yuri thinks. "So, if I put this cane down, you won't attack me that hammer, right?"
The man snorts. "You're the one that interrupted my work," he says, as though that explains anything. Yuri shoots him a look, causing the man to sigh. "I swear to you, the hammer will stay over here."
"But in your hand," Yuri says warily.
"In my hand," the man confirms, "because I've got work to do and daylight's wasting."
"It's nine in the morning."
"And the sun sets at four."
The man isn't wrong; it's the beginning of December and Russia gets about seven hours of sunlight if they're lucky. But Yuri can be a dick when pressed, so he says, "What, no lights?"
"Electricity's be turned off for several years. I've been running tools of the generator." That sounds terrible and Yuri's perversely pleased that this man's had difficulty in his job. Which, speaking of:
"What did Grandpa hire you for?"
The man's already gone back to work, pulling out the smashed remnants of kitchen cabinetry. He pauses and looks back at Yuri like he's the dumbest man alive. Yuri takes offense to that.
"To fix this place up, obviously. I assumed he was planning on reopening it."
Yuri blinks. "He'd been living in a retirement home for the last six years."
The man shrugs. "He'd warned me you might come by. I assumed that's why."
"I didn't even know he still had this place," Yuri says. "I thought he sold it years ago. I'm too busy to deal with it."
"Deal with it," the man says, sounding rather annoyed. He yanks at a piece a wood aggressively and it comes away with part of the wall. Yuri makes a mental note to not piss him off because he doesn't want to be on the opposite side of those bulging muscles.
Actually, that's wrong, he won't mind it under entirely different circumstances. Yuri throws the idea out as soon as it comes because the last thing that he needs right now is messy casual sex that will lead absolutely nowhere. He's got bigger problems.
"So what, you just… come here and work on it? By yourself?"
"That's the job."
"Why you?"
"A question I often asked him. Never really gave me an answer, just said I was the obvious choice."
Yuri frowns; that sounds exactly like something Grandpa would say. When he looks up, the man is staring at him again, hammer resting across his broad shoulders.
"Do you want to see documentation or something? I've got permits."
Yuri is fairly certain that the man is an actual contractor and not a looter, because who goes about ripping out cabinets for fun? He didn't look around much the day before, but Yuri knows that the stuff of value is either still there, covered in sheets with care, or packed up in storage.
"No, I—" Yuri sighs, resigned. "Look, I'm sorry that I came in looking for a fight. I honestly wasn't expecting anyone to be here. My grandfather didn't exactly have a chance to explain things."
The man's face falls slightly in sympathy, understanding. Yuri hasn't had a lot of time to grieve, nor has he allowed himself to, so he's thankful when the contractor doesn't push any further.
"The job is simple," the man says. "I come here every day and I work until I'm done. Every day's a little different but the goal is the same."
"What what exactly is the goal?" Yuri asks.
The man looks around the room, taking in everything around them before turning back to Yuri, his expression weirdly fond. "To give it life. Nikolai's words, not mine." He pauses. "Well, actually, he said something about giving it back it's charm."
Yuri doesn't quite smile, but there is a slight quirk to his lips at that.
"Yurotchka," his grandfather once said when Yuri called the house ugly, "it's not about how it looks, it's about the charm it holds. Even the ugliest thing can capture the attention of another."
A nice sentiment, Yuri thinks, especially for someone as ugly as he is. "Right then, I'll just stay out of your way then," he eventually says. "Go uh, about your business."
The man cocks his head to the side, regarding him quietly. Yuri turns to leave, suddenly uncomfortable with all of it; the house, this man, Grandpa's wishes.
Coming here was a mistake, Yuri tells himself, he'd known it from the moment he'd made the choice. He expects the contractor to poke and pry because he's obviously curious, but he doesn't.
"Otabek," the man says.
Yuri pauses at the threshold of the room, one hand pressed against the frame of the hallway. "What?" he asks rather indelicately.
"My name. It's Otabek."
Yuri meets his gaze, surprised at how serious Otabek looks in return. Determined, even, if Yuri doesn't know any better. He's not very good at reading people because he's never really tried. It's easier to just hold them an arm's length away instead.
"Yuri," he says because it's the proper thing to do. Aside from that, he doesn't really care. "Not that it matters. I won't be here long."
Otabek frowns at that, his jaw tightening the tiniest bit, but he doesn't say more. And, all Yuri does is nod before he finally leaves the kitchen and all the brewing memories behind.
#
Yuri wakes the next morning coming to another decision.
He isn't surprised to find Otabek already in the house. Otabek seems serious and stern, the kind of man to rouse right at dawn. Yuri finds him in the kitchen just like the day before, halfway into a hole on the wall, fiddling with the wiring.
Otabek hears Yuri walk in but doesn't look up. "Metal cased wiring," he says, as though Yuri will even understand. "I mean, I'm not really surprised given the age of this house. It was probably wired in the twenties and—"
"I'm selling the house," Yuri cuts in.
Otabek pulls out of the wall, fingers curled around a section of frayed electrical cords. Yuri knows nothing about wiring but even he can tell that it's a disaster waiting to happen, solidifying his decision that this is the right idea.
"Selling it," Otabek says. "I was under the impression that you were going to keep it."
Yuri frowns. "Did my grandfather tell you that? I don't know why he would, he knows that I don't have time to run this place." Yuri stops abruptly, not because he remembers that he's quit skating, but because Grandpa's dead. One's easier to remember than the other but glazed with a thin veil of denial. "Knew," Yuri continues. "He knew I didn't have the time."
Yuri hates the look of sympathy that Otabek gives him, tired of people pitying him.
"It isn't my place to tell you what to do," Otabek says.
"Good, because my mind is set."
Otabek hesitates, mouth parted, and then says, "But, if I may offer advice—"
"You don't need to keep on working," Yuri cuts in.
"I've been working on this house for nearly half a year," Otabek says. "It's a labor of love at this point."
Yuri looks around them. "There's still so much to do and I can't wait until it's done."
"This place has been sitting here, alone, for nearly six years."
Otabek has him there but Yuri isn't sure why he's so adamant about maintaining the job, so he tries another tactic. "I can't afford to pay you."
Yuri absolutely can, but that's beside the point. Maybe Otabek has no idea he is because he's never seen his face plastered all over the world. Judging by the way Otabek's gaze cools slightly, though, he knows exactly who Yuri is. Surprisingly, Otabek's never brought it up. And, even more surprisingly, he still doesn't.
Instead, he says, "Your grandfather paid me up front."
Yuri blinks at that. "Wait, what—"
"So, seeing as I've been paid, I'm planning on finishing the work."
Yuri hesitates before saying, "I'm still selling the place." Otabek hums at that, turning back to the fraying bits of wire in his hands. "And, I'm not staying here long," Yuri continues.
Otabek doesn't look at him, pulling apart the metal casing that surrounds the wires to get a better look. "I'd think about it."
"Think about what?"
"Selling this place." Otabek drops the wires and stands properly, stretching his back. "Like I said, it's not my place to tell you what to do but there isn't a need to rush anything. Think about it while I finish this place up. There's a lot of work left to do and you don't have to feel pressured into it."
"I'm not pressured into this," Yuri says, but the moment he does, the words feel strained. Otabek, to his credit, doesn't say anything further. "What's it to you anyway? Isn't this just a job to you?"
There's something about the way that Otabek pauses, face turning fond as he looks around the room. He reaches out, pressing a hand against the wall. Yuri's grandmother loved that hideous wallpaper.
"I made a promise," Otabek says simply, "that I'd do this place justice." Yuri has the distinct feeling that there's probably more to whatever deal Otabek struck with Grandpa, but he doesn't want to think about it anymore.
Yuri crosses his arms across his chest stubbornly. "Fine then, keep working on this dump. I came out here for a vacation, so don't expect any help."
Yuri watches Otabek for a long moment, mouth tugged into a frown. Otabek has a soft spot for this place and clearly knew his grandfather better than he was letting on. Part of him wonders if he should be concerned, but more than anything, Yuri's just too tired to care much further.
He'll find a buyer, Otabek will fix this place up and then Yuri can wipe his hands clean of this place once and for all.
But, like Otabek, there's still a little bit of fondness for this place, from the tilted lean of the foundation to the ugly-ass yellow-gold and floral wallpaper his grandmother loved. Even the old furniture and random knick-knacks left behind, piled under dust sheets.
Like everything else in his life, Yuri will move past his hesitation and onto something else. Eventually.
"Don't expect any help from me," Yuri says with finality.
Otabek, who'd gone back to inspecting the wiring, looks up. "Wouldn't dream of it," he says, mouth twisting into a crooked little smile. He's got a dimple in his left cheek, and Yuri thinks for a moment that he's handsome.
Which annoys him because that's not why he's come here. And it's not why Otabek's here either. Yuri huffs and turns away, intent on pushing the idea out of his mind. He'd come to Losta for some peace, not to nail the ass of some poor, unsuspecting contractor.
And, let it be known that while Yuri is a lot of things, he's first and foremost a man of his word.
#
So, it turns out that Otabek is hard to ignore.
Several days after trying to fire him, Yuri comes home to a functioning boiler, warming the rooms to a toasty delight.
"You complained about the blankets," Otabek says simply, coming up from the basement covered in grease and a thin sheen of sweat. Yuri swallows at the sight. "Oh, and, I got those washed as well. My sister kindly picked them up and laundered them. And some bedsheets."
"I can do my own laundry," Yuri snaps at him, but all Otabek does is raise an eyebrow.
"Can you though? Cause you haven't." Yuri opens his mouth to retort, but Otabek beats him to it. "Water's connected now. The washer is shitty cause it's hooked to a generator and the dryer won't work, but there's plenty of room to hang up anything you wash."
"Er, thanks?"
"Would you rather my sister keep washing your things?" Otabek asks, a little amused.
"No—"
"Good, because she said it was a one-time deal." Otabek takes a rag out of his pocket and wipes across his brow, only smearing the grime he's covered in. "In any case, you've got heating now too. Electricity's going to take a lot longer to fix because this entire place needs to be rewired, but the boiler wasn't much of an issue. Mostly needed to be cleaned out and reset."
"So I've got heat," Yuri says.
"Eh," Otabek says, looking away, looking a little awkward. He must not be used to doing things for people like this, and it's a little endearing. "There's a storm coming, expecting several feet of snow. Didn't want you holed up in here half-frozen."
"Grandma's quilts are plenty warm," Yuri says, "but, thank you." It comes a little flat but it's genuine.
Otabek's demeanor softens a little at that. "You aren't used to giving gratitude are you?"
"Hey—"
"I didn't mean that you aren't ever thankful."
Yuri lets out a sigh. "I don't have a lot of time to thank people."
Otabek hums at that. "All that skating, I assume." It's the first mention of who Yuri is and what he does for a living. Or did, rather.
"Yeah, I guess."
Otabek watches him for a moment, looking like he wants to say something thoughtful. But then he decides against it and says instead, "I tried to hook up the fridge to the generator but it just shorted out. It's decades-old, so no surprise. The cellar's cold enough to keep food, though."
Grandma used to make Yuri haul things out of the cellar as part of his chores when he was a kid, and he can't help but cringe. Otabek laughs at his expression, a gentle and soft sound that Yuri's not sure he'd actually heard at first.
That night, his childhood room is warm and comforting, and Yuri digs deep into the soft mattress and fresh-smelling quilts. It's the first night that he sleeps without much issue, not due to tiredness or exhaustion, but because he's comfortable.
Yuri hasn't been comfortable in years.
#
Otabek is kind and quiet. He slips into the inn near sunrise every day, does his work without complaint, and is gone right before sundown. Yuri is surprised to find an easy friendship with him because at first, he goes out of his way to avoid him.
Then, a week after his arrival, Otabek brings him coffee, black with just a little whole milk, and that terrible fake hazelnut syrup. Yuri's lifeblood, truly.
"I guessed," Otabek says to him, pushing the to-go cup into his hand. Yuri doubts it because every interview he's given in the last decade has reported what his favorite drink is.
Still, it's the thought that counts, and Yuri tucks it away with a very real smile which prompts Otabek to give him one back in kind. And that makes Yuri a little more than interested, unable to keep away.
Damn the contractor and the cute little dimple that's neatly tucked into the left side of his mouth.
"So, I might need your help today," Otabek says, leaning against the kitchen wall as he sips at his own drink.
Yuri gives him a mock glare. "I knew there was a reason for bringing me this. A bribe."
"I prefer to call it a peace offering."
"It's still a bribe."
"Tender for work received, then," Otabek says diplomatically, his tone so serious that Yuri bursts into laughter. They both freeze and things fall a little awkward because Yuri isn't the kind of man that laughs like that. Even at funny jokes.
Otabek clears his throat and breaks the silence with, "Nothing big, I just need an extra set of hands. The new cabinets are coming in and I just need help moving them around."
"You pulled them out easily enough," Yuri says.
"Because I took a sledge to them. Cabinets are easy to move by yourself when they're in pieces."
Yuri starts at that, cocking his head to the side. "Pieces? What pissed you off so much that you took it out on the cabinetry?"
Otabek doesn't answer, suddenly looking uncomfortable.
"You don't have to explain—"
"No, it's fine," Otabek cuts in. "Honestly, it's not a big deal."
"Still," Yuri says, "I get not wanting to… share."
Otabek lets out a long sigh and sets his cup down on an overturned box that serves as their makeshift table. The proper dining one is folded up against the wall in the den. "Sometimes, you just have to let loose that rage."
Yuri waits until the cabinets are delivered and they've hauled half of them into their new homes. He's grimy and covered in dust, sweat stinging his eyes. Otabek drills the cabinet into place and Yuri pulls back.
"I skate," he says abruptly. Otabek looks at him confused, wiping at his own gritty face with an equally dirty rag. It doesn't do much. "When I'm angry," Yuri continues. "I can't afford to go around smashing things, so I skate it out. Old routines usually, the ones with aggressive music always work the best."
"Does it work?" Otabek asks him.
Yuri considers saying yes, but something makes him pause and think about the question seriously. "No. Not usually. But, it's better than nothing." Otabek looks anywhere but Yuri's face as he considers this. Yuri asks, "What about you? Did smashing cabinets work?"
Otabek's mouth twitches slightly into a soft, sad little quirk. "No," Otabek says, "because it couldn't change anything."
"Worst part of living," Yuri says. "When shit gets bad there's so little you can do."
"Is that why you're here?" Otabek asks. Yuri's been expecting this question but he's somewhat thankful that it's taken Otabek a week to ask. Otabek isn't the type to pry and it puts Yuri at ease.
"I'm here because I don't know what to do."
Otabek is quiet for a moment and then he says, "Still selling the place?"
"Gotta," Yuri says, but the more that he says it the less he believes it, and the more that he wonders if it's true.
They declare their little break over and start with the cabinets again. They heft them into place one by one, Yuri bracing the frame while Otabek drills them into place. It's an easy pattern of hard labor that Yuri winds up liking. The day passes in the blink of an eye and before he knows it, it's nearing sunset. They'd installed most of them, save one. Not bad for a hard day's work.
"It was your grandfather," Otabek says as they survey their work.
Yuri turns to him, frowning. "What?"
"What made me angry. It was his passing."
"Yeah, I'm pretty pissed that he kicked the bucket without asking me first." Yuri means for it to be lighthearted but he can tell that it weighs heavily on the both of them. So, he chances an observation. "You knew him pretty well, didn't you?"
"He was a good friend," Otabek says. "Took a chance on me and my work. Who pays to reno an entire house upfront?"
"Who indeed?" Yuri says dryly. But then he motions around them. "Still, seems like Grandpa made the right choice. He was always good at reading people."
"Yeah," Otabek says, getting a sort of far-off look about him.
"Tomorrow then?" Yuri asks.
"Tomorrow," Otabek confirms. "Actually, let's make it a late day. Meet me at Deja Brew at nine."
Yuri groans. "Nine? You call that late?"
Otabek raises an eyebrow. "I said let's make it a late workday. I rise with the sun."
"I hate it."
"Habit."
Yuri reaches out to punch him across the shoulder playfully and Otabek laughs. Yuri doesn't need to confirm that he'll be there, they both know that he will be. Not like he has anything else to do with his day aside from calling real estate agents.
Which, Yuri's been putting off, telling himself that he's too tired for such commitment. He'll get to it soon.
Otabek grabs a broom and sweeps up. Yuri helps toss debris and garbage into a pile on the lawn to be burned at the end of the week. Then, Otabek puts his handtools their canvas home, rolling it up and tying it shut. The power tools stay, tucked neatly into a bucket in the corner. They turn off the generator and Otabek shoulders his pack.
"Yeah, yeah," Yuri says when Otabek pauses at the door. "Tomorrow."
"Dress warmly. There's a front coming in."
"Who are you, my grandfather?" Grandpa always complained that Yuri wasn't ever bundled up enough.
Otabek doesn't say anything, just gifts him a soft smile in return. Yuri hates the way that it makes his gut flutter, but he hates the loss of Otabek's presence in the house more.
#
The coffee shop is a cute little place despite its fucking terrible name. Yuri slips into the warm space from the blistering cold. As promised, he'd bundled up, but he knows that his nose burns red and his fingers are frozen solid.
Otabek's already there, tucked into a soft and worn looking armchair in the corner, reading a newspaper.
"The news?" Yuri jeers when he steps closer. "The old man you are is starting to show."
"I'm only a few years older than you," Otabek says with a frown.
"Still, in your thirties."
"Barely. I'm thirty-one and in my prime."
Yuri hums at that, pretending to scrutinize him and Otabek rolls his eyes in return. "I bear gifts," Yuri says, dropping a paper bag onto the table. Otabek eyes it warily. "Sushki. Some old lady dropped them off, I think she's a neighbor? Didn't say much aside from yelling at me to put on weight." Yuri snorts at that.
"Zoya," Otabek says. "Sounds like her. She gives me food to help me grow taller."
"And how's that working for you?" Yuri asks, dropping into the armchair next to Otabek.
"I think I'm nearing one hundred and seventy-five centimeters," Otabek says with humor. They both know he's not anywhere near that.
"You are stupidly short," Yuri says, "For such a built dude."
"Gotta have shape somewhere," Otabek says with a shrug. Yuri wishes that had the confidence that Otabek does. It's not that Yuri is unhappy with his appearance, it's just that he's always been described as slim and graceful, or dainty, or fairy-like. Yuri's near one hundred and eighty-three centimeters and even if he's graceful, doesn't like being compared to fairies even if he's a glittering, gay unicorn.
Mila's words, not his.
Otabek peeks into the paper bag and lets out a hum. "I bet Yuuri has some jam—"
"That I have what?" Yuri asks.
Otabek blinks. "Ah, sorry, not you. Yuuri," he repeats, stressing the name strangely. "He's one of the owners here."
"Did I hear my name?"
They turn to the right to find a Japanese man, short and a little stocky, but not unattractive. His dark hair hangs across his bangs and into his glasses, and he gives them a warm smile. "Tucking in this time, Otabek?" Yuuri's Russian is deceptively good, with only the slightest hint of an accent.
"Making it a late workday," Otabek says, as though it's not only just past the crack of dawn. The sun's been up for barely an hour and Yuri wants to groan in annoyance. "I was telling Yuri here that you might have some jam to go with these." He points to the bag of pastries.
Yuuri looks between the two of them thoughtfully and Yuri decides right then and there, that he hates that look. Loathes it, even.
"I might have something in the back. Victor's got your coffee on the way." Yuuri turns and walks away without another word.
Yuri looks to Otabek, who looks back at him. "What?" Otabek asks.
"He stole my name!"
Otabek lets out a chuckle that sounds more like an awkward snort. "I'm pretty sure he's older than you."
"That doesn't mean shit," Yuri says, crossing his arms across his chest and sinking into the chair. And yeah, maybe he sounds like a petulant child, but he's got one of the most common names in all of fucking Russia, he doesn't need a foreigner to share it too.
Otabek is still amused, hiding his snickering behind his hand.
"He speaks Russian well at least," Yuri says honestly.
"I think he's lived here a long time," Otabek says. "He runs this place with his husband."
At that, Yuri's eyes widen with surprise. "Husband—"
"Ah, Otabek! Taking your coffee here this morning?" Yuri turns to meet the face of an older, man with soft laugh lines around his face. His silver hair glints in the low light of the coffee shop and a wide smile is spread across his face.
Otabek nods. "I thought I'd get Yuri out of the inn," he says.
The man's mouth falls open, eyes glittering with excitement as he says, "Whaaa, Yuri?"
Yuri's eyes narrow and his mouth pulls into a frown. "That's my name."
The other man's lips then quirk into a knowing smirk. "Plisetsky," he says and Yuri cringes.
"Yeah, yeah, keep that quiet, okay? It's bad enough that I can't go anywhere without people knowing everything about me, okay?"
The man blinks and Otabek takes the cue for an introduction. "Yuri, this is Victor."
"Victor," Yuri confirms, not that he really gives a shit. He's not likely to step foot in this place ever again. He's the grab your coffee and leave immediately type.
Victor flashes him a wide grin. "It's so nice to put a face to a name. Nikolai talked about you a lot."
Yuri wonders what he means by put a face to the name, because there isn't a person in Russia who doesn't know who he is. His confusion must show on his face, because Victor says, "Ah, I mean, everyone looks different in person, no? You're so much taller than expected, but then again, you're quite a fierce skater."
Fierce. Yuri blinks at that; he's always touted as being graceful and swan-like, and even for a brief period in his late teens, edgy. But never fierce. "Um—"
"Well, your coffee then," Victor cuts in, suddenly remembering the steaming mugs that he's holding in his hands. He must have hands that can withstand lava, Yuri thinks, but it might be because he's used to it.
The same way that Yuri's used to an ice rink, able to skate long practices in short-sleeves and leggings, even if it's not advisable.
"Victor." It's Yuuri, coming up to them with a small tray loaded with jam and knives. "Stop bothering them."
"I'm not," Victor pouts. "I was just saying that Nikolai often came by to talk about—" Yuuri shoots Victor a disappointed look and the man falls silent, swallowing thickly. "What I mean to say is—"
"You knew my grandfather?" Yuri asks, honestly curious. And yeah, it hurts to think about him, and he's a little bitter that Victor knew him so well, but it wasn't the man's fault that he seems fond of the memories. Everyone loved Grandpa, Yuri included.
Victor smiles gently, getting a small, far-off look in his eye. "Every morning like clockwork," he says. "Hazelnut latte, made with whole milk. Wouldn't take any other option."
Yuri can believe it. "'Newfangled young-people milks'," he quotes fondly.
"That's the phrase," Victor says.
And Otabek just sits there quietly, watching Yuri with a curiously fond expression as he curls his fingers around his mug. Victor taps a finger against Yuri's mug before sliding it across the table.
"Yours isn't much different."
"I fucking hate steamed milk," says Yuri.
"But not the hazelnut," says Victor with a wink. "And no, I didn't hear that in an interview. Losta is excited to have you here, Yuri. It's been far too long since Snow and Bone's been out of commission. People miss it."
"Well don't get used to—"
"Soon we'll have it back in tip-top shape," Otabek cuts in, prompting Yuri to shoot him a nasty glare. Unlike most, it doesn't seem to phase Otabek at all, something that annoys Yuri quite a bit.
Victor claps his hands once, cheering, and then leaves Otabek and Yuri to themselves, flitting away to take care of other patrons.
Once he's out of earshot, Yuri looks to Otabek again. "What was that? Getting his hopes up?"
"The inn'll be up and running, no matter what you decide to do with it."
"And if whoever buys it just tears it down?"
Otabek's expression turns flinty at that. "No," he says firmly. "No, you can't let them."
Yuri rolls his eyes, already annoyed with this topic. He came to Losta to wash his hands clean of an eyesore that he doesn't even want, not to defend its honor. "That sounds like a lot of work, too much work for someone just breezing right through."
"I promised him," Otabek says quietly, hesitantly. "Your grandfather."
"Promised him what?"
"That Snow and Bone wouldn't go anywhere. That's why he left it to you."
Yuri scoffs at that. "He knew better than to expect me to run the damn place. He knows how busy I am."
"And yet, you're here."
"On vacation," Yuri says stubbornly. Otabek doesn't know the true extent of his little trip, or that he's not exactly due back in Moscow anytime soon, but Yuri can at least try to spin it that way for as long as possible.
"Vacation or not, he left it to you for a reason."
Yuri let out a frustrated grunt. "This isn't about me," Yuri says stubbornly.
"It isn't?" Otabek asks, staring right back. Yuri shivers slightly at the unnerving stare. It isn't so much that it bothers him, it's more that Otabek seems to see right through him. Sometimes, it feels like he's seen right through him from the moment they first shared words.
The worst part is that it's not such a terrible thought. Yuri hates being perceived, hates when people can understand him so readily. But, for some reason, the idea of Otabek having an almost instinctual understanding of who Yuri is, isn't so terrible.
It might even be welcome if the slow-burning heat that's often felt in his gut is taken at face value.
Yuri sighs. "Look, it's complicated," he says. "That's why I'm here, I guess."
"A vacation, you said."
Yuri laughs bitterly at that, staring straight into his mug of coffee. "I've got a lot going on," he says. "Not just Grandpa, or the inn. I needed some time to myself, to sit and think, and to figure things out. I didn't come here to relax, I came here to do a lot of critical soul-searching."
"And how's that going for you?" Otabek asks. There isn't judgment in his voice, only genuine curiosity and maybe even a smidge of concern.
Yuri's knee-jerk response is to always dodge the question with a response that answers something else. It's a tactic that he uses in interviews to avoid needlessly personal questions that he can't afford to shut down outright— which he's also known to do. But, there are times where he has to maintain a modicum of decorum, and vaguely dismissing an unwanted question by answering another has been his longtime go-to.
He finds here though, that he doesn't want to. Otabek's been so honestly earnest with him and they've formed what seems like a genuine friendship, and Yuri finds that he wants to tell the truth for once in his goddamn life.
"Not great," Yuri says, and though his shoulders sag slightly in defeat, it's like a heavy weight has been lifted from them. Despite his bleak and bleary future, he already feels better, if only for the moment.
Otabek doesn't immediately respond, instead, watching him quietly through soft eyes. He holds his mug aloft and takes a sip of it, allowing Yuri the moment. When Yuri doesn't elaborate further, Otabek finally says, "Well, that's the good thing about Losta. There's not a lot going on here that'll stress you out."
"Except the inn," Yuri grouses.
"Except the inn," Otabek agrees. "But, it's not an immediate problem. Let's fix the place up and then worry about what you'll do with it later."
Yuri shoots him a defeated and tired look, weary of the mere thought of it. His Grandpa's caused a lot of annoyance, saddling him with the decrepit money-pit. He'd known that Yuri would have a hard time letting it go. "Easy for you to say."
"Yeah, it is." Otabek's unwavering and stoic honesty is a strange change of pace, but now that Yuri's gotten used to it, he finds it refreshing. Expected, even. Valuable. And, the determined look that Otabek gets is strikingly handsome. "But, I'm also right." He pauses to drain the last of his drink. "And you know it."
Otabek's right on both counts. "So, a problem to tackle later, then," Yuri says.
"It won't be any easier to sell now than months down the road."
"We'll see about that."
A sad flicker crosses Otabek's face. "I'm still holding out on you changing your mind."
"Don't push your luck," Yuri says, signature scowl spreading across his face. Instantly, he feels like himself again, not the pitiful shell that he's become over the last few weeks.
"Already am," Otabek says. "Your grandfather will definitely come back to haunt me from the grave if I don't keep my promise."
At that, Yuri bursts into laughter.
#
"So, you're Yuri Plisetsky."
Yuri looks up from the overgrown garden that he's weeding to find a short, curvy woman with tanned, olive skin. Thick, brown hair curls around her face, half of it pulled back into a hasty little bun, and she's dressed like she's prepared for an actual blizzard, not some minor snowfall.
Her eyes flash dangerously as she does him a once-over, gaze dropping from his face to his feet, before lifting again. "Definitely not impressive," she says.
That causes Yuri to shoot to his feet, abrasive words already finding his tongue with little effort. "Now listen, I don't give a shit who you are—"
"Otabek won't shut the fuck up about you, so I guess I assumed that you'd really be something. Instead, I find a man who's nothing but skin and bones, and those damn circles under your eyes." She pauses. "Surely, you know what concealer is."
Yuri's mouth falls open at that. "Otabek?"
She lets out an annoyed little huff. "Who else?"
Yuri regards her through a shrewd little gaze. "Who are you?"
"Maya, of course," she says as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The only problem is that Yuri has no idea who Maya is either. And when he tells her that, she lets out a frustrated grunt, stamping her foot on the ground.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," she murmurs, and Yuri decides that he's not sure that he likes this woman.
He changes his mind when she reveals the handmade manti in her brown paper bag.
They lounge on the broken front porch, munching away at the snack. When Yuri asks if she made the food, Maya only laughs, citing that her only talent is with mixing drinks.
"Honestly, put me in a kitchen and I'm more likely to burn the place down. That's Otabek's forte."
Yuri's eyebrows raise at this; he didn't know that Otabek can cook. "So, you're what, an ex-girlfriend?"
Maya stares at him, eyes entirely bugged out, sneering at the mere idea. "Oh, oh, Allah, absolutely not. I'm his sister." Now that Yuri thinks back, she's been mentioned once or twice. Maya's expression pinches slightly. "Does he really not talk about me?"
"Once," Yuri says. "Twice." He shrugs. "Little enough that I barely remembered."
"Oh, I'm going to kill him," Maya says.
"I'd prefer if you waited until after we finish fixing this place up. I'm not particularly handy with a hammer."
"Only weeding gardens," Maya says with a sly smile, gesturing to his dirt-stained clothing. They both know that he's pretty terrible at that too.
"Look, I tried," Yuri says.
"I'm sure that Otabek will appreciate it." Maya gives him a strange, almost calculating look like she's trying to decipher a puzzle. Yuri stares right back at her, refusing to budge an inch.
"Speaking of my brother," Maya asks, "where is he?"
"Mid-day coffee run."
"Coffee? He doesn't drink coffee in the afternoon." Maya shoots him a disbelieving look.
"No," Yuri says, "But I do."
There's that strange look across her face again, Maya caught somewhere halfway between and amused and mildly disgusted. Disgusted by what, Yuri can't fathom.
"Well, I'll be gone before he comes back. I just wanted to drop this off and sneak a peek at you."
"At me?" Yuri asks, "Why?"
"I already said it," Maya says, "Otabek won't shut up about you, and we both know that he's usually a closed book."
Yuri considers this for a moment and it's then he realizes— Otabek's fairly quiet around anyone else that isn't him. When had that happened? He and Yuri eased into a friendship, the subtle shift occurring without either of them realizing it.
It isn't unwelcome, and that more than anything, is the biggest surprise to Yuri. It's been a long time since he's craved the attention of another person.
Maya's gaze softens slightly and she says, "I'm only teasing."
"Stuff it, hag," he says, snapping back immediately.
Maya's face turns into a scowl. "If I'm a hag, then Otabek's a hag too."
"What does that even mean?"
"We're twins, obviously. You know, watching your interviews, I thought you were smart, but you're actually pretty dumb, aren't you?" Yuri bristles and Maya laughs. "Cool it, I'm only joking."
Yuri huffs at that, shoving an entire manti into his mouth for good measure. He doesn't dislike Maya and her abrasiveness; if anything, she reminds him of himself. At the same time, it's an intimate look at how he's treated people over the years and he can't say that he's a fan.
It's dumb to think that Otabek will ever give him the light of day in the way that he wants.
"You aren't stupid," Maya says. "You can tell, you know. When they interview you. Everyone always treats you as nothing more than an athlete, but you've got depth."
"I am nothing but an athlete," Yuri says around a mouthful of food.
Maya is quiet for a moment and that's when Yuri sees Otabek in her. They look enough alike, but their contemplative thinking face is nearly identical. It's a little creepy, Yuri thinks.
"No one is just what they seem on the surface," she finally says. "If anything, Otabek and I know that best of all."
Yuri smirks. "Right, because who'd ever think you were a bartender?"
"Not just a bartender," Maya snaps, "I own the damn place."
"Then, there's Otabek who can apparently do anything. I was going to hire an electrician, you know, and the next day he shows up with nothing but his toolbox and a book. The lights were working by the end of the day."
"I'd still get a second opinion," Maya jokes, "Just to make sure he hasn't crossed wires anywhere."
"Just in case I haven't what?"
Both Maya and Yuri stop dead, caught red-handed in their teasing of Otabek. He stands several feet away, two traveler cups of coffee in his hands. Not one bit amused.
"I told her that you can do anything," Yuri says.
"Except take the plunge," Maya says. It's a weird thing to say, and both Otabek and Yuri turn to give her a confused look. She shrugs.
Otabek grunts before dropping onto the lowest step. "Your coffee, your majesty," he says with an amused huff.
"I do believe that I requested 'my overlord'."
"That implies that you rule over me."
Yuri shoots him a challenging grin. "Don't I? I'm your boss."
"Yuri—"
"Okay, this is getting weird," Maya cuts in.
"Weird?" both Yuri and Otabek say, causing Maya to roll her eyes.
Then, she trains her gaze directly on Otabek, who swallows under the scrutiny. "Manti?" she asks sweetly, though her smile is anything but, holding out the bag to Otabek.
"I think I'm going to get back to work," he says instead, standing abruptly before heading into the house.
Yuri blinks. "That was… strange."
"Nah," Maya says, "That was pretty on-brand. Otabek's weird when it comes to doing things for himself."
"Maya, I say this with absolute respect- you're making no sense."
She hums at that, popping a dumpling into her mouth. "Maybe not right now, but you'll get it someday. Until then, let's finish these off, yeah? Then you can go back to ruining that garden."
"Fixing it, you mean," Yuri says. Maya shoots him a dubious look. "Anything's better than what it is now."
"Wise words. You should take your own advice."
Yuri pauses as he stands, rubbing crumbs away from his mouth. "I'm not sure what you mean by that."
Maya stands from the porch steps as well, careful not to lose her balance on the teetering wood. Yuri plans to tell Otabek that this is definitely the next project because he's tired of dodging broken planks like they're the traps from an Indiana Jones movie.
"Otabek hasn't said much," Maya says, quieter than she's been their entire chat, gentle almost. It's a weird look on her and it sounds even stranger coming from such a foul mouth. "But, I can often tell what he's thinking. The people in this town? They won't talk, but everyone knows that you're not here to fix this place up."
Yuri sighs. "Look—"
"It's not a judgment," Maya cuts in. "Only an observation. Otabek and I, we get it, more than you can possibly imagine. Losta is a small place, but it's full of amazing people. People just like you."
"I don't know what I'm looking for," Yuri says. "I don't even know really why I'm here, I just wanted to get away from it all."
"Well, maybe you've already found it," Maya says, a devious little smirk spreading wide across her face. Yuri hates it immediately. He's known her for barely an hour, but he can tell that she's the meddling type; she's been meddling in his affairs since before she even came to talk to him.
"I should go make sure that Otabek's not about to electrocute himself."
"Oh, you can definitely check out a few things on him—"
Yuri groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Look, I might be as gay as a fucking unicorn, but that's Otabek you're talking about."
Maya blinks. "And?"
Yuri flounders, not expecting such a blunt response. "What do you mean, 'and'?"
Maya's expression shifts and then she laughs. "Allah, above, he hasn't made a move yet, has he?"
"Made a—"
"Yuri," Maya says, "trust me when I say that you have a guaranteed chance when it comes to my brother."
Yuri's mouth falls open, then he turns defensive, arms crossed over his chest as he scowls. "Who's to say that I even want a chance? Ugh, also, that's your brother. Gross."
"Otabek needs to get laid," Maya says simply.
"No, no, we're not talking about this—"
"Yuri—"
"No!"
"He's gay!" Maya shouts after him. Yuri just barely hears it over the slamming of the front door.
Otabek peeks around the corner at the sound, frowning slightly when he sees Yuri plastered against the door, back pressed against it and arms held wide. He can feel the embarrassment burning bright on his cheeks.
"Your sister," Yuri blurts. "She's something."
"'Something' doesn't even begin to describe her." There's a pause, and then, "Did she say something to you?"
"Nothing important," Yuri says in a low murmur, but judging by the way that Otabek's gaze narrows suspiciously, he's pretty sure that not a word of it is believed. "Teased about you, mostly."
Otabek groans at that. "She claims it to be her divine duty as my older sister."
"She said you were twins."
"She's older by about ten minutes and very proud of it."
Yuri laughs at that, his wildly beating heart calming ever so slightly. He's always wondered what a sibling would be like, or really, any sort of family. He doesn't get on with his mother, there was never a father, and now Grandpa's dead, so Yuri's three-and-O for dysfunctional.
Still, it's refreshing to see the clear bond that Maya and Otabek have, even if his sister comes off as abrasive and meddling.
"She reminds me of you," Otabek says. "I mean that in a good way."
"She's pettier than me, that's for sure," Yuri jokes.
"Nah," Otabek says. Then he freezes like he hadn't meant to say that aloud. But, he doesn't take it back, instead, looking away abruptly as he rubs at his nose, trying to play it cool. The pink that dusts across his face is really fucking adorable and Yuri feels his throat go dry at the sight.
Shit, shit, this isn't good. Yuri's come to Losta to figure out what to do to his life, not fall into a relationship that's doomed from the start. Fuck Maya, for being on the nose, and fuck himself for immediately taking a liking to the first cute guy to come his way in what feels like years.
And fuck Otabek too, for being so kind and genuinely likable. It's been harder and harder not to stare, as of late. And watch. And peek around the corners, smiling gently as Otabek works on the inn.
"You aren't the first guy to think I'm good-looking," Yuri finally says, hoping that it sounds aloof and unbothered.
It's like the spell is broken. "Yeah, right," Otabek says flatly, the weight of every past relationship Yuri's ever had crashing down over the both of them. Maybe being famous will do him right, for once, nipping whatever this is in the bud.
Yuri rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly. "So, how's the wiring going?"
"It's going," Otabek says. "Actually, come take a look."
Otabek doesn't make a big deal about anything, so Yuri doesn't either, following him into the kitchen. They lean close together as Otabek shows him what he's working on, talking with animated fascination.
The touches linger, but they aren't searing, and they don't feel forced. They're comfortable around each other. It's been a long time since Yuri's felt that, just ease in the presence of another.
He finds himself staring, and it's not because the shape of Otabek's face, or his handsome brow, or his well-styled hair. It's not the muscles that he fails to hide behind his loose-fitting shirts.
Yuri watches the way that Otabek carries himself, the joy that he has for his work, and his love for the inn. And, for Yuri's Grandpa on the rare occasions that Otabek opens up about their friendship. Yuri wants to hate the warmth that it brings him, but he can't.
As the days pass, they share more and more. Lunches and dinners, coffee in the morning. Dumb little stories as they tinker around the property. Yuri's shit at fixing things, but Otabek's patient, willing to do things over and over again if it means that he's involved.
Yuri thinks back to Maya's words, about how Otabek's interest is guaranteed. He sees it every day, in the small moments that they share, and for a little while, he lets himself wonder.
But, Yuri can't stay here forever, even if he's come to like the quiet and the calm, or the disarray of the inn. It's slowly coming together and sooner rather than later, it'll be time to let it go.
Still, it seems like home, something that Yuri's almost forgotten the feel of entirely. He doesn't really want to let it go.
#
Elsewhere
#
Otabek's tired and sore when he steps into his townhouse.
"So, when's the wedding?"
He pauses, letting out a long sigh. He's definitely too tired to deal with his sister, mostly because she can't seem to get it through her thick skull that there isn't anything between him and Yuri. Even if he wants there to be. And he's pretty sure that Yuri's not opposed to the idea either, but that's a whole can of worms on its own.
"Yuri isn't here to date," he says, dropping his bag onto the floor. "Also, quit breaking into my house."
"It's not breaking in if I've got a key."
"What'd Seung-gil do this time?"
Maya shoots him a very rude gesture. "Nothing," she says, "he's out of town for work. I'm lonely. Cook for me."
"Cook for yourself," Otabek says.
"I'll do it here and burn down your place, then."
Otabek didn't spend three years practically rebuilding his place from scratch, only for it to go up in flames because his sister doesn't know what a grease fire is. Or how to use a pan. He sighs, dragging a hand down his face, and sets about washing up for dinner.
Maya watches him for a blessedly long, quiet moment. Then she ruins it by saying, "Quit torturing yourself." Yuri, she means. With her, it's always about Yuri. It's been about Yuri since he was ten years old and still figuring out what he wanted in another person.
"There isn't a point," Otabek says, digging into his freezer, seeing what he's got to work with.
"Get out there and live a little. What's the worst that can happen?"
"He's going to leave," Otabek says. Not, he might leave, it's that he will leave. Everyone knows it, despite their efforts. And honestly, he doesn't even blame Yuri. There's a lot for him here, but nothing that he really wants.
"What about your promise to Nikolai?" Maya asks.
"I'm keeping it the best that I can."
She hums at that. "He can change his mind."
"He's made his choice abundantly clear," Otabek says.
"He likes you," Maya says.
"Yeah," Otabek agrees. It's painfully clear with the way that they dance around each other. And fail to do so at the same time. He promised Nikolai he'd look after Yuri, even if it means just letting him be. Even if it means letting him go.
Easier said than done.
"Allah, above, the two of you are so stupid," Maya whines, letting out a frustrated grunt.
Otabek doesn't deny it.
