Yuri finds himself back at the apartment far too soon, even though last night seemed to drag on forever. The few times he'd started to drift off, he'd hear his grandpa's voice calling his name, and he'd be jolted awake. It was very jarring, and it sent adrenaline coursing through his body each time. Finally he'd given up on sleeping, searched for his earbuds, and watched a movie on his phone until Yakov said it was time to get up for the day.
He'd gladly do it all over again if it meant he didn't have to be here right now.
He's frozen in the doorway. The hustle and bustle behind him is almost nonexistent as he takes in his childhood bedroom. Just a few months ago, he had come home to visit, and relished in the comfort of this room. The sanctity of it all makes him reluctant to touch anything.
"You okay, Yurio?" Yuri turns to see Yuuri behind him, a stack of plates in his hands. He and Victor had been assigned the kitchen, while his mother and uncle were cleaning out their father's room, a far more personal chore. Yuri hadn't been able to convince himself to peek in before they started. It would make his grandfather's absence too apparent.
Yakov had been busy with phone calls, and promised to meet them at the rink that afternoon.
For now, Yuri swallows down his emotion and manages to answer Yuuri normally. "Yeah. I just… I'll start in a minute." He silently congratulates himself that he was able to speak to Yuuri without snapping for once. Sure, it's probably because he's so exhausted, but still.
Yuuri looks like he wants to touch Yuri, pat him on the back or something, but with the plates in his arms, he can't. Instead, he bumps his shoulder in a way that still feels comforting, and Yuri manages a small smile. "Take your time," Yuuri says.
When he returns to the kitchen, Yuri considers closing the door and giving himself some privacy, but ultimately decides against it. He's worried he may end up crying if he's left alone. All he needs is for someone to check up on him and find him in tears. How humiliating. Especially if that someone is Yuuri. After how he treated him two years ago, when Yuri found him crying in a bathroom stall after the Grand Prix Final… it'd just remind him of what a jackass he could be sometimes, of what a jackass he's been the last day or so.
No. The door should stay open. Yuri can power through this.
He looks around and tries to decide where to start. The walls are littered with band posters and drawings he made when he was a kid. His bed is decorated with old stuffed animals, clashing comically with the loud bedspread that screamed 'teenager.' The whole room had this problem, really. When he came home, he'd bring in new, cooler decorations, but he was never around long enough to clean out his old, little-kid things. It made the room into a comfortable mish-mash of both childish items and more mature ones.
He brings his empty trash bag to the closet, figuring it's a pretty safe place to dive in. Most of the clothes in there are far too small. With his recent growth spurts, he's lived out of his suitcase the last few times he was in Moscow.
For a while, it goes smoothly. Things either don't fit or aren't his style anymore. Every now and then, he finds a hat or a scarf that can still be used. He tosses them into a box that he'll take to St. Petersburg.
As he works, he counts how many times his mother passes his doorway on her way to get another drink: three. He also counts how many times she stops in to check on him: zero.
Shortly after drink number four, the sibling bickering between his mother and his uncle escalates to shouting. They're fighting over something, probably one of his grandfather's few valuables, but Yuri doesn't know what. Might as well get used to this, a small, sinister voice tells him. It'll be your new normal. He tells the voice to shut up.
Finally done with his closet, he rocks back on his heels and surveys his progress.
"Hey," Victor says from the doorway. Yuri doesn't have to look to know he's smiling. "Good job, Yura. You got a lot done." He stands next to him and slings an arm around his shoulders, looking down at the bulging trash bag.
"I guess." They turn around to look at the rest of the room. Even though it's untouched, there's really not that much to do. Aside from the bed, which Yuuri is now perched on, there's only a bedside table, a dresser, and an old toy box in the corner. Most of Yuri's stuff is in his St. Petersburg apartment.
Yuuri cringes as something breaks in the neighboring room. The yelling gets louder. "Those two need to get their priorities straight," he says. "They're supposed to be looking for important paperwork, but they're too busy splitting things up like some divorcing couple."
Victor looks at Yuri. "If there's anything of your grandfather's that you really want, you should claim it soon."
Yuri's shaking his head before Victor's even done saying the sentence. "I don't want anything."
Victor's arm stiffens around Yuri's shoulders, and he shoots a look at Yuuri, who shifts uncomfortably on the bed before he speaks. "Maybe you don't now, but can you think of anything you may want later? Something that will remind you of him, to remember him by?"
They're treading on fragile territory here. Yuri lets the cold, logical part of his brain take over, combing through sixteen years of memories to see what sticks out.
Obediently, his mind provides him with the image of sitting on his grandfather's lap on New Year's Eve, a storybook big enough to completely cover Yuri's legs spread out in front of them. Beside the fireplace, Yuri's grandfather would read story after story to him until Yuri fell asleep. Back then, he never quite made it to midnight.
Yuri knows the storybook has been lost for years, but he can still remember the way his grandfather would blow smoke rings from his pipe between stories, the smell of the tobacco mingling with the smoke from the crackling fireplace.
Satisfied to have an answer to give Yuuri, he suppresses the memory back down before he thinks about it too hard. He looks up at Victor and says, "Maybe his pipe?"
Victor nods. "Easy enough." He releases Yuri and disappears into the hallway. The yelling in the other room reluctantly subsides when Victor interrupts. Yuri guesses that Victor had closed the door behind him, because the words are now too muffled to understand.
There's no mistaking the fury in his relatives' voices just a few moments later, though. He and Yuuri exchange a curious look and listen as Victor's voice raises and becomes firm.
They're still yelling a few minutes later, when Victor stops just outside Yuri's doorway, a polished mahogany box him his hand. He shoots the two an annoyed look. "You ready to go?"
Yuuri stands up quickly. "What was that all about?"
Victor rolls his eyes at Yuuri. "Apparently the stem of the pipe is real ivory." He hands the box to Yuri and gives him a tender smile. "We negotiated."
"'Negotiated?'" Yuuri asks suspiciously.
"Okay, well, they tried to negotiate, and I threatened to sue."
"Victor…" Yuuri sighs, exasperated.
Yuri gazes down at the box, runs his fingers over the lid, inscribed with his grandfather's initials. He can't bring himself to open it, maybe won't for a long time. But he looks up at Victor and says, "Thanks."
No matter how hard Yuri concentrates, he can't complete a single runthrough of his routines. His quads turn to triples. His step sequences are sloppy. He trips over his own feet. He hasn't suffered from such clumsiness since his novice days, when skating was just turning from hobby to career.
The more he fails, the more frustrated he gets, and the more he messes up. Forget about improving his performance score— he can't even manage the technical aspects. Meanwhile, Yuuri oozes grace on the other side of the rink and Victor lands quad after quad.
As he falls for the umpteenth time, Yuri realizes why Yuuri took sixth in the Grand Prix Final the day after his dog died. For the second time that day, he feels ashamed of his behavior in the bathroom back then.
Finally, Yakov suggests they call it a day. Good thing, because Yuri is sure if he stumbles one more time, he will turn his back on skating and never look back. He fumes as he leaves the ice. Everyone sees the scowl on his face and leaves him alone.
Luckily, the exhaustion makes it almost impossible to keep his bad mood for long. He doesn't have the energy to be mean. He just wants to be left alone.
When Victor chooses a restaurant for dinner, Yuri orders the first thing he sees on the menu, not bothering to read through the whole thing. He hasn't had an appetite in days, so it doesn't really matter.
Yakov is studying him from across the table. For once, Yuuri and Victor have split up, with Victor sitting next to Yuri.
"I don't think you should train tomorrow, Yurochka," Yakov says.
No, not that nickname again! Yuri tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach when Yakov uses it. "What? Why not?"
"Today was not a quality practice. You won't do yourself any favors if you push yourself when your heart's not in it. It will only affect your confidence."
Victor snorts into his water. "That'll be the day," he says, a small grin playing on his face.
A hush falls across the table long enough for Victor to realize his mistake. His hands fly up to his mouth in horror. "Oh, god, Yuri, I'm so sorry."
Yuri balks at the disapproving look Yuuri's giving Victor from across the table. "Stop that!" He commands both of them. "Don't remind him that he's supposed to be sad! He made a joke. It was funny. Don't treat me like a little kid just because…" He trails off, unable to finish that sentence, which probably doesn't help his case too much. "Just… try to act normal. This is killing me."
He practically has to choke out that last part. It's the first bit of truth he's told the three adults so far. It's not much, but he feels a little vulnerable anyway.
Unfortunately, his brief moment of weakness only adds to the delicate air at the table. Yuri glowers at all three of them to show that he's unscathed, but the awkward moment drags on. He finally lands something to yell at them about, desperate to break this terrible sympathetic spell they're all under. "Why are you all drinking water?"
If it was any other night, they would be enjoying some sort of alcohol. Wine for Victor, some local brew for Yakov, and Katsudon… actually, Yuri has no idea what Katsudon drinks when he's not in Japan.
It's yet another reminder that things aren't okay. Yuri desperately wants things to be okay.
The three of them all look at their water glasses at once, almost comically. Yuuri's the first one to look back at him. "Yurio," he says tenderly, "we thought, with your mother…"
Yuri deepens his scowl. "I've seen you all drunk before. I've seen my mother drunk before. Somehow, I've survived. You're not going to scar me for life if you have a drink with dinner." When no one reacts, he pushes on. "I know the difference between having a drink because you want one and having one because you're an alcoholic. Now order the damn drinks!"
He flags down a waitress so they don't have a chance to argue with him. They reluctantly give in and order. A smug look crosses Victor's face at the last minute and he orders Yuri some frou-frou virgin drink with a rhyming name.
Yuri does a double-take and commands the waitress, "No. Don't bring that."
Victor looks very pleased with himself as he tell her, "Yes. Absolutely bring it."
The waitress laughs, a tinkling sound that's contagious and encourages the rest of the table to join in. As she walks away, the tension slowly lifts. Especially when Yuri's drink shows up with both a slice of pineapple and a cherry.
Now that the others aren't tip-toeing around him, Yuri leans back in his seat and watches them converse easily amongst themselves. He answers a question or two when asked, but after his little angry adrenaline rush, he's fine with just watching them talk.
When the food comes, he still doesn't have an appetite. He takes a few bites, but mostly just pushes his food around, hoping no one will notice he's not eating.
That's probably about the time Victor's wine kicks in.
"Yura, try this beef!" He shoves a forkful in front of Yuri's face. Yuri shoots him a look, but ultimately takes the bite just so he'll shut up.
"Victor!" Yuuri exclaims as Yuri chews. "Don't feed him that swill! My shrimp is much better; try it, Yurio."
Yuri is suddenly the judge in some kind of food competition.
"Yuuri, you never know what to order. Yurio, tell him how great my broccoli is."
"But Yurio, try this soup. Tell Victor he needs to make it next time I'm sick."
Yuri catches on to their game pretty quickly. He's not stupid. They've noticed his lack of appetite and are force-feeding him, practically stuffing bite after bite into his mouth. He plays his role of sulking teenager, but in reality, he's relieved to see the two of them fall back into their goofy antics. It's been too long since they've acted this way around him.
"Oooh, Yakov, is that borscht? Yurio, tell us how it stacks up against our food."
"You know what the problem is with Russia? They don't know how to make good rice. I mean, just try this, Yurio. Isn't it terrible?"
Yuri pushes away Yuuri's outstretched fork. "Don't give me bad food!" The rest of the table laughs.
Soon, Yuri finds that he really doesn't want to eat anymore, so he puts a stop to the game. The others continue their banter, their plates clean.
Victor toasts to the three of them sharing a podium at the Grand Prix Final. Yuri taps his frosty glass against theirs good-naturedly, but doesn't take a sip. When Victor suggests that they should each take a turn at gold this season, Yuuri and Yakov snicker and Yuri rolls his eyes.
"No, listen," Victor insists stubbornly. "Yurio can take the Grand Prix, then let me have gold at the European Championships! You can have the Four Continents, of course, my love." He smiles brightly at Yuuri.
Yuuri chuckles and shushes him. "That's awfully generous, since neither of you will be competing there." He puts his head in his hand, humoring Victor. "And what about Worlds, hmm?"
Victor knits his eyebrows together, then shrugs. "Rock, paper, scissors?"
The adults all laugh. "Nice try, but I think there are a few flaws in your plan," Yuuri says. "I mean, for one, you're crazy if you think Yurio will let us win anything."
"Damn straight," Yuri sneers.
"And after Worlds," Victor continues, completely ignoring them, "we'll shop for a vacation home in Hasetsu."
Yuuri almost chokes on his rum and coke. "What's wrong with my family's inn?"
"We need something more private!" Victor waggles his eyebrows suggestively across the table and Yuri nearly gags.
He's about to interject about how he'll be glad to be thousands of miles away from both of them, here in Moscow, when he suddenly remembers exactly what's waiting for him here after Worlds. And just like that, the warm little bubble of safety that surrounds their table pops and reality sets back in. He doesn't even know if his mother will have an apartment for him to come home to when he leaves Yakov's for the season. He hasn't seen any of the money he sends her go toward rent in a long time.
When the waitress comes back, they order dessert and Yuri realizes they're not leaving the restaurant anytime soon. Rather than think too hard about his future, he swirls the straw around in his frou-frou drink, focusing on the way the previously-frozen mix has become soupy. By the time the new food arrives, he's effectively tuned the others out.
It's only a few more minutes before he starts to feel warm and sleepy. His exhaustion is stronger this time because he's well fed. Glancing at the others, who aren't paying attention to him, he slides his drink away and rests his head on his arms on the table. He stares at the wall with half-lidded eyes.
Distantly, he registers that Victor begins stroking his hair, his touch surprisingly gentle for how animated he had been up to this point.
"Has he slept at all?" Yuuri asks quietly. "I know he didn't on the plane."
"He was on his phone when I went to bed last night," Yakov says, "And he was on his phone when I woke up."
Yuri wonders briefly if he should be angry that they're talking about him, but with Victor threading his fingers through his hair and the rest of the restaurant noise fading away to a dull buzz, he can't bring himself to care.
"Has anyone seen him cry?" Victor's voice is almost quieter than Yuuri's.
"Not in our hotel room," Yakov says. "I would have woken up."
"Not at the apartment today, either," Yuuri chimes in. "Or on the plane, that I saw."
Victor hums his acknowledgment, and the sound has all the tenderness of a parent. Yuri wonders if Victor's watching him, if he knows he's still awake, albeit barely.
"His family's really something, aren't they?" Yuuri's voice is a more normal volume now, as if he's concluded that Yuri's asleep. "I mean, I guess I kind of knew they probably weren't the greatest, given how angry Yurio is all the time."
Yep, Yuuri definitely thought he was asleep.
"Irena's been like that ever since I've known her." Yakov's voice is more gruff than a minute ago. "I've never met her brother, though. Nikolai was such a good man. I don't know how his kids turned out so… different than him."
And there it was. His grandfather's name, used in the past tense like that, makes Yuri's heart sink. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head to bury his face in his arms. He lets Victor's fingers distract him until he falls asleep.
As much as Yuuri, Victor, and Yakov tried to hurry and get Yuri back to the hotel room so he could get some real sleep, their efforts were in vain. Yuri is laying in the dark, wide awake, same as last night.
He texts Otabek, but between the three hour time difference and Otabek's early bedtime, he's unlikely to get a response. Yuri sighs.
He got off easy with his room today, he knows. The closet was probably the easiest, least personal place to start. He's barely even opened it in the last few years. He is not looking forward to going back tomorrow.
Especially with his mother and uncle there. He'd been lucky enough to have minimal contact with them today, but he doubts it'll be the case tomorrow. He'll have to talk to them again sooner or later, if not in the next few days, then in the coming months.
Frustrated at himself, he scowls into the dark. He pushes the thoughts away like they're persistent flies. Rolling over, he plugs his earbuds into his phone and puts on another movie, some action flick with a lot of explosions. It helps for a while, laying on his side, just watching the colors flash on the screen. Soon his drowsiness comes back and he nods off. The phone tips out of his hand.
He's in his grandfather's apartment. The TV is on, and an image of Yuri, in his free skate costume, dances across the screen.
In front of the television is his grandfather, reclining in his armchair. Yuri tries to call out to him, but his mouth doesn't release any sound. He wants to move toward him, but his feet are cemented to the ground.
The on-screen Yuri lands a jump and Grandpa makes an impressed noise. Yuri thinks he should feel proud, but there's an ominous feeling swirling in the air around him, and he just feels scared.
Sure enough, a few moments later, his grandfather makes a pained noise and clutches his chest. Yuri is helpless to do anything but watch as Grandpa falls from his chair and begins bleeding from an unseen wound. His eyes, wide with panic, look straight at Yuri.
"Yurochka," his grandfather croaks. "Why won't you help me?"
With a yelp, Yuri jerks himself awake. Tears are streaming down his face and his forehead is clammy with sweat. In a rush, he rips the sheets off and hurries to the bathroom. Feeling ill, he bends over the toilet. After a few minutes, though, the nausea passes without incident. He straightens and looks at himself in the mirror.
"It was only a dream," he tells his reflection. "I can calm down now. I'm safe."
It's as if Yuuri's words hold some sort of magic calming power. As he says them, the details of his dream become fuzzier. He doesn't even try to catch them. It's better to forget.
It's another few minutes before he can return to the bed. Yakov snores steadily, and Yuri remembers what he said earlier in the restaurant, about how he'd have heard Yuri crying in the middle of the night. Yuri almost laughs out loud. Yakov sleeps like a rock.
Feeling a bit better, he goes back to sleep, confident that his exhaustion will keep him safe from his overactive imagination.
He's wrong.
The next few hours are a special form of torture. Terrible visions of his grandfather suffering are separated by periods of half-wakefulness, when Yuri isn't quite conscious enough to escape the cycle. His grandfather dies over and over, sometimes from an illness, sometimes because he's hurt. Once it happens in an earthquake. Every time Yuri closes his eyes, the last image is replaced by a new one.
When he finally manages to wake up fully, he rushes to the bathroom again. He actually throws up this time. Why did Yuuri and Victor feed him so much?
It's only four AM, but Yuri knows he won't get any more sleep tonight. He can't. He sits straight up in bed with that action movie on his phone and tries his best to contain everything behind the wall in his mind until the sun finally starts to rise.