"I'm so bored!" Yuri groaned. There had been times when he'd fantasized about having long stretches of time to himself with nothing to do. Of course, during those fantasies, he'd been able to travel. Run around. Skate for the fun of it. Maybe take up rock climbing.

Turns out, he didn't have any hobbies. Yuri had been skating as long as he could remember. It had been his first hobby, his first real joy, unless you counted his fasicnation with cats. He'd started competing before most children were reading fluently in their own language. It literally had been his life. So now he was bored.

Physical therapy occupied some time, but in an annoying sort of way. It wasn't long or interesting enough to be more than an interruption. He didn't have the manual dexterity to pick up video games in any sort of useful way. You really needed both hands working right for that. You can only see so much TV before you start hating it... even if Yakov managed to bring in some DVDs from America for him, for variety.

Schoolwork was maddening. He hated it. Resented the way his tutor kept insisting it was important. And because he hated it, it was hard to concentrate on... and it didn't help that his writing looked like a child's. At her urging, he'd tried using his left hand. Sure, it was easier to hold the pencil, to apply the pressure, but the letters just didn't form properly. And his partially-numb, tight-scarred, malfunctioning-tendoned right hand kept losing grip, or twitching unexpectedly.

So, between the painful, hated schoolwork, and the painful, frustrating physio, he was, as he had just stated, really bored.

"If you'd like some company... I think Otabek Altin has some free time in the next few days," Yakov said.

"Yeah, because he'll fly all the way to Russia just to visit," Yuri said dryly.

Yakov looked a little uncomfortable. "Actually... he's opted to do his training in Moscow for the next few weeks." At Yuri's incredulous, disbelieving stare, he continued. "Very well. I asked his coach to consider relocating. Otabek was eager to second the suggestion. He has been worried about you."

He opened his mouth to try and reply. Couldn't seem to get any words to form. Wasn't sure what he wanted to say.

"I've had calls from Victor as well," he said, now with a bit of a sly grin. "But I thought that Otabek might be a better first guest, hmm?"

Yuri actually managed a rough sort of a laugh. "Hah. You've got some good ideas after all, old man."

He was surprisingly nervous. Yakov had suggested that maybe Yuri would like to reach out to Otabek himself. Mostly, he'd been ignoring his phone. All his snapchat feeds and news filters were set up for figure skating, and he'd been unable to bear looking through it. The outpouring of get well soon tweets were more depressing than inspiring, and even cute cats on Instagram got dull eventually.

So, here he was, picking it up for... maybe the second time this week? At least it held a charge great when he never turned it on. He resolutely ignored all the alerts his phone kept frantically trying to tell him were there, and tapped on Otabek's contact button.

Hey. It didn't take too much longer to text with just the one thumb, and that was actually pretty cool.

It took about a minute for a response, and Yuri felt the knots in his stomach unclench with relief when he saw Otabek was responding. Yuri. Good to hear from you.

Yeah. So, Yakov tells me you're in Russia, eh?

Yes. I liked this rink when I was younger. The same apartment is still for rent, even.

He was so glad Otabek was fluent in Russian. He didn't feel like trying to do this in English or his awful, awful German. He still couldn't do more than swear in it, no matter how hard his tutor tried. German was MADE for swearing. You should come over here and visit my lazy ass.

I'd like that. When can I visit?

Shit. I think visiting hours are stupid here. Just make sure Yakov knows you're coming and he'll get you in.

OK. I can come tomorrow. Want me to bring something for lunch?

OMFG YES

Tired of hospital food, then?

And I get the good version. Get me anything. Spicy maybe, foreign.

You got it. I will see you for lunch tomorrow. Heh, just like Otabek. Reliable, double checks the schedule. And calm. Kind of opposite of him

You'd better. I'm going out of my mind here.

Hang in there.

He suspected he'd caught Otabek on the ice, or in the gym, becuase that's what he'd be doing this time of year. He was grateful he hadn't brought it up. The thought of his friend sakting was...

Determinedly, Yuri forced his mind away from that, called up a silly mindless video of somebody trying to bathe their cat. It distracted him enough to pull out one of his textbooks, a history one, and that let him change tracks enough to ignore the feeling of loss that had threatened to sweep over him.

He wasn't sure exactly what he was feeling when there was a polite tap on the door and suddenly Otabek was standing there, ramrod straight to one side of the door frame. He was wearing casual clothes, which Yuri was glad for, and also annoyed by. Did Otabek think he was too weak to deal with him in sportswear?

He was. But he resented that Otabek knew he was weak.

And then he took a step into the room, and Yuri caught a whiff of garlic and peanut and spice and everything except hunger fled from his mind. "You'd better bring that over here RIGHT NOW," he said, swallowing to keep from actually drooling.

Otabek gave a faint smile, one of the ones that actually barely moved his mouth at all but did crinkle up his eyes a bit, and just like that, everything was easy. They shared the BEST Thai curry Yuri had ever eaten, and Otabek's inability to use chopsticks at all meant that Yuri had an excuse to use a fork rather than fight with his wrong hand to use the damn sticks. It's not like they were starving him, but the food here was all pretty bland, so it would be acceptable to almost anyone. Even his grandpa's pirozhki needed some varity once in a while.

"So, what's it been like in Kazakhstan?" Yuri asked, stabbing just one more delicious shrimp.

"Pretty good, really," he said. "I'm here to visit you partially, of course. But I'm also here purely because I can be."

"Oh yeah?"

"They ended the draft this year," Otabek said with a sigh. "I can actually retire before I destroy my knees, and not have to go into the army. So to celebrate, I decided I'd go live in another country for a while, just because I could."

"I keep forgetting you're old enough for that to be a thing," he said. "You'd be a good soldier, though."

"I might sign up later on anyway," he said, shrugging. "It's not as if we're fighting any wars right now, and I'm good enough in math and physics to fast track into engineering. Not a bad career option, really."

"Pfft, for you, sure," Yuri said, waving a hand. "Me, I'm not so good with taking orders. Or blending into a group."

That actually earned him a real smile. "No, Yuri. No you are not."

It wasn't until after Otabek had left that the implications of that conversation really played through in his head. Skating had been so much of his life that Yuri had literally never considered what life would be like without it. As a world-class athlete, he was exempt from conscription. He'd fully expected to skate until he was almost 30, as Victor seemed set on doing, at which point he'd be old enough and rich enough to retire and live in peace.

He'd never bothered to take the higher-level classes. Why would he? He could graduate with his acceptable grades, it's not as if he was planning on university, what would he even study? He was rubbish at the maths. Indifferent at language skills. No real interest in science. Too impatient for law.

Maybe he'd be hurt enough to avoid conscription. If you were missing a leg, or had cancer or something, you were exempt. But... But what if he wasn't? What if he was just hurt enough to be... normal?

It was every man's civic duty to serve in the army, and everyone's duty to get a job of some sort, to enrich society. Very few could get away with not doing so and still retain any respect... and until very recently, he'd been one of those elite few. Being a skater was hard work, and brought a great deal of glory to Russia, it was seen as another way of defending the fatherland. But if he could no longer serve on the ice...

The disdain. He felt plenty of it himself, for the people who were too cowardly, too weak to serve Russia. Everyone did. Sure, tens of thousands of young men tried to dodge in some way, but even if they weren't caught and punished, it was frowned upon, strongly. You weren't a man until you'd served.

And now he'd lost his out.

Shit.

He was even more screwed than he thought.