Yuri is ecstatic at the kiss and cry. He's snatched gold at Skate America. Between this and his silver at the Cup of China, he is sitting comfortably as one of the contenders at the Grand Prix Final. Victor and Yuuri have made it, too, and today his friend Otabek has also scored high enough to qualify as well. Christophe Giacometti took the final slot.

It'll be a good competition this year.

The scores were just announced, and since Yakov hasn't said a word yet, Yuri turns to him with a huge grin on his face. "I made first, Yakov!"

His coach sits stone-faced, staring at the scoreboard. His expression gives Yuri pause, but he quickly shakes it off. Yakov is always stone-faced.

"Hey!" Yuri has the urge to wave his hand in front of Yakov's face, but since the cameras are trained on them, he tries to keep a little decorum and just bumps his shoulder into Yakov's arm instead. "Have you gone deaf, old man?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuri sees Victor and Yuuri standing rinkside, watching him receive his scores. Typical. Only competitors, coaches, and press are supposed to be here on the floor. Yuuri had promised they would only be at Skate America as spectators, but they had already broken that promise once, when he caught them outside the locker room with Yakov before the free skate. God, why did they have to be such stalkers all the time?

At least when Yuuri catches his eye, he has the good grace to look embarrassed. He turns his head and whispers something to Victor. Victor shakes his head in response. Are those tears in Yuuri's eyes? Weak. Yuri knows his routine is beautiful, but come on.

"You've got quite the challenge ahead of you." The voice of Yakov cuts through his thoughts, finally reacting to Yuri's win.

Yuri tears his eyes away from the couple and looks at Yakov. "Da," he says, "But I beat them all last year." Except Victor, that is, but he's old and washed up.

Yuri is sure Yakov will lecture him about his ego, some crap about not underestimating his opponents, but instead his coach just rises to his feet and walks out of the camera's range. Yuri furrows his brow. Yakov's acting weird. Yuri hops up and follows him.

"Yakov," Yuri says, almost out of breath as he weaves through the crowd, "Hey, wait!"

"Just do your interviews and change quickly," Yakov says over his shoulder. "I'll have a cab waiting."

"Wait!" Yuri says again. He catches Yakov by the arm and forces him to turn around. "Yakov, are you mad at me?" He looks up at him, confused.

The old man's face is as stern as ever, but there is something soft in Yakov's eyes. "Of course not, Yura. You skated well today."

Yuri drops his hand from Yakov's arm and lets him leave, then turns to face the press alone.

Yuri had been hoping to get some answers when he got into the cab with Yakov, but the coach has been almost exclusively on his phone since Yuri buckled his seatbelt. It's unusual. Yakov usually uses his phone mainly for calls, but today he seems to be doing a lot of texting and answering emails. Yuri notices he seems a little restless, too. When he's not on his phone, he's glancing around, as if counting the blocks back to the hotel.

Crazy old man.

Yuri pouts, feeling a little empty at the lack of fanfare surrounding his gold medal. When it's clear Yakov isn't going to say anything to him about his win, he finally pulls a pair of earbuds out of his backpack, stringing them from his phone to his ears. Before he can choose his music, though, Yakov reaches over and tugs the earbuds out.

"Hey!" Yuri says indignantly. He checks that Yakov hasn't damaged the cord.

"Yura." Something in Yakov's voice makes Yuri look up. "I have something to tell you." He is staring Yuri down with the same intensity he had right after Yuri had sprained his ankle when he was thirteen. Yuri had almost missed the Junior qualifiers that year.

Yuri's eyes narrow suspiciously. "What?"

"When we get to the hotel, you need to pack, and quickly. We're not flying home in the morning. We're leaving tonight."

For a brief moment, Yuri is ready to argue. He's just barely finished competing. He doesn't want to leave for a nine-and-a-half hour flight!

But Yuri catches the words before he says them. Common sense sets in. Yakov never changes their travel plans like this. He is careful not to needlessly exhaust his skaters. Leaving tonight would almost certainly guarantee that Yuri would need an extra day or two of recuperation in Russia, and that would take away from practice time right before the Grand Prix Final.

So why has he changed the flight?

"I don't understand," Yuri practically squeaks, as if his body is already preparing for some terrible news before his mind has consciously thought about it.

"Well…" Yakov had been looking everywhere but Yuri's face, but now he meets his eyes. "Yura, it's your grandpa."

Yuri freezes. His breath catches in his chest and he can't blink. He wouldn't be surprised if his heart stops.

Yakov keeps going, as if he won't get the rest out if he doesn't say it now. "He passed away."

There's a moment of incomprehension, and then Yuri's blood turns to ice. He feels like the seat of the car falls out from underneath him and he is falling. He isn't even sure whether he's still looking at Yakov. He can't really tell what he was seeing, so he clenches his eyes shut.

Yakov is saying something, but it all sounds muffled. Yuri feels strong arms encircle his shoulders. He expects Yakov is hugging him, but awkwardly, since they're in a car. If Yakov is trying to comfort him, it doesn't work. Yuri's body is pulling tight like a rubber band, and Yakov's touch does nothing to relieve the tension. If anything, it pushes him closer to snapping.

My grandpa… what… He's not thinking, and somehow, simultaneously thinking too much. Whenever a word or an idea takes shape, it brings pain, and Yuri's not entirely sure why.

Suddenly, he starts seeing stars against his pitch black eyelids, and realizes he's been holding his breath for several seconds. As he gasps for air, red hot fire fills his muscles and he wrenches his eyes open. He feels overly jittery, like a skittish animal ensnared in a trap.

He has to get out of this car. He has to get out of this car.

He wrenches away from Yakov's grip and practically plasters his face to the window of the cab. To his mild relief, he sees they're about to pull into the hotel.

Yakov is calling his name, putting his hand on Yuri's shoulder to steady him, but Yuri is jumpy and can't sit still. The minute the cab comes to a stop, Yuri grasps for the lever and lunges out. He doesn't bother to close the door behind him. Somewhere in his jumbled mess of not-thoughts, he's aware Yakov has to pay the cab driver. That's his opportunity to escape.

He doesn't anticipate Yuuri and Victor would be waiting for him in the lobby.

Yuri is running to the elevators (or maybe the stairs. Would the stairs be better? Where is he going, anyway?) when out of nowhere, a flash of silver interrupts his line of sight. Victor's body is lithe, but it can hold its ground stubbornly. It feels like Yuri is running into a wall. He topples backwards onto the tile of the lobby floor. Years of falling on the ice has trained his body to roll and he manages to avoid hitting his head.

"Oops," comes Victor's familiar voice. "Sorry, Yurio." He offers Yuri a hand, but Yuri doesn't move to take it. He just sits up and grips his head in his hands.

"Yurio?" Victor says, concerned.

Finally, Yuri manages to choke out a word between gasps. "M- my heart…" It's racing wildly, in a way it never has in competition. This isn't physical exertion. Physical exertion isn't scary. Not like this.

And suddenly Yuuri is by his side, kneeling on the ground with him. "He's having a panic attack." Something about Yuuri's voice demands Yuri's attention. Maybe it's how steady Yuuri sounds in this moment. Like he knows with certainty what to do when no one else in the world can give him any direction. Yuri struggles to focus on Yuuri's face, but his vision is swimming. "Victor," Yuuri commands. "Go get a glass of water. Actually, two."

Yuri finally finds Yuuri's brown eyes and feels one of Yuuri's hands go to his arm. "Listen to me, Yuri," he says. "I want you to breathe with me. Just like this, okay?" Yuuri starts breathing in and out slowly. But for every one of Yuuri's breaths, Yuri is gasping at least five times.

"I…c-can't…"

"Yes you can," Yuuri insists. "Tell your body it can calm down now." When Yuri keeps gasping, Yuuri says firmly, "Say it. Say 'I can calm down now. I'm safe.'"

With a little more prompting, Yuri slowly manages to repeat him.

"That's it," Yuuri smiles, and his praise seems like the most important thing right now. "Now keep thinking that, and breathe with me."

Yuri watches Yuuri carefully, tries to match his breathing. I can calm down now. I'm safe. It seems like a few hours, but is probably only a few minutes, before the ground slowly stops spinning and the lights stop being so painfully bright. Dimly, Yuri can hear Yakov talking to someone in the background. Probably someone from the hotel, wondering why some crazy kid is hyperventilating on the floor of her lobby.

Yuuri must have noticed his attention drifting, because he snaps in his face. "Don't worry about them," he says. "Keep your eyes on me. What did I tell you?"

"I can calm down now," Yuri whispers breathlessly. He isn't gasping out of control anymore, but panting as if he's just finished a skating routine. "I'm safe."

"That's right." Yuuri nods. "You're in control of the situation. Make your breathing like mine."

Slowly, the electricity trickles out of Yuri's limbs and he feels exhausted. He looks around for Victor. "Can I have some water now?" Victor glances at Yuuri, who nods, then hands him a tiny paper cup. Yuri downs it in two gulps, then demands the second one. Victor takes both the cups from him as Yuuri stands up, then they both offer Yuri a hand. He takes them, not quite trusting his legs yet.

It's kind of a funny feeling, he realizes numbly. He spends his life commanding his limbs, exercising the tightest amount of control to push his limits without going overboard. It's new, for his body to betray him. He doesn't like it.

Yakov mutters something to Victor. Yuuri listens, then turns to Yuri. "Yurio, we have to go soon. Do you need help packing up your room?"

Feeling a bit embarrassed, and determinedly not thinking about anything that just happened, Yuri briefly wants to tell him to shove off, just to try and save face. But for once his vulnerable side wins out, and he just averts his eyes and nods self-consciously.

Somewhere between the hotel and the airport, Yuri forces himself to get a grip. The panic attack was one of the most humiliating things that has ever happened to him. And for Yakov and Victor and Yuuri to witness that level of fragility… he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to look back on this incident without blood rushing to his face. It cannot happen again.

So Yuri makes the decision to avoid thinking about The Thing, the news that Yakov told him, as much as he can. There is a pain in his chest and he feels devastated, but as long as he doesn't directly think about The Thing, he can keep his sorrow from pouring out physically.

He cried in front of the whole world when he won the Grand Prix series last year, but that feels different somehow. Last year, it was a release of emotion in a moment of triumph. Now, he just feels weak. So he's made up his mind. His friends may have seen him panic, but they will not see him cry.

When he and Yakov make it to their gate that night, Yuri catches sight of Yuuri and Victor already waiting there. He's relieved when he feels a tad bit annoyed at the two of them. It's a familiar feeling, being annoyed. Easier than anything else he has felt today. So he grasps at it and feeds it until it becomes full-on anger.

"What the hell are those two morons doing here?" he snaps at Yakov. Yuri is pleased to hear his normal venom embedded in the phrase. Everything is the same. Nothing has changed.

"They changed their flight to come with us to Moscow." There is a tiny bit of tenderness in Yakov's voice. Yuri's not pleased. His coach should be gruff and irritable, like he always is. "They're here to support you, Yurochka."

Yuri's heart falters at the nickname. Even though his fans call him that periodically, there's only one man who uses it in such an affectionate way and now… nope, he's too close to thinking about The Thing. Power through. Be angry.

"That's stupid. I don't need them." Yuri glowers at the couple to prove his point.

As they approach, Victor notices them and elbows Yuuri. They both stand up and Yuuri immediately moves to grasp Yuri by the shoulders.

"Are you doing okay, Yurio?" he asks. Yuri sees his eyes glisten. Somehow, the commanding presence that had come over Yuuri at the hotel has dissolved. He's back to his normal, blubbery, emotional self.

"I'm fine. Don't touch me." He jerks himself from Yuuri's grip. "And don't cry. He wasn't your grandpa." If he spits out the words, they don't hurt him as much. Yuri files that revelation away for the future.

Yuuri shoots Victor a troubled look and Victor changes the subject. "Guess what, Yurio!" he says cheerfully. Overly cheerfully, and that's saying something, for Victor. Yuri finds him roughly 87 times more annoying than normal, so he shoots Victor a glare.

"What?"

"I upgraded us all to first class!"

Yakov startles. "Vitya, on this long flight? It's too expensive!"

"Nonsense." Victor beams. "It's much more comfortable."

Yakov nudges Yuri. "Say 'thank you,' Yuri."

For what? Yuri wonders idly. He did it out of obligation. I'm not stupid. "Whatever. Thanks, I guess." He shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and purposely doesn't make eye contact with Victor.

Yakov looks ready to scold him, but Yuuri is quick to diffuse the situation. "It's fine!" he says, waving his hands. "Victor mostly used points, anyway."

Yuri slumps into a chair and puts one foot on his suitcase. This conversation isn't doing enough to distract him. Already, his anger is dying down and something far more dangerous is waiting to replace it. He whips out his earbuds before his mind has a chance to run off.

But Yakov isn't going to let him bow out just yet. "Yuuri and Victor are coming because I don't know how long I'm going to be able to stay in Moscow," he explains as he sits down next to Yuri. His voice has taken on that awkward gentle quality again. It really doesn't suit Yakov. "Mila made it to the Grand Prix Final. I might have to get back to work with her, but we'll see."

That hag made it all the way, too? Yuri rolls his eyes. "Then just head straight to St. Petersburg, and take these idiots with you. They need the training even more than Mila." He pulls his hoodie up over his head to block out Yakov in his peripheral.

"We're not going to do that, Yurio." Victor's voice loses its cheeriness. Now he's calm and firm.

Yuri draws his hand to the front of his hood and tugs it down over his eyes. He's too tired to argue anymore. "Whatever," he says again.

It isn't even halfway through the flight and Yuri isn't doing too well.

Despite the roomy first class seat, he feels stifled. He's already listened to his three favorite albums on his phone. When the fasten seatbelt sign had been turned off, he hopped right up and has used the bathroom three times since, just to have something to do. He hates sitting around, staring at the TV screen in front of him. Finally, Yakov had yelled at him to stay down, that he would bother the other passengers if he kept getting up.

Why don't planes have places to just stand? Maybe next time Victor could charter a private airplane just for him. Yuri smirks at the thought.

Drumming his fingers against the armrest, he looks out the window, but there isn't much to see. A sprinkling of stars above, nothing below. Maybe ocean, but he can't tell. The moon isn't even out tonight. The cabin's interior lights are dim as well, illuminating the center aisle with only a dark blue glow.

Yakov's asleep in the seat next to him. Yuuri and Victor are sleeping across the aisle. Earlier, Yuuri had asked him gently who he wanted to sit by. He was trying to be nice, Yuri supposes, but it just came off as pandering. The choice had been easy enough, though. Yuuri had been handling him like a delicate piece of china since the hotel, and Victor was even more obnoxious than normal. It wasn't hard to choose Yakov, the least chatty of all of them.

Now, though, Yuri finds himself with nothing to distract him and his thoughts turn depressing against his will. He's not looking forward to the next couple of days. He's realized already, of course, that his adult family members will be stepping in to help with funeral arrangements. That means his terrible Uncle Andrei, who's frequently criticized Yuri's grandpa for the way he was raising Yuri. Yuri always ends up yelling at Uncle Andrei whenever the two of them were in the same room.

And, naturally, his mother would be there, a bottle of vodka in tow, and maybe a new boyfriend. Yuri wonders if she will be drinking even more because of The Thing, or whether the alcohol has pushed her beyond the point of caring. He hasn't seen her in two years, at least. She used to swing by Yuri's grandpa's apartment when he was there between skating seasons, but the last few years had brought a myriad of excuses and canceled plans. It had been fine by Yuri, really.

It occurs to Yuri, hits him like a brick, that he won't be returning to his grandpa's apartment in Moscow after Worlds this year, like he always has. Where would he go, then? Would he be allowed to stay in St. Petersburg? When he turned sixteen, Yakov had helped him find a small apartment there, to afford them both a little more privacy during the skating season. "After Victor's teenage years," Yakov had said as they moved Yuri out of his house, "never again."

But the apartment is walking distance from Yakov's place, so Yuri is still under his watchful eye. It had been made clear that the apartment was only so Yuri could have a little space. Yakov still makes the rules, and checks in with him regularly. With a small gasp, Yuri realizes that he doesn't know who his legal guardian is now. Yakov may have authority over Yuri when he's in St. Petersburg, but it's a far cry from guardianship.

He'll have to go back to his mother. He'll have to look the other way when she's drunk by noon, make himself scarce when the alcohol hits her the wrong way so she doesn't start screaming at him. He had left that life behind and never looked back, but the thought of returning, even for a few months between skating seasons, is enough to make his hands shake.

No. He clenches them into fists. I'm not going to fall apart again, he thinks. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll even volunteer to teach those stupid brats at Yakov's summer camp. But I will not go back to Moscow after this. Since he knows it isn't really up to him, the words bring little comfort, but he's at least able to get a grip on his emotions again.

He takes his mother, takes his stress, takes The Thing and pushes them away, into a tiny corner far, far in the back of his mind and builds a wall to keep them hidden.

He inhales deeply and arranges his face to a steely glare. If he looks tough on the outside, he can be tough on the inside.

Yuri jams his earbuds back into his ears and turns up the volume until he can't hear himself think anymore.