The ice swished pleasantly as Otabek skated around the Moscow rink, warming up for his practice. He closed his eyes momentarily, enjoying the crisp wind on his face as he glided over the frozen surface. Although his face didn't betray his thoughts very often, he was happy. He and Yuri were both here to compete in the Rostelecom Cup, and simply being able to spend time with his favorite person had made Otabek's mood soar over the past few days.

Their friendship had steadily blossomed over several months, with a flurry of texts and calls going back and forth each day. Viktor often teased that they were going to wear out their phones. Yuri would inevitably scowl and call him names, but Otabek would simply blush, and hope that his friend didn't see the color on his cheeks.

Because, while he had tried his best to stop it, Otabek had steadily fallen in love with his best friend.

Of course, he hadn't breathed a word of his feelings to Yuri. He wasn't even sure if Yuri would welcome romantic feelings from a man, let alone from someone that he shared a friendship with. Otabek was painfully aware that Yuri opened himself up to very few people. Those that he considered friends were people who had attached themselves to the prickly Russian, not people that he had chosen for himself. The sole exception to this seemed to be Otabek himself. And Otabek would be damned if he did anything that ruined something Yuri wanted. Something like confessing unrequited feelings, and making their friendship too awkward to continue. Something that robbed Yuri of a source of comfort and companionship. Something that made his life more lonely.

No, he couldn't let that happen.

So, Otabek had determined that, during the course of this competition, he would do nothing to betray his deeper feelings for his friend. He would simply keep them hidden, unless a time came that Yuri showed interest in a romantic relationship. A small frown pricked at the corners of his mouth. Yeah. As if Yuri would ever be interested in him.

As he approached a small group of Russian skaters, his ears caught the very name that was perpetually bouncing around inside his head: Yuri. He automatically slowed his pace and kept a short distance behind the group to listen to what was being said.

"Can you believe he won the gold at last year's Grand Prix Final?" a tall, lanky youth scoffed. "I mean, look at him. He's just so…childish. He shouldn't even have been allowed to compete in the men's division at all." Otabek felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. That bastard. He obviously didn't understand the appeal of Yuri's languid grace.

A petite blonde girl next to him chimed in with a scornful laugh, "Hey, don't try to shuffle him into the women's division. We don't want him, either."

Another man, of medium height but robust build, asked, "Why, are you afraid that he's prettier than you?"

Otabek glanced up and down the girl, and privately decided that this was, in fact, the truth. The man laughed as the blonde blushed furiously, but the first skater placed a protective hand on her shoulder and protested, "No! It's just that Yuri has such a shitty attitude, that he gives all of us Russian skaters a bad name when he wins big competitions! His coach should really crack down on him more. He's such a pain in the ass, don't you think?" Otabek felt a whip-like sting of anger streak across his being, and opened his mouth to…what? Yell at the skaters? Defend Yuri? Tell them, with specific details, exactly why they were idiots?

He never found out, because just then, a voice echoed across the rink. "Beka!" Otabek looked around, startled, and caught sight of Yuri, standing at the rail and giving him a small wave. He skated around the group in front of him, attempting to leave his seething anger behind along with their stunned looks.

He slid to a stop in front of Yuri, and nodded at him silently. He wasn't sure he could keep his indignation out of his voice if he spoke.

Yuri didn't buy it for a second, though. He peered into Otabek's face and asked, "What's wrong with you, Beka? You upset about something?"

Otabek cursed silently, but felt a simultaneous surge of love. He was fairly certain that no one else would have seen through his placid face. Not only that, he had correctly identified Otabek's mood within a matter or moments. But he couldn't tell Yuri about why he was upset. It wouldn't do any good to repeat that poison to his friend. The other skaters were just jealous of Yuri's superior talent, and were trying to make themselves feel better about their own subpar skating. There was no point in making Yuri feel bad over some stupid second-rate skaters.

He attempted furiously to school his features into an expressionless face, and replied blandly, "No, I'm not upset. Why do you ask?"

Yuri scoffed. "Because I know you. You can try to hide from me, but I'll just see through it. So, what's bothering you?"

How did he always do this? Otabek was certain that his mask was perfect. He'd spent his whole life making sure there were no chinks in it, so that he could keep his emotions to himself, locked away, where nobody could access them. Whenever he was around Yuri, however, they seemed to leak out anyway. Not that Otabek minded, most of the time. He would happily share all of himself with Yuri, if the blond asked. This time, however, he desperately tried to hide those emotions away as he replied, "It's really nothing. Come on, let's get out there."

Yuri stared at him for a couple seconds before replying with a skeptical tone, "All right, if you say so." He opened the gate and stepped out onto the ice, lithe as a cat. As the two began their lap around the rink, he added quietly, "If you happen to remember anything later, I'm here to listen."

Otabek, startled, glanced at Yuri's face. The younger skater was staring steadily ahead, cheeks lightly tinged with a pink blush. Before he could think about it, Otabek reached a hand out and skimmed his fingertips along the color on the beautiful face. Yuri startled, whipping his head sideways to take in his friend. Otabek, realizing what he had done, snatched his hand back, and snapped his head forward. Luckily, at that moment, Yakov's voice sounded across the ice, pulling Yuri away to practice his routine. Without consciously thinking about it, Otabek watched silently as the Russian left his side.

After that, they each set to practicing their routines in separate parts of the rink. Although he was away from Yuri, Otabek found his gaze straying to the captivating blond more often than not. He loved to watch the younger skater whenever he had the chance, but getting to see him up close on the ice was always especially pleasing. His grace and flexibility in skating were unparalleled, and he always seemed to give off an otherworldly feel when he took to the ice, as if he might evaporate into the air and return to the fairy realm at any second.

Today, however, Yuri was lacking some of his usual composure. More often than not when he jumped, he missed, and landed awkwardly on the ice. Otabek cringed a little at each stumble, afraid that his Yuri would get hurt, until his coach yelled at him to get his head out of the clouds and stop ogling the pretty Russian. Otabek's only consolation as he stood there, blushing crimson, was that he was yelling in Kazakh. He didn't notice the startled look Yuri gave him across the ice.

Finally, the practice day was over, and the skaters began to leave the rink to prepare for the competition the next day. Otabek's coach threw up his hands in defeat and snapped at him to go get a good night's rest so he could concentrate the next day, apparently giving up on coaching for the day. While he did feel a little shame at being a burden to his coach, Otabek was secretly relieved to be leaving. He wasn't sure how much longer he could watch Yuri court injury. He quickly cleaned up in the locker room, then located a semi-secluded bench near the exit of the rink, so he could wait for Yuri in relative peace.

His peace was quickly disturbed, however, by a loud clattering of laughter and equipment. He looked up automatically, and stiffened when he saw the group of skaters who had been trash talking Yuri earlier. As they clambered through the door, the tall, wiry skater was saying, "If we're lucky, we won't have to deal with him that much longer. Did you see how he skated today? Kept falling. I bet it's because he's grown a bit recently. Doesn't know what to do with his body anymore. I knew this would happen. It was only a matter of time that he'd be unable to continue. I mean, when you get used to that feminine body, and then you suddenly start developing masculine attributes, how are you supposed to change your skating style enough to keep up?"

The burly skater replied, with some derision in his voice, "Yeah, you're probably right. Looks like his skating days might be over."

The blonde chimed in, "Finally!" All three of them tinkled out scornful laughter.

Otabek saw red.

He bolted from his spot on the bench, eating up the ground in between him and the Russian group with long strides. He reached out and grabbed for the nearest skater to him, who happened to be the tall, spindly one. "What the fuck do you know?" he growled.

The skater in his grip gawked at him, and the others turned to look at him too, gaping. After a few seconds, the tall skater seemed to come to his senses, and stammered out, "Dude, what the hell is your problem?"

"What's my problem?" Otabek snarled. "My problem is that you've all been insulting my best friend the entire day, and I've had about enough of your bullshit."

The teen dangling at the end of his arm continued to look perplexed, but a snort came from the other man. "Oh, you mean Yuri? Yeah, what about it? Don't tell me you actually like that fucking dickhead."

Otabek's blood hummed in his ears. "What did you call him?"

The other skater snorted. "What? Dickhead?"

Otabek released the tall skater, who had the presence of mind to scramble away, hiding himself behind the stocky one. Otabek took a step in their direction and began speaking, his voice thrumming low and dangerous. "You really think you have any right to be talking like that about someone who won gold at last year's Grand Prix? Someone who came straight out of Juniors and kicked everyone else's ass so hard that he broke a world record? And you have the gall to talk shit about him? What have you ever accomplished as a skater? You're lucky to even be sharing the same rink as him for a moment." He stopped, leaving less than a foot of space between them.

The muscular skater, who apparently had more brawn than brains, looked up into Otabek's face and laughed. "Is that what you think? Then you and I must have been watching a different skater today. The one I saw looked like he was washed up. It would be better for him to retire now before he embarrasses himself with skating like that in competition. He should just take his fucking ass back to St. Petersburg and become someone's housewife. That's about all he'd be good for, with that face."

The air around him stilled, and Otabek experienced a moment of pure, unadulterated clarity. Then, in the space of that calm, his fist flew up from his side in a smooth arc, connecting squarely with the nose of the smug skater.

The blonde screamed, turned around, and ran. Otabek ignored her. He wasn't interested in fighting girls, anyway. She would learn her lesson simply from the fear of this moment. These two, however, had run their mouths way too much. His brain calmly insisted that they had to pay.

His fists seemed to agree. As the muscled skater was hunched over, holding his face, Otabek's hand flew over his head, hitting the stunned-looking lanky skater on the cheek. He went sprawling backwards, barely managing to catch himself before he fell over. He righted himself and raised his aghast face to the Kazakh, his eyes clearly stating that this was the first time he had been hit.

The stocky skater, however, had recovered much faster from the shock. He straightened up, allowing his hands to fall to his sides as his nose streamed blood. Otabek looked on impartially, waiting within his bubble of calm. The shorter skater bared his teeth, looking for all the world like a rabid dog who had found a victim to bite. He launched himself fully at Otabek, nearly snarling his fury.

Otabek watched him come, and stepped deftly out of the way at the last second, bringing his fist down hard on the other's back, between the shoulder blades. The man staggered, gasping, but managed to catch himself and rounded back, swinging his fist around wildly. Otabek grabbed it in midair, holding it up high and driving his other fist into the skater's gut. The stocky man crumpled, dangling by the hand that Otabek still held.

The tranquil air around Otabek twitched. This wasn't enough. They still had to pay.

He drew his hand back and drilled it into the skater's stomach a second time. A sickening groan burst from his lips, and his head dangled low on his chest. With the motion of one tossing a dirty rag into the garbage, Otabek turned and flung the man into the tall skater, who was ill-prepared to catch his friend. They both went down in a tangle of limbs.

As they lay on the ground, moaning in pain, Otabek stalked deliberately over to them and knelt on the ground. He reached out and pulled both of their faces up by the collars of their shirts, forcing them to stare into his cold eyes. "Now I want you both to listen to me. If I ever hear either of you say anything about Yuri Plisetsky again, other than talking about how amazing he is, I will make this night seem like a pleasant dream. I will not allow anyone to talk about him like that. Is that understood?" He stared coolly into the eyes of both skaters as they each nodded frantically. Another thought occurred to him, and he added, "And one more thing. If anyone asks you about how you got hurt–especially if Yuri asks–you are to say nothing about this. You will make up some lie about how you tripped, because you're too stupid to notice the ground under you. Do you understand?" More frantic nodding.

Satisfied, Otabek dropped them, and slowly drew himself up until he was towering over them. They watched him rise apprehensively. He said flatly, "Get out of here. I don't want to look at your faces anymore." More quickly than any remaining pride would have allowed, they scrambled to their feet and scurried off into the darkening evening.

Otabek watched them go dispassionately from within his stillness. Suddenly, he noticed a crack in his still space, and he turned his head to assess this new development.

Yuri was standing there, eyes drawn wide.

The crack turned into a maze of fissures, and Otabek's calm sphere shattered around him. He suddenly realized what he had done, and he froze in place.

Yuri was here. Yuri was looking at him. Yuri had seen. How much had Yuri seen?

He had to find out.

He opened his mouth to ask. All he managed to get out though was, "U-um, hi, Yura."

At least it got a reply out of Yuri. "'Hi, Yura?'" he echoed. "Is that all you have to say to me, Beka? What the hell just happened here?"

Otabek eyes the younger boy warily. "That depends. How much did you see?"

Yuri let out an incredulous puff of air, and raised his hand to his forehead, raking his bangs upwards. "How much did I see? Damn, Beka, can't you just give me a straight answer?" Otabek watched his hair fall through his fingers in strands as he carded his fingers out of his bangs. Yuri huffed at him, "I'm pretty sure I saw the whole fucking thing! Why would you feel the need to hit them over some stupid insults?"

Otabek came back to himself, and protested, "But, Yura, they've been saying shit about you all day! They think they can put you down just so they can feel better about themselves, and they were doing it right in front of me both times! What was I supposed to do?"

Yuri snorted. "Gee, I don't know. Maybe NOT hit them and jeopardize your standing in this competition over some petty insults against someone who isn't even you?"

He bristled. "That's exactly why it mattered, Yuri!" The Russian's eyes flickered, but he said nothing as Otabek barreled on. "I've never cared about what people have to say about me. And, trust me, they always have something to say. I'm just a struggling skater from some country that nobody cares about. I've been handed every insult you could think of. None of that ever really got to me, though. I just figured I'd show them the truth with my skating. When these guys started in on you, though…" He sighed and scratched the side of his head absently. "I just couldn't ignore it."

Yuri snapped back, "Sure, you could have!"

Otabek returned his glare. "No, I couldn't!" His face softened, and he looked away as he continued in a subdued tone, "Because you're special. You matter more. I can't let people treat you however they want."

There was a slight pause. Then Yuri's voice came to him, sounding much gentler than just a few moments before. "Is this why you were upset earlier, Beka?"

He nodded, not looking at the blond.

"You got that upset over me?"

Another nod. He added sullenly, "Although I still don't know how you manage to tell what I'm thinking."

Yuri snorted again. "Well, didn't you say it earlier? It's because, to me…you're special." The last part was mumbled, but Otabek's heart skipped a beat anyway. A hand came into his view, and cupped his cheek gently, pushing it until Otabek was looking into teal eyes. Yuri began scolding, "At any rate, Beka, you can't go off doing things like this! What would your coach say if he found out? You're lucky that I was the only one who stayed late to practice and saw this. You really could have been kicked out of the competition, or even the league, for fighting other skaters! This is really unlike you not to think about what you're doing. At least try to be mentally aware of what you're doing if you're going to beat up guys, ok?"

Otabek stared down at him incredulously. Yuri sighed. "And, beyond that, you really had me worried today. Between you hiding what you were feeling and…you know, how you touched my face…" He dropped his hand and turned his own face away, blushing. "I was a bit distracted today, so I kinda messed up a lot during practice." He flicked his gaze back to the taller man's sharply. "But my point is, at least I didn't haul off and hit anyone. You've got to think more!" He reached up and lightly slapped Otabek's cheek.

Otabek jerked backwards slightly, stung more by the action than any actual pain. A flicker of emotion darted across Yuri's face, and suddenly he was craning his head up, and planting a kiss on the cheek he had slapped.

The world slowed again, but this time, the silence was much more pleasant, and much more deafening. He gaped at Yuri, who was now crimson from his neck to his hairline. "What…what was that about, Yuri?" he asked softly.

Yuri steadfastly kept his face averted from his friend. "N-nothing. I just felt bad for slapping you. And, you know, since you touched my face earlier, and you got into a fight over me, and you said I was special, so I thought…" He looked up at the Kazakh with panic written on his face, and stammered, out, "Y-you know what, just forget about it, ok? Pretend I didn't do anything, Beka. I really value you, and I don't want you to be uncomfortable with me or anything…"

Otabek reached out and grabbed Yuri's chin, tipping his face so he could look into it. He searched it carefully, from the red cheeks, to the shimmering teal orbs, and finally down to the trembling lips. When his gaze hit upon those lips, he did the only thing that he felt he could.

He kissed them.

Softly, sweetly, he pressed his lips onto them, gently drawing his tongue along the quivering flesh of the bottom one. He pushed into them a bit more firmly, and then withdrew.

And saw Yuri's petrified eyes.

The space around him cracked open again, and he jumped back as if the other boy were on fire. "Yuri, I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed. "I didn't really think about it, I was just looking at your lips and I couldn't help myself, especially after you said such sweet things. Please don't hate me, Yuri!"

Yuri laughed, his voice raw. "Hate you? What the hell are you talking about, Beka? I could never hate you!"

Otabek looked at him carefully. "Really? Even though…well, I guess you know now." He sighed. "Even though…I have feelings for you? You're not disgusted by me?"

Yuri drew in a sharp breath at his words. "You…you like me?"

He mentally gave up. He was already too deep in now, there was no use hiding it. Especially with how good Yuri was proving to be at reading his emotions. "I'd say that's an understatement," he replied wryly.

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, squared off his shoulders, and looked Yuri fully in the eye. "Yuri, I'm saying that I love you."

For a long moment, Yuri stared at him. Then he raised a trembling hand, first to his lips, then out towards Otabek's face, stopping millimeters short of contact. "You…really?"

Otabek nodded. "Yeah. Why else do you think I'm out here, beating up guys over your honor?"

The hand completed its journey, resting lightly on Otabek's cheek. He sucked in his breath sharply, treasuring the contact as he waited for his friend's reply.

Yuri's mouth trembled again, and he demanded, "Really? Are you sure?"

"Well, you're the one who's so good at reading my emotions. Look at my face, and you tell me."

Obediently, Yuri stepped a bit closer, and peered intently up at the taller skater. After a few seconds, he seemed to find what he was looking for. His face spread out in a wide grin, and he laughed shakily. "Oh, Beka, really? How long? Why didn't you ever say anything to me?"

Otabek carefully replied, "Yura, I don't want to lose you as a friend. You're…the most important person to me in my life. And I know that you rely on me. I didn't want to say anything that would make you want to break contact with me. I'd rather be there for you and keep what I want separate from the whole thing."

Yuri stared up at him for a long moment, and then lunged forward. Otabek barely had time to brace himself for the added weight before Yuri was clinging around his neck, threading his hands through Otabek's hair, yanking his head forward, clashing their mouths together. Just as suddenly as it had started, it ended, leaving Otabek's head reeling.

As he stared in shock, Yuri scolded, "How stupid can you be? Beka, do you always think about me?"

He nodded dumbly.

Yuri laughed roughly. "Idiot." He leaned forward and touched their foreheads together. "You're an idiot, Beka. I don't want to lose you, either. Because I love you."

Otabek's breath stuck in his throat. He didn't want to move, and risk breaking the spell that he was surely under. "Really?" he whispered.

The blond reached up and rapped the top of his head with his knuckles, making the Kazakh wince. "Yes, really."

They stood quietly together for some time, foreheads pressed close, simply reveling in the existence of each other. Finally, Yuri withdrew, and smiled shakily. "So, Beka…is it ok if we're dating, then?"

Otabek's heart constricted. He reached out and wrapped Yuri in a crushing hug. "Yes!" he whispered fervently into the soft hair.

Yuri nuzzled happily into Otabek's shoulder. "Good. Because I always wanted a delinquent boyfriend who would get into fights over me."

Otabek groaned. "Please don't call me that, Yura."

A chuckle came from his chest. "It's true though, isn't it?"

He sighed. "You're never going to let go of this, are you?"

Yuri laughed. "Nope! Not until the day we die."

A flutter lit Otabek's chest, and he was filled by an overwhelming urge to kiss his cute new boyfriend.

So he did.