A/N: My apologies for the wait! This chapter is split into three sections: The first in Yuri's POV, the second in Otabek's, and the third in Grandpa Nikolai Plisetsky's. It should be clearly marked. This chapter was beta-ed by the lovely Altergravity. The song that goes with this chapter is "Take A Chance On Me" by ABBA

Yuri POV

Beka was the consummate gentleman, as Yuri had always suspected. His heart melted every time Beka sensed what Grandpa wanted before he asked, quietly getting things down from high shelves, bringing a blanket if he looked cold, moving Yuri's haphazardly strewn possessions to make room for the wheelchair. He helped Yuri cook and clean, pushed Grandpa around the neighborhood and to the store for groceries… he even took the time to befriend Princess. Of course, the damn cat soon preferred Beka's quiet peace to Yuri's constant quivering motion, the traitor. Yuri pointedly didn't think about how much he'd like to curl up against Beka, too.

He was watching them enviously, one afternoon, not sure if he was more jealous of the cat or Beka, when he was startled out of his brooding.

"What's her name?" Beka asked softly, as he stroked her silky fur.

Yuri flushed. "Um. Princess. Don't laugh. I named her when I was like nine."

Beka smiled. "I wasn't going to laugh, Yura. I am curious about your logic, though. You don't seem the type to give such a name."

Yuri bit his lip, trying to decide how much to say. Beka sat there patiently, waiting for him to speak, stroking the damn cat, and, hell. Why not?

"I had a lot of trouble learning English for competitions," he admitted. "I used some of my mother's old books. She adored fairy tales; she had both English and Russian editions of her favorites, and she used to read them to me. It was easier to pick up English words from them, since I knew so many of the stories by heart." He snorted. "Of course, a lot of the words are pretty impractical. I mean… how many times have you had to know 'princess' or 'castle' or 'dragon' at competition?"

"Yura, your parents…"

Beka paused, giving Yuri an out, and he both loved and hated him for it. He'd never talked about them, not to anyone but Grandpa, but…

"Come on."

He grabbed Beka's wrist before he could change his mind, tugging him insistently into his room, pulling him down to sit on the edge of the bed. Thank goodness he'd made it this morning.

"Yura…"

"Shhh!"

Yuri tossed his pillow across the room, ignoring Beka's quiet snort, and unearthed the faded photograph. He held it close for a moment; it was his secret. He traced the worn lines of the woman who looked so like him, all the way down to the sparkle in her eyes, the shape of her nose, the tilt of her smile. Then the man, beside her, arm slung around her shoulders, laughing. He'd got the shape of his face from him, his flaxen hair, his dancer's grace. He drew in a sharp breath, fighting the familiar sting of tears, then thrust the photograph into Beka's hand.

"Here. Just - be careful with it. It's the only one I have."

He clamped his lips shut over the words that threatened to spill out, sealing them in with the tears. He snuck a quick sideways glance at Beka, scrutinizing the photo intently with pursed lips, then refused to look again. He studied their hands instead, where they rested on the coverlet. His fingers had grown, in the last two years, and now they telegraphed a similar strength. But his fingers were long and thin, where Beka's were thick, and they stood out in stark relief against Beka's darker skin.

"Yura…"

Beka's fingers caught his, trapping them and squeezing gently. Yuri could have easily torn his hand away, but instead he held still, heart beating so fast he was sure Beka could hear it. He didn't look up - he couldn't bear to look up - as he began to speak.

"My mother. And my father. She was - her name was Annika, and she was studying to become a biologist. My father - Pavel - he was a dancer, and an activist. They met at a public skating rink, near her University. They were both there with friends, and they were both terrible. At skating, I mean. They ran into one another, landed in a tangled heap, and fell head over heels for one another. Literally." He snorted and wiped away a tear. "They disappeared, when I was still very young. I - we think they were taken into custody at one of the rallies. Grandpa says there were some violent clashes with the police. He thought he saw here there, on the news, but he's never been able to find out for sure. We don't know what happened to them, but…" he trailed off, feeling the familiar trickle of ice down his spine as he thought of his beautiful Mama and graceful Papa, rotting in a prison cell somewhere. He knew they had most likely been killed; knew that that was realistically the best thing that could have happened to them. At least that way their suffering would have been short-lived.

He drew his knees up to his chin, wrapped his arms tightly around them, and ducked his head, so his hair swung forward to obscure his eyes. "Grandpa tells me about them, sometimes. When he's had enough vodka."

He didn't say that he loved those days, cherished every new scrap of information about them that Grandpa relinquished, or that he hated them, too, because they tore the old wounds open and kept the pain fresh and raw. He didn't have to. He knew Beka understood - could feel it in the way Beka's large palm suddenly engulfed his own, and the steady pressure he exerted as he twined their fingers together.

They sat silently, each wrapped in their own thoughts, as the afternoon light that streamed through the window paled and the shadows lengthened, creeping steadily across the floor. They didn't move until Grandpa called them for dinner, and then Otabek disentangled their fingers, gave Yuri's shoulder a quick pat, and slipped out the door, leaving Yuri a moment to gather himself back together and hide everything once more under his familiar angry teenager mask. He was grateful for that, grateful for the way Beka answered Grandpa's questions easily, subtly deflecting his attention from Yuri until he felt able to speak again. He was grateful, but it made his heart ache with the carefully buried yearning for more than a supportive friendship. Beka could be his person - if only he wanted to. But he didn't want to, and so Yuri kept his answers monosyllabic and vague, and stared mutinously at his plate, refusing to meet Beka's eyes across the table.

He excused himself after dinner, pleading exhaustion; Grandpa and Beka shared a worried look but let him go. He lay in his bed for what felt like hours, wide awake, staring blindly up into the darkness. If he didn't love Mila as much as he did… But he did love her - she was the best big sister he could imagine. He didn't want to hurt her by admitting his feelings to Beka— Yuri balled up his fist and punched his pillow, hard. He loved Beka. More fool him. But Beka didn't love him, and he refused to let a stupid crush come between them. Any of them. If Mila was anywhere near as smart as he thought, she'd know what a catch Beka was. Hell, he'd practically told her. She'd even warned him to make his move - and he'd let the chance slip by. He could hardly blame her for falling for the same man as him. And he would get over it. He would.

Like you've gotten over your parents?

"Shut up!" he hissed, not caring if he looked crazy, since there was no one there to see him. This was different. It had to be.

Lies… came the whispered response.

Yuri flipped violently over, yanking the covers up as far as they could go and jamming the pillow over his head.

But still, sleep eluded him. He groaned, flipping over once more, hoping Beka couldn't hear him tossing and turning. Having him here was wonderful and terrible all at once, and he found himself simultaneously wishing that he would just leave already and desperately wanting him to stay. He felt so confused and conflicted; he wasn't sure about anything anymore. Not even skating.

He sighed, glancing at the corner where his skates had lain, abandoned, since he'd arrived. He knew he should have been practicing at the local rink, working on a new program, but… it all seemed so pointless and empty. He wondered if this was how Victor had felt, that last season before he dropped everything to coach Katsuki, and for the first time felt a twinge of regret for how he'd acted. He couldn't imagine going back to St. Petersburg, after everything, whether Beka were there or not. He toyed with the idea of moving somewhere entirely new to restart his skating career: to Canada, maybe. But then he remembered that fucking JJ lived in Canada. Scratch that. He had no intention of living in the same country as JJ. So, where, then? Japan? He thought of Hasetsu fondly for a moment, and then remembered that not only were the triplets there, but that Victor and Katsuki would be there too, now that they were retiring. So… no. He tried to think of somewhere else, but he couln't think of anywhere that wouldn't remind him with a constant ache of Beka. Then he realized that it didn't matter where he went - the fucking ice would remind him. He muttered a few choice words, threw the covers off, and turned on his bedside lamp. He gathered up the skates and other gear and shoved it all into the back of his closet, burying it beneath a tower of random artifacts of his childhood. He never wanted to see any of it again.

He pulled his oldest, most worn stuffed tiger out of the pile and climbed back into bed, clutching it to his chest. He fell asleep flanked by two stuffed tigers, ferociously guarding his troubled dreams and the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Otabek POV

"This isn't working."

Mila's snort sounded a little tinny, but her amused grin was wide as ever. "What's not working?"

Otabek scowled at her, contemplating throwing his phone across the street in frustration and feeling a sudden wave of empathy for Yuri. "This," he growled, the arm not holding the phone sweeping out and away from his body to take in his surroundings. "All of it. I'm beginning to think he never wanted me at all. He certainly doesn't act as if he does."

Mila sighed, and the smile faded. "Beka… he's young. And hurting. I shouldn't have meddled, and we certainly shouldn't have left him alone for so long. He's stubborn - you know that. You'll just have to wear him down." She turned, shouted "coming!" and then looked back, rolling her eyes. "Ugh, I gotta go or Yakov will take my phone again. Tell Yuri hi for me!"

"Wait - Mila! I don't think that's a very good—"

The screen went dark, as the call cut abruptly off, and Otabek sighed. Well, that avenue was clearly a bust. He kicked moodily at a can someone had discarded on the sidewalk, then bent over to scoop it up, a lifetime of lectures about littering having left him with the compulsive need to pick up any stray trash he found lying about. He shoved his phone into his back pocket as he went to put the can in the bin; he looked up just in time to see the curtain at the window twitch, the flick of pale hair as the observer - Yuri, it had to be - turned away. He sighed and braced himself for the argument as he mounted the stairs.

"Who was that?" Yuri's tone was flat, disinterested, but his partially-hidden eyes flashed dangerously. Otabek shrugged. "Mila. She asked me to call and update them once a week."

Yuri nodded sharply. "And?"

Otabek frowned, feeling as if he'd missed a step. "And what?"

"And when are you going back?" Yuri asked, rolling his eyes.

Otabek still felt off-balance. "Did you want me to go?"

"Whatever." Yuri turned back to the television, currently showing an old nature documentary on tigers. He pointedly ignored Otabek until he gave up and headed into the kitchen to find a snack, and then maybe a nap. He was exhausted from all the late nights worrying over Yuri. Every time he thought he'd made progress, Yuri shut him out again. He was beginning to think this entire venture was a fool's errand, and that he'd be better off returning to St. Petersburg to work on a program for next year. Yuri obviously didn't intend to compete - he'd not even mentioned skating in the time Otabek had stayed with him.

He didn't think he could go back to St. Petersburg though - not without Yuri. He didn't think he could face a season of pitying glances. Mila knew how he felt about Yuri, and he suspected Katsuki did too. He wasn't sure about the others, but still, they would be constant reminders of what he wanted but couldn't have. No, he'd be better off returning home to Kazakhstan, and either finding another trainer for the season or perhaps even announcing his retirement. It wasn't unusual for skaters his age to retire - 20 was young for anything else, but getting up there for all but the exceptional skaters. And he was far from exceptional. Skating just felt wrong, without Yuri.

He was engulfed by a sudden wave of homesickness, and was tempted to call, let his little sister's infectious laughter cheer him. It was past midnight there, though, and he didn't really want to try and explain why he'd felt it necessary to wake them all up. Maybe tomorrow he would give wooing Yuri one more chance. If he was rejected, again (as he suspected he would be), then he'd be on the next flight back to Kazakhstan. He'd have Mila settle things with his landlord and send him the few possessions he'd left in the rented flat. Then he'd spend the rest of his life trying to forget the fiery blonde skater who'd stolen his heart. Maybe he'd even let his mother arrange a marriage for him. He knew she'd held off for so long because she wanted him to pursue his dreams as a skater, but without that… Well. A marriage might not be so bad. He cherished silence and solitude, but sometimes he got lonely. And she loved him. She'd do her best to find him someone quiet and scholarly. Someone he could live with. Someone who didn't remind him of the one person he didn't think he'd ever be able to forget.

Nikolai Plisetsky POV

Yuri's friend had fallen easily into their quiet routine, and he'd long since ceased to be wary of the boy. Otabek was unfailingly polite, though his replies sometimes seemed curt. But he didn't think it was intentional; he'd seen the flicker of fear, of a need for approval in his eyes when he'd asked the boy questions, those first days. And it was so obvious, the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at Yuri. He'd watched suspiciously at first, but it was soon clear that the infatuation went both ways, though Yuri staunchly denied it, when he dropped a few hints.

Nikolai sighed. Ah Yuratchka, he thought, shaking his head, as he watched them move closer on the couch, getting caught up in conversation, and then shuffle awkwardly away, for what felt like the thousandth time. As much as I sympathize, having been young and in love myself… I have less time than you to waste. And I want to see you happy before I die, so get a move on.

I know you're scared to love, Yuratchka, he thought later, as he watched the pain and confusion in Otabek's eyes as Yuri brushed his concern off once again. But I can tell you right now that it's no way to spend your life. You can't stop living when the people you love die. That's no way to honor their memories. I wish I'd realized that years ago, when you were young. I'd change so much, now, Yuratchka. But your mother… she was happy with your father. And even though they didn't have long together, they packed those years full of memories. I would never change my decision to allow him to woo her. And it brought me you, my Yuratchka. I would never trade my years with you.

It was clear, he decided, as he readied himself for bed, that he would have to intervene, or the young idiots were liable to make some noble sacrifice and drive one another away. The air between them was tense and awkward; it crackled about the small flat, full of sharp eddies and undercurrents. But what could he do?

He eased himself into bed with a quiet "oof" and indrawn breath. Yuri would never have allowed him that movement, if he'd been thinking straight, but he'd been too preoccupied after dinner to remember their usual routine. And, really, it hadn't even been that difficult. He rotated his arms, carefully, then twisted from side to side. His muscles twinged, protesting the unaccustomed movement, but overall, his back felt like it was healing nicely. He smiled. He'd suspected as much for several days, now, but had chosen to hide that fact from Yuri in order to delay the outcome he most certainly didn't want: that both boys would leave and never acknowledge the unspoken truths that lay heavily between them.