Yuri quickly realised how naive on his part was that belief that the worst week of his life had been past him. The one following the Monday training was much worse. On Tuesday he didn't attend Yakov's morning session, excusing himself with his bruised hip. He even tried to convince himself it was the main reason for his indisposition, but his self-criticism wouldn't let him believe it. He just knew he wouldn't be able to focus on practising, and there was no point in repeating what he'd done the previous day, for he really risked the serious injury. Not that he cared much... In fact, he wished he could participate in that bloody training, for staying home didn't help his mood in the slightest - but at the same time he just didn't want to see anyone.
He was hopeless.
Never before had he skipped a training session due to bad mood. But, well, never before had he faced a situation like this one. The matter was serious, although he no longer knew why. He couldn't understand himself. He wasn't capable of making any sensible decision. In any case, he was dejected and angry with himself, he felt guilty and feared he had destroyed what was so dear to him: friendship with Otabek. The scene from the Monday training would haunt him like a nightmare. Being eighteen, he had behaved like a brat, and he despised himself for that. He'd been thinking that keeping it a secret had had a priority. That the most important had been to act normally - yet such insincerity had nearly turned him into another person, and, of course, it had brought its result.
His frustration had led to aggression, and even though that still might be something to understand, directing that aggression at the person who hadn't deserved it at all, could no longer be accepted. Fucking hell, Otabek was his friend! His best and only friend! He'd never done anything against Yuri's will, had never showed any negative emotions towards him, and yet Yuri had rejected his help, had roared up him and generally had made understand he'd had enough of him, even though nothing could be more far from the truth. And Otabek, who had never been angry or lost patience with him, had accepted that, turned away and left to continue with his business, while Yuri, instead of apologising and explaining, had simply run away - and now was at the very bottom, wondering what to do, even though he knew perfectly well what to do: to apologise.
But he had no guts to do so. Reality had crushed him to such an extent that he could no longer trust himself... and, besides, he was simply scared. First, if he were to apologise, he would also have to explain his behaviour - and he had no idea what kind of explanation he could offer. He was sick of lying already. Second, he didn't know how he would react when meeting with Otabek again. Maybe he would start blushing and averting his eyes, or maybe he would start shouting and spewing. Maybe he wouldn't be able to check himself and would reveal himself with some word of gesture, or maybe he would just make things worse and their friendship would definitely cease existing. He could pretty easily imagine each of those situations, and such visions made him freeze whenever he was about to grab his phone and call Otabek.
There was also the option that Otabek was through with him. It required bloody courage to admit it - and every time he did so, he felt his heart stopped beating - but he had to be frank with himself. That time, on ice, he had hoped Otabek wouldn't care about his display and objection, only would firmly insist on helping him off ice. Later, in the changing room, he still had hoped that Otabek would come to him, wouldn't let him go home by himself... Later, at home, he had hoped Otabek would call him, ask about his condition... But Otabek hadn't returned, hadn't called, hadn't sent a single message. Apparently, he had decided that Yuri was an adult and shouldn't be treated as a kid who could be forgiven for getting hysterics. There was nothing strange if he no longer wished to tolerate such brattish behaviour. And Yuri felt he had broken heart - not because he was in love and had been rejected, but because, due to his own foolishness and immaturity, he was losing someone who, in last two years and a half, had become part of his life.
Yet, he was young, and at least his physical injuries healed quickly. On Tuesday afternoon he decided to go to the gym, and on Wednesday he resumed his group trainings. He couldn't muster any enthusiasm to practise jumps, so he focused only on steps and general choreography, but it was still better than staying home and feeling sorry for himself. He tried not to care about Mila's concerned gaze, although, more than ever, he'd felt like talking to her. Decision to keep everything a secret weighed on him more and more - but not so much yet that he broke, even though he had nearly lost all hope to cope with the situation by himself.
He was aware that the longer he procrastinated, the lesser were chances things would be fixed. After another two days, however, he realised he really hoped that everything between Otabek and him would simply be back at normal... just like that, without any additional efforts on his part. That when he went to the training the next Monday, Otabek would be there - just like always, calm and firm, as if nothing had happened between the two of them. As if only one week ago Yuri hadn't treated him like shit.
When he realised it, he became furious with himself like never before. "Fuck it!" he yelled and kicked the chair, making it fly at the wall. He still hadn't enough and threw off the lamp from the desk. "Fuck it all!"
Potya was meowing quietly under his bed; he had hidden himself there, scared by Yuri's sudden outburst. Yuri felt like crying over his own childishness again. Could he really do nothing but vent his frustration on those close to him? His fury was over right away. He leaned down and took the cat out, then sat down on the bed, his back against the wall and his face buried in Potya's fur.
"Yuri, I'm coming in," he heard from behind the door. "Be so kind and try to not hit me with anything."
He wiped his eyes and looked up at Lilia, who was standing in the doorway. She swept the room with her gaze, before looking at him. Then she entered and closed the door, put the chair back on its legs and sat down on it, without asking a permission. She stared at Yuri, hardly ever blinking and silent, until he could no longer bear her gaze and turned his head. He saw the broken lamp, lying on the floor by the desk.
"I'll buy you a new one," he muttered, involuntarily stroking Potya's fur.
"Don't be stupid," Lilia replied, still not moving.
He pulled his knees higher and said nothing. They sat like that another moment, until the theatrical sigh broke the silence.
"Yuri, in many respects you truly are a wonderful child, but you try to solve your problems in a wrong way," she said in a tone as if she was commenting the weather. "Well, I suppose you had no chance to really learn it," she added with greater concern.
He hunched even more. "I know. Reacting with aggression is bratty," he admitted. "Maybe I should go for some therapy to unlearn it?" he said with a tease, glancing at her.
She pressed her lips tighter, before speaking again. "When I was your age, I broke five sets of wine glasses that belonged to my parents. Not in rage, but rather methodically, smashing them one by one against the hearthstone, but believe me, I was furious," she said with calm dignity, and Yuri thought he hadn't wanted to know that. "After things turned bad for Yakov and me, there was no set left in our apartment, either. It's not what I'm talking about," she said with emphasis, waving her hand in a dismissive manner.
He blinked. "Then what?"
"That you keep everything inside and suffer alone."
He stared at her, trying not to blush and failing at it. "I'm not telling you anything," he replied automatically, although some part of him was grateful... and felt urge to reveal everything he'd been agonising over for one week and a half now.
"I couldn't care less about your personal life," she said in a voice that really couldn't more indicate her lack of interest, "but you are an athlete in my care, and it's my duty to help you."
"Do you really think so?" he asked before he managed to bit his tongue.
Her gaze was very intense. "No. But if it makes you feel better, you can believe it. That you're living with a choreographer that cares only about your success."
Only she could say something like that. He shook his head in disbelief, but felt a bit lighter at heart. "I'm not telling you anything," he repeated stubbornly nonetheless.
She shrugged. "Then don't say... But in this case maybe I should start guessing aloud? How about it?"
He opened his eyes wide, knowing she was capable of doing it - as she was of finding out the truth. He blushed even more and squeezed Potya in his arms without thinking, making the cat meow in discontent.
"Last week Mila described you like, 'Yuratchka's gaze has never been so sharp before.' She was scared to even talk to you, when you were so focused on your training. This week, however, she said you looked like a cat that had been kicked all over in the back alley but that let no-one come closer and take care of his wounds," Lilia said outright. "Fortunately, I have a thick skin and don't fear feral cats", she stated and then, in the same breath, she added, "Your first love doesn't shape up well."
Yuri bit his lips. He felt like yelling, 'It's not your business, you old hag,' but he had hurt people around him enough already. Instead, he lowered his head and wondered how to escape this situation... and having no idea.
Lilia continued talking, never talking her intent gaze off him, and Yuri could do nothing but listen to her. "It's no wonder. First love hardly ever proceeds smoothly. I'm not talking about the relationship itself, but the general picture of it. How one's behaviour changes. How their way of treating people changes. How their are prone to ignore some things and exaggerate others. How their emotions affect every single situation. How they fly at heights of absolute happiness, only to fall in the pits of despair the very next moment. It doesn't mean love is bad, even though it makes us act like fools sometimes."
He wanted to say, 'It's not love,' just like he'd been telling himself the whole previous week, but bit his tongue. Throwing such an empty lie would change anything. Instead, he asked, "You're trying to praise or reproach me?"
She shook her head. "Neither, I suppose. What I'm trying is to tell you that such a spectrum of irrational behaviour, absolutely unacceptable in normal circumstances, is perfectly justified in love. If I were to praise you for anything, it would be your attempt to control it, alone and on your own will," she said and then added, "But it's the same I can reproach you for."
He snorted, looking up at her. "Makes no sense."
"Maybe," she agreed. "But it's something else that is important. If you accept that irrational behaviour of yours, you will also be able to forgive yourself for it."
He glanced at her again and squinted. "You know nothing," he said with dejection. "I can't-"
"Yuri Plisetsky," she interrupted him, without as much as raising her voice. "You are a figure skater genius, but do not fancy you're someone special off ice. You are an ordinary man who makes mistakes. And you're not as important that your mistakes might change the fate of the mankind. Don't get puff up with pride that makes you believe that doing something wrong or saying something bad would mean the end of the world. Every crime, every fault, even the gravest one, can be forgiven, and what you, an eighteen years boy, might do to deserve damnation? It's laughable," she said, although there was no laughter to her voice.
He stared at her, blinking and wondering again whether Lilia was praising or insulting him. As usual, he couldn't figure her out, but maybe he didn't really need. He looked outside the window and saw two gulls flying.
"Yuri, all of us know your terrible temper," Lilia kept speaking, and now there was some warmth to her words. "We are used to it... Still, I have to admit that at least last week you behaved calmly like an English gentleman. But don't imagine that once you turned eighteen, all your spontaneity or childishness would disappear at once. First, it's not possible; second, it should be like that. Be yourself, and maturity will come at its own pace, slowly, in little steps. Don't try to pack yourself in frames of adulthood by force, for it will only backfire. You already tend to reproach yourself for every little mistake twice as much as average person. And even though you're far from average on ice, outside the rink you're just like everyone and have any right to make mistakes," she repeated.
He shoved his fingers deeper into Potya's fur; the cat purred, curled on his chest. He knew she was right, like always, but he couldn't look her in the eyes yet. "Then, what should I do?" he asked in a low voice, angry with himself, but aware that he should have asked it last week already... not even ask her, but anyone who might have helped him.
"You expect me to have a ready answer for you?"
"Old hag," he replied automatically.
"What would you like to do?" she asked.
He didn't tear his gaze off the cloudless sky outside with more gulls flying in it now. "To apologise. And hope everything will be like before," he answered softly.
"It's undoubtedly the best option of all," she replied at once, and there was approval in her voice. "Because it's your own."
He stared at her in disbelief. "Then how is it different from what I've been doing so far when I tried to find a solution myself?" he asked mockingly, although he could feel the weight in his chest lessen.
"Good question. Maybe I simply wanted to come here and smart off a bit," she stated with self-irony. "But you have to agree that you have the answer now, even though you didn't have it just half an hour ago. Or did you throw my furniture for sport only?" she added with the same sarcasm as before, but he didn't care.
"No, you wanted to make me understand it's much easier to make decisions and believe in them when someone else reinforce them," he said, thoughtful, and then hunched more. "Thanks..." he muttered. Then he looked up at her, and his lips quivered in the first shade of smile. "What you said about forgiving crimes and faults... It wasn't yours, right?"
She rose and stared down at him. "Living-room, bookcase by the window, second shelf from the top. That is, of course, it you have it in yourself to deal with our national classics," she said provocatively, and Yuri right away decided he would read every book from that shelf. Well, at least some of them. One, certainly.
Lilia approached the door; she must have considered the talk finished. He blinked, astonished. "Are you not going to ask about it?" he blurted. Maybe he wanted to provoke her, too.
She glanced back over her shoulder. "Why, it's a secret," she stated the obvious, then smiled with the corners of her lips and left, shutting the door behind her.
Yuri was left with the feeling she had known everything anyway... but for some reason it wasn't unpleasant in the slightest.
He let Potya go and reached for his phone. Decisions should be realised at once. 'I'm sorry for Monday. Please, let's try again. See you!', he typed and sent without a second thought, then threw the phone aside and lay down with his elbow below his head. He was lying like that for a few moments, staring at the phone with his heart racing and trying not to think he might get no reply.
The reply, however, came almost at once. It was so like Otabek, concise and matter-of-fact, 'Fine. See you after the weekend!'... and yet - or because of it - Yuri felt like he'd been given heaven. He realised he had been underestimating Otabek all that time, considering him a person who would like to sever their relation due to Yuri's single excess. Even though the very same excess crushed Yuri, for Otabek it must have been but a small pebble that couldn't hurt anyone, even when hitting its aim. Lilia had been right, talking about exaggerated reactions and irrational conclusions.
He would try again. He had yet to cope with his feelings, with that... love that he didn't stop cursing and regretting. 'Love is not bad,' he remembered Lilia's words, and his chest tickled. No, it wasn't bad. Anything that related to Otabek wasn't bad, he was sure of that... Back to his trouble, however - he still hadn't find a solution, but now he could believe he would manage somehow. He regained hope for a happy ending - and it was a divine feeling.
He ordered a delivery of hundred roses for Lilia. She said he was a total moron. Still, he felt better, knowing he was a moron capable of thanking for help.