Author's Note: Happy mother's day! Thanks again for all the favs and follows, and thank you for the review Silent Killing (and no, I have sadly never heard of Alina Orlova before, but I did listen to some of her songs since you mentioned her, and she's quite melodic!) Anyway, on to the story!
Disclaimer: I do not own Yuri On Ice or any of its characters. Just the OCs.
When Irina glided off the ice after her first practice since St. Gervais ended, she did not take her usual route to the benches. Instead, she reluctantly made a left towards the other side of the rink, where Yuri Plisetsky stood, leaning against the rink wall while playing on his phone.
The idea for the somewhat risky venture had occurred on the train ride from St. Gervais, and it had not left her alone since. So she resolved herself to go through with it. Even if the chances of it succeeding were slim. Very slim. Ridiculously-
She shook her head. No, she couldn't think of that. She just had to summon some of her optimism, and things would work out fine.
Naturally, she was a bit nervous, because her interactions with Yuri had been limited so far…
The rink was made of hushed whispers and excited squeals one day. Several new skaters were coming in, and one was said to have caught the eye of Yakov, one of the coaches who used the rink. The last skater said to have caught Yakov's eye had been Viktor Nikiforov, and everyone knew how that turned out. Even more amazing, the skater was said to be, at most, one year Irina's senior. Everybody was wrought with anticipation.
Though she had been the only one that noticed the boy who had snuck into the rink by the backdoor, his grubby hand clutching the one of an elder's.
The back hallway in which they had walked into was practically deserted. It held a few bathrooms and a water fountain, which Irina was standing at, filling up her water bottle.
The elder, a kind looking old man with a pepper and salt beard and a worn cap, gave a nod to the younger boy. "Excuse me for a moment, Yuratchka, I need to use the restroom."
The boy repaid the nod, his face sullen. The elder noticed the look and squeezed his cheeks, causing the boy to look mortified, though he pinched the elder's cheeks jokingly in return. The elder let out a chuckle and disappeared into the restroom.
Irina stared at the boy. Did he notice her? He didn't look like it, as he was just staring off into space, shifting on his feet impatiently.
Slowly, she approached him.
"Hello." She tried to keep her tone calm and inquisitive, as the boy looked like he would scare off if she started off with her usual exclamation. "I'm Irina Lebedeva." Irina stuck out her non-water bottle holding hand. "I haven't seen you here before. Are you new?"
"Yeah." The boy shook her hand after some hesitation. "I moved to train here."
He had moved to train here? Was he the one everybody was talking about? Irina could only wonder.
"Really? I live here, just a couple kilometers away. Where did you use to live?"
"Moscow," The boy answered simply.
"The capital? That must have been so cool!" She couldn't help the lilt of excitement that carried her voice. She had never visited Moscow, and it was a major (and supposedly cool) city. Sure, St. Petersburg was big too, but she had lived there her entire life. So she got excited.
"Yeah." The boy seemed to recede a bit, and his eyes darted around the room.
"Oh, I've lived here in St. Petersburg my whole life," she babbled, trying to get him to open up more. "It's pretty cool too. We've got lots of sights. Have you seen any of them?"
"No." Apparently answering an unasked question was not the correct way to open up a startled boy.
"Well, um, how long have you been skating?" she burst out. "I've done two years, and before that, ballet. I still do some ballet, though."
"Since I was six," The boy answered slowly.
"And how old are you?"
"Ten."
Processing the new information, she replied, "I'm nine." He was one year her senior, at the most. Perhaps he really was the new skater…
"I'm back!" The elder walked back into the hallway, and he instantly looked at her. "Ah, have you made a new friend already?"
Before the boy had any chance to reply, the elder had already leaned down to ruffle his hair. "I'm proud of you, Yuratchka," he said in a hushed voice, and Irina probably wasn't meant to hear it. "For making a new friend so quickly."
If the boy had any protests, he did not voice them, and the elder stood up.
"I'm Yuri's grandfather," he greeted, sticking out his hand. Irina shook it. It was large and gloved, like a friendly old bear's. "And who might you be?"
"I'm Irina Lebedeva," she first said to Yuri's grandfather, before turning to Yuri himself. "You never told me your name was Yuri!" She smiled, to show she was being playful. She did not know if he caught it.
"Yuri, what manners have I taught you, not telling the young lady your name?" Yuri's grandfather reprimanded him, though in a teasing manner.
Yuri's cheeks, which had already been a fine shade of pink from the friend comment, turned red. Then he shrugged, saying in a somewhat gruffer pitch than before, "I'm Yuri Plisetsky."
"There we go. Now, tell me, Irina," Yuri's grandfather turned to her. "Will you do the honor of leading us to the rink?"
Nodding, she turned around and practically skipped to the rink, her water bottle shaking and spilling. Yuri kept pace with her, while his grandfather was but a few steps behind.
"Yuri," she said, as the ice came into view, a chill starting to fill the air. "Who's your coach?"
"Yakov." She could see Miss Krupina, glancing at her watch before looking up, confused as to why there were now two more people by Irina's side.
"Oh! Then you must be the new skater everyone's talking about!" she gushed, just as Yuri's grandfather gave him a pat on the shoulder, going to talk with Yakov.
"Really? People are talking about me?" He seemed a bit surprised, but mostly smug about the fact.
"Yep!" Irina was almost near the rink door, Yuri still by her side.
"Cool." Yuri glanced over to where his grandfather and Yakov where, and they started to wave the young boy over. "Can I ask you a question?"
"What?" she responded, a bit too excitedly.
"Do you always talk this much?"
"C'mon, Irina, you need to see this!" Anastasia tugged on her wrist and dragged her along.
Irina was young, around 11, and could not fathom why she was needed. "But I just got off the ice. It's my break time now," she whined. "And I was gonna get a hot pretzel! You know they always run out of those!"
"Just for five seconds," Anastasia promised. She then led her to the edge of the ice, and pointed. "Look."
Irina looked. "It's just Yuri. I see him every day."
"No, watch his routine."
She watched the young boy circle the rink slowly, and waited. She watched him perform a small jump, and waited. Then she watched him kick up his legs and- "Did you see that?" she exclaimed.
Anastasia nodded excitedly. "Mhmm."
"That was a quad!"
"Yep."
"He landed a quadruple salchow!"
"I know!" Anastasia bounced on her heels.
"He's only twelve, and he just did a quadruple salchow!"
Anastasia nodded again.
"I don't even know if Viktor landed a quad when he was twelve!"
Anastasia agreed. "Who would even know?"
"Thousands of his fans, most likely," Irina answered.
Anastasia shrugged, but otherwise ignored the comment. "See, wasn't it worth it?"
Irina nodded. She had never seen anybody so young perform such a difficult jump, and in her own rink, too!
"So, do I get something in return for showing you something super awesome and amazing?" Anastasia teased and Irina rolled her eyes in playful manner.
Irina thought for a moment. "I have enough money for two hot pretzels."
"That'll do."
The rink was full of festivities. Streamers were draped over the windows, balloons were tied to chairs and, if Mila had her way, to various body parts. It was their annual celebration for the Grand Prix results, and with two champions in their mix, it was extra cheery.
Irina was glued to a chair at a table, listening as Anastasia chattered and filled her in on all the skaters' behavior.
"Evita and Aimi? Total best friends. However," Anastasia hastened to assure her. "Definitely not as close as us." Anastasia had made it to the Grand Prix Finals, though no medal adorned her neck.
Irina nodded and let her gaze drift as Anastasia continued to ramble. Viktor was surrounded by a hoard of people, Miss Krupina was hovering nearby, chatting with other coaches, and-
"Yuri?" Irina called out when she saw the skater making his way to the exit. "Are you leaving so soon?"
Yuri froze, his back still to them.
"Yeah, great Grand Champion!" Aleksei, another student of Miss Krupina, who was sitting with them, exclaimed cheerily next. "Don't ya' want to celebrate with us?"
Yuri whirled around to glare at him, and the doors swung sadly as he left.
Irina turned to Aleksei and swatted his arm. "Aleksei," she scolded. "I think you hurt him!"
Aleksei blinked. "Really? I mean, I thought since he was always so…you know, he'd know it was a joke."
Irina shook her head. "I guess not." It was a bit funny to realize now, that no matter how many times she had seen skaters dissolve into groups to chat, or anything really, Yuri was never a part of them.
Anastasia was the first to break the silence. "Anyway, did I tell you about how someone puked in the bathroom?"
All in all, she doubted they were close enough for her to ask a favor. But, she reminded herself, it wasn't a favor. It was more of a deal.
Yuri Plisetsky, just on appearance alone, seemed to hold up his reputation of being a punk well. He was disinterestedly looking at something on his phone, while stretching his leg up, almost as though there was nothing better for him to do but be at the rink, and if there was, he would be there instead. It made sense why the press often would say that he decided to be one of the best male skaters in the world at a whim.
But on the other hand, there was also the fact that when he was practicing, he looked like a tiger hunting for his prey. And that prey was the championship. He wore his determination thick like a cloak, that he seemed to sometimes to change into at random. Maybe that's why she never seemed to understand what Yuri Plisetsky was about.
But on the other hand, for all his mysteries and his own permanent shell, he had the fiercest fanbase for a skater she had ever seen. Maybe it was because he was cute. She examined him for a second. Most definitely because he was cute. But she couldn't focus on that now. Just on her idea.
"Um, hi, Yuri!" She smiled and gave him a small wave.
Yuri looked up from his phone and mumbled something in response.
"You've begun to train with Ms. Baranovskaya, right?"
Yuri gave her a quizzical look, then nodded.
"Is she still strict?" she said, attempting to be casual.
Yuri snorted. "She's a ballerina, isn't she?" He glanced over to her and remembrance flashed through his eyes. "Um, sorry."
"Ah, no, it's okay." Irina brushed it off and tried to remember how she thought to approach the subject. "So…"
"Yeah?"
She tucked a loose strand of hair back into her bun. "Um…"
Yuri rolled his eyes and checked his phone.
She resolved to blurt it all out, like ripping off a Band-Aid, quick and fast. "IwasthinkingthatIcouldhelpyouwithherinexchangeforyouhelpingmewithmyjumps!"
Yuri stared at her, blinking slowly. There was moment of horrible silence before: "Okay."
"Huh?"
"I said okay." When she started to beam, he quickly added, "But don't make a big show out of it or anything, all right?"
"All right." And they shook on it.
Author's Note: I really love writing flashbacks from when Irina's younger. It's just so fun! And, just a reminder, if you like the story, feel free to fav, follow, or leave a review! Thanks for reading!
