In some respect, that week was one of the most difficult in Yuri's life. So far, there had been a few 'the most difficult weeks' - some of them because of skating, some others not - but this one was definitely the worst. Yuri tried to cope with the situation and did everything to not be defeated. Alone. Sometimes, he felt like a winner; sometimes, like the most wretched man in the world. It was a week filled with laughter and tears, with hope and despair, with prayers and curses. It was a week stretched between ecstatic pleasure and deep dejection, between silent anticipation and violent vehemence. From time to time, he would think that he probably hit puberty a few years too late.
He spent his days with the Yakov's team, keenly practising his new short programme and attempting quad Lutz. He hardly talked with anyone and cared little about the glances others would cast at him. Yakov observed him, too, but his gaze would be rather that of approval than astonished admiration. Yuri was capable of focusing on training, and others must have been aware of it, but apparently even people who'd known him for long were surprised by that steel determination he would show these days. Even Mila ceased teasing him as he wouldn't respond to her taunts, although that might be just a coincidence; she was busy with her new love affair. Only later he would learn that Mila had quickly lost courage to tease him.
He knew he had to occupy himself with skating in order to retain some psychical balance. Skating demanded concentration, and if he wanted to benefit from the training, he mustn't bother himself with anything else. So he trained, trained and trained... Choreography. Jumps. Spins. Steps. In right proportions, not overdoing it, but still quite much. He was focused and committed. Whenever on ice, there was nothing else but skating. On ice, he was Yuri Plisetsky who dreamed of yet another gold medal. It was easier this way. It was always this way.
Off ice... well. He and Lilia kept working on his free skate - or, rather, she worked on it, occasionally asking him about the elements... and never asking about anything else. She would only penetrate him with her gaze, but he knew he hadn't revealed anything to her. Once, she inquired about Otabek, and he answered that Otabek was doing well and even better, and not a single muscle in his face twitched. He even mentioned that Otabek was focusing on quad Lutz and would undoubtedly be able to land it cleanly in the next season - something he could only dream of now. Speaking of Otabek and himself in the same sentence wasn't so difficult he'd expected; quite the contrary, it came very naturally... as did changing the subject.
Off ice... All his thought revolved around Otabek, but he told himself it was better like this. He'd actually convinced himself that, doing so, he would be able to 'work the problem out' faster. After all, his main goal was to stop reacting to Otabek Altin the way he did. To tell the truth, he wasn't sure if he succeeded... if there was any progress, to begin with, for whenever he would return to his room in the evening, finally free from looks, voices and questions, then he would give in to his mad desire and sink into visions he would suppress during the day. No fatigue could weaken this fire burning in him at the memory of Otabek's dark eyes and deep voice, firm lips and beautiful body. He could only put out this fire with his own hands... and he did so, as much as it took... unable to resign on his wish... his dream that it was Otabek touching him, setting him ablaze and satisfying him.
He bitterly realised it was only a dream. And some dreams just couldn't be fulfilled, especially at the price of losing something more important.
He missed Otabek terribly. Forget those erotic visions he could do nothing about - or he actively filled his free time with - he missed his friend in his life. He missed their training sessions and meals. He missed their talks about skating and their meetings at the cafe. He missed their motorbike rides and having fun at the club. Only now that, of his own accord, he had limited their contacts to occasional text messages and one Monday training, he realised how much time they'd spent together before. How many times he would grab his phone to call and suggest that they meet... He would force himself to put it down. He had... He had to cope with his weakness in order to be able to enjoy Otabek's friendship again without restraint. There was no other option, so he had to clench his teeth and remain strong. He settled for peeking in Otabek's Instagram. A few dozens time per day.
The thought he would have to spend next few weeks - maybe even longer - like this almost made him scream. Sometimes, he would be absolutely sure he just couldn't do it...
His only joy was the knowledge that on Monday - in three days, in two days, tomorrow - he would see Otabek. They would train together, talk about skating and then go to eat, just like he'd promised. He would spent half a day with Otabek - and it filled him with such happiness that he laughed out laud and his face wore the same stupid expression that Katsudon's, whenever the Japanese saw Victor. But he forbade himself to think of the happiest couple in Sankt-Petersburg. He and Otabek weren't like those two. He and Otabek were... friends. And they would always be.
On Sunday, Lilia revealed - on paper - the majority of his free skate. It was a good thing they were going to line out it on ice later, anyway, for now he was far too distracted and could hardly understand anything. He only grasped that the programme was hard - and was glad with it... and he was glad about being glad about it. From time to time - very rarely, but he still nearly despised himself for it - he would feel that, confronted with his private life, skating was of no importance at all. Those moments, he would felt the urge to forget everything relating to the ice and focus his all energy on emotions, instead. He would smile wryly at the memory of Victor asking him long ago if he'd ever thought about love. He'd answered he hadn't... Now he thought about it all the time; Victor would undoubtedly say if was a very good thing...
No, come back, it wasn't love. It was just lust.
On Sunday night, he couldn't really sleep - he probably feared that something would happen preventing his and Otabek's meeting - but in the morning he felt very excited and full of energy, nonetheless. Training would start no sooner than 9 a.m., and time seemed to drag. He had the temptation to board the metro at 7 a.m. already, but there was no use since the rink would be closed now, and waiting outside would be totally lame. Somehow, he managed to survive - bath, Internet and visualising his free skate - and then finally appeared in the place he'd thought of for a whole week.
Otabek wasn't there, and he felt disappointed about it. Well, Otabek would always come ten to nine sharp, so there was no reason to expect him to be sooner today. Yuri changed and tied his hair, then put his skates on, trying not to glance at the clock. Ten to nine, and Otabek still wasn't there. Yuri started to feel anxious, but he told himself that Otabek would have informed him about his expected absence, one hundred percent. 'But if something happened on his way here...', his mind began to offer unpleasant visions.
Fortunately, Otabek appeared two minutes later (it was two minutes filled with the bleakest visions and increasing depression) and was just like always. However, Yuri didn't get to think any more than that, for the next moment the feeling of relief turned into something much more complex and intense. If he'd believed to be in constant tension so far, then he'd been greatly mistaken. Wave of emotions and feelings hit him and almost swept away, and it was utterly impossible to distinguish those sensations. Intoxicating joy and happiness he could see him again. Pride and delight that it was him. Above all, the need to hurl himself at him and become his whole world, both carnally and spiritually. The need to be reflected in his eyes and see his smile directed only at himself. The need to never again be separated, to always be next to him, to always be together.
'It's just lust,' he thought in despair, yet fully aware that his physical sensations are drowning in that flood of feeling that would undoubtedly blow him over if he wasn't sitting already.
It wasn't just lust. He could no longer run away from that realisation. He was in love, fuck it all. In love with Otabek Altin, his best friend... No, with his only real friend. The situation was completely hopeless... and all of that was so terribly unfair...!
He averted his eyes, although he only wished he could keep looking at him. No matter how painful it was, no matter what kind of consequences it might have - he didn't want to think of it, only look... for suddenly he feared that soon he wouldn't have even that. But he pulled himself together, even though it was more difficult than ever before. Regardless of their nature, Otabek must not realise his feelings. And... and as long as he didn't realise, there was the chance that everything would have a happy end. Yes, he was sure of that.
He took a deep breath. Everything... everything would be fine, he told himself, although terrible fear kept twisting his insides. Everything would be fine, he repeated. There was no situation that Ice Tiger of Russia couldn't cope with. Everything. Would. Be. Fine.
"Everything's okay?" Otabek asked, and Yuri realised he hadn't even answered his greeting. He promised himself it was the last time he'd become so distracted today.
He nodded. "Yeah. I just lost myself in thought," he replied and was surprised he could actually speak. "Lilia showed me my new free programme last night, and I can't stop thinking of it," he said, although nothing could be more distant from the truth; he could barely remember that programme.
"It should be like that, I suppose," Otabek decided, zipping his bag open.
"I suppose, too," Yuri agreed and rose. "I'm off to ice," he said; he hoped it would help cool down those emotions raging inside him.
He might as well wish for a little star. He couldn't quite remember the last time he'd been so disturbed on ice. By no means was it a favourable condition for a skate training, but what else could he do? If he ran away, Otabek would have questions to him... Besides... he would have to wait another week to see him again, and that thought filled him with a very unpleasant feeling in his chest. He tried to figure out what to do - after all, he could always discover the right answer if he only applied himself to it - but this time his mind was empty and devoid of any ideas.
As the time passed by, he grew more and more annoyed with himself for being unable to find a solution... and for having found himself in this situation, in the first place. Then, the more annoyed he felt, the worse his skating was. He probably set a new record of flubbed jumps in a single training session, he thought sarcastically, getting up after yet another failed triple Axel. It only proved that even Yuri Plisetsky, the greatest genius of Russian figure skating since Victor Nikiforov, couldn't focus on sport when something else was on his mind. Still, with stubbornness worthy of a better cause, he would continue his training, although his reason kept telling him his actions were completely pointless and he only laid himself open to an injury. He found some masochist pleasure in humiliating himself this way... maybe even felt the need to be punished for having got in such a trouble. He realised it wasn't a behaviour of an adult person, but he couldn't help it... didn't want to help it.
As far as he could see - from continuous glances - Otabek was practising quad Lutz... and was much more successful about it. Well, but he didn't have such a problem on his mind, absorbing all his attention, did he? All of the sudden, Yuri felt angry with Otabek for such imperceptiveness. He was certain that even Otabek Altin would find it difficult to focus on training if he knew that his best friend was... was in love with him. Yuri knew he was blushing, but it didn't stop him from following the thought. If... if he told him, just like that... how would Otabek react? He would stop the training, wouldn't he...? Even he, a man who never let emotions control his behaviour, would find it too difficult to keep jumping those quad Lutz like nothing happened... right? But he wasn't sure; it was Otabek in question, and his talent Yuri admired more than anyone else's. Still, he played with this thought... this temptation for a longer while... but he knew well he would never be able to say it aloud.
After three hours, his spirit was as sore as was his body. There was probably no part in him without bruises now... As for his mind, he was no longer sure what emotion prevailed in him, for they would change all the time - but probably anger with himself and general dejection. He still hadn't found the way out of this crisis - and felt scared at the thought there might be none at all... He dreamed of a hot bath, that might help him relax... But no, damn, they were going to eat together...
Would he be able to do it? Would he be able to remain calm and act normally? Well, at least he stopped feeling the urge to jump Otabek and... and... do all those things he'd been thinking of for the last week. But it was really a poor consolation. Otabek would certainly notice his bad mood and would inquire about its cause... Hmm, maybe Yuri could put it down to such a terrible training...? But Otabek must have realised that the training was so terrible due to some cause... And there had been no secrets between the two of them so far. What should he do?
Yuri knew he didn't intend to miss that meal with Otabek, come hell or high water. It was not an option, not after he'd waited for it the whole week.
He took off to a toe loop with a sudden determination, rotated four times mid-air with a verve and landed with satisfaction... but lost his balance and fell, his left hip hitting the ice hard. This time he didn't manage to contain a cry of pain. In a moment, Otabek was by his side, stretching his hand. Yuri took it without thinking and got up, clenching his teeth and trying to suppress a moan. It was only then that he realised how close Otabek was - closer than ever today... this week... His heart sped up.
Otabek still held his hand. "You're okay?" he asked, and Yuri could barely hear his voice through the pounding in his ears. "I think you should call it a day. Come, I'll help you to the changing room. Lean against me if you want," he added and came even closer.
Yuri trembled, unable to tear his eyes off Otabek's face, some twenty centimetres from his own. Involuntarily, he licked his lips. He felt a blush creeping onto his face and realised, with some lucid part of his mind, that the situation was bad. Such behaviour attracted attention more than anything. 'Plisetsky, anything but that! These are not your reactions...! You're not a shy middle school girl! Be yourself!'
And although he wished nothing more than lean against Otabek, he violently wrenched himself free and moved away. "What's your problem?! Fuck off!" he yelled with anger he didn't really feel.
Only when he'd said that he realised that with Otabek he hadn't ever used such language. He felt cold, and he no longer knew whether it was due to possible exposure... or something else... A heavy load weighed on his chest.
Otabek took his hand back and kept staring at him for a longer while - his face impossible to read, just like always - before finally nodding.
"Fine," he said, then turned back and returned to his previous place.
And Yuri felt like the most miserable man in the world. He bit his lips so that they didn't tremble and - even though it demanded his all strength - raised his head and pulled off to the exit. Pain in his heart was much worse than that of his hip. He walked to the changing room practically blindfold, for he couldn't see much through his tears. He wished he could take a shower - turn on hot water and spend half an hour in it - but he knew he couldn't stay here. He took off his skates, although his hands were shaking so much he nearly tangled the laces up. He clenched his teeth in order to not curse, for he feared that he would burst out crying instead. He put his sweat shirt on, packed his training clothes and left.
He took a taxi. Only his self-respect - or what was left of it - helped him to survive that fifteen minutes ride with dignity. (Only once in his life he'd cried in public and had promised himself it would never happen again). However, when he reached his room, all dams were let loose. He fell on the bed and sobbed the next half an hour. Potya sat down by his side, as if trying to comfort him, but his presence couldn't ease the pain. Never before had Yuri felt so wretched, and he feared it was but a start. He had no idea how to handle this nightmare his life had suddenly turn into.
'Help me, anybody,' he thought in the moment of the greatest degradation.
However, he knew well - and it didn't improve his mood at all - that he wouldn't accept anyone's help anyway.