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Jagged bits of paper snow fall from Yuri’s hands as he silently shreds a spare Rostelecom Cup program. His neck prickles from Yakov and Lilia’s weighted stares, as well as those from a few other skaters, and his body reflectively curls over further in his seat, eyes vacantly staring down into his lap while his mind and hands clench in white fury.
Yuri knows his chaotic mental state is clear as day to everyone present, and the mortification is grease on the fire that’s boiling under his skin. He’s already been yelled at for ceaselessly pacing around the room by Yakov and Michele, and JJ had the audacity to imply that it was due to nerves from competing against him. The humiliation had only continued when Lilia had shaken him like a dog and threatened to lock him in a closet until his turn was up after he’d lunged at JJ in retaliation. As she had shoved him into the chair, Yuri caught a pitying look from Guang Hong and one of disdain from Seung-gil, and it took everything in him not to scream.
He watches as Seung-gil is guided from the room by his coaches towards the rink, the first skater of the competition, and contemplates throwing his phone at him for the hell of it. If he was disqualified for bodily harm against a competitor then at least he wouldn’t have to skate.
And that was the worst of it, wasn’t it? If it was just pure rage he was feeling, he could skate; spite was a powerful motivator for him and skating was the ultimate way to stick it to annoying shitstains. Instead, he’s sitting here shredding the rapidly diminishing paper with a vendetta and glancing towards the exit every 30 seconds like clockwork.
Sudden movement finally snaps Yuri out of his trance, and his hands momentarily still. He turns his head to watch Otabek drag a folding chair next to his and drop down into it, shoulders nearly touching, like they were catching up over a meal rather than minutes away from competing in the Rostelecom Cup. Dark eyes hold Yuri’s questioning look as Otabek shoves a hand into his dark blue training jacket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, silently offering it to Yuri.
Yuri warily takes it, flicking his narrowed eyes across Otabek’s face as he searches for any sign of pity, but all he sees is the steady, steely look of determination he’s come to know. Yuri gives a slight head tilt in an abbreviated sign of thanks before looking down at the paper. He scrunches up his face at the sloppy English scrawl and holds it closer to his face as he tries to translate it. “The fuck is this?”
“I stole it from JJ. He always carries notepads in case inspiration strikes him,” Otabek whispers blandly, though the corner of his mouth twitches upwards for a moment.
Yuri snorts. “His handwriting is atrocious. Matches his personality at least.” He squints further at the looping lines. “Holy shit, is this supposed to be poetry? Oh god, he tried to rhyme Isabella with… do you know what ‘camellia’ means?” Yuri asks, straightening up as he leans towards Otabek, tipping the paper into his field of vision and jabbing at the word. Otabek’s brow furrows and he shakes his head. “No idea.”
Yuri sighs dramatically. “What was the point of you living in America and Canada?” He lets his eyes glance up towards Otabek’s and offers a smirk. “You know I can’t tear this up. This could be potential blackmail.”
“Somehow I doubt JJ would care if you shared his obvious adoration for his fiancée with the world.” Just as Yuri’s face begins to drop in disgusted realization, Otabek adds, “Besides, I have better blackmail from when we trained together in Canada.” He gives a small smile, just a hint of mean mischief underneath it, and Yuri smacks him in the arm and cackles in wicked delight as something finally eases in his chest. He takes a deep breath, like he can breathe for the first time in hours.
“Thanks,” Yuri mumbles as he knocks their shoulders together. Otabek returns the gesture in kind, and they sit in a momentary bubble of silence as distant cheers filter into the room. Yuri tries his best to focus on the heat of their connection, but the faraway voices trickle into his head and drag his previous emotions back to the forefront. The paper crumples in his hand as the conversation he had with his grandfather earlier that morning plays on loop in his mind.
Otabek presses against him more firmly. “Want to tell me about it? Or do you want to take a walk down the hall?”
Yuri has to clench his jaw to keep the automatic Mind your own fucking business from jumping out of his mouth. Instead, he manages a strangled, “I’m fine,” before curling his shoulders up and fiddling with the paper, folding the edges accordion style rather than tearing it. His neck starts to go red under Otabek’s burning gaze before he finally glares up at his friend and snaps, “What?"
“You’re a shitty liar,” Otabek states plainly, and Yuri snarls in response. Then suddenly, he’s being tugged by the arm out of his seat, and Otabek gives him a quelling look, momentarily startling Yuri into compliance, before glancing over at Lilia and Yakov. “We’re going to the bathroom. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Yakov scowls while Lilia purses her lips and raises an eyebrow. “If you’re not back in under 10 minutes I’m coming to get you. And trust me when I say neither of us want that.” Lilia’s tone brokers no room for argument, and Yuri reluctantly lets himself be dragged out of the room, ignoring the looks and catcalls from several of the other skaters as he shoves JJ’s shitty poetry into his pocket. No need to lose perfectly good potential blackmail just because of a little friendly kidnapping after all.
Otabek maintains his grip as they weave around ISU officials and rink employees until they reach the bathroom. Once inside, Yuri jerks his arm free to slouch against the tiled wall, leg bouncing furiously while Otabek locks the bathroom door. He turns to look at the scowling Russian skater. “You heard your coach. We have 10 minutes. Talk to me.”
Yuri flinches at the abrupt order, swinging his head away from Otabek’s searching look and sneering at their reflections in the mirror. “Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do, asshole.”
Otabek sighs and steps closer. “You’re going to suck out there if you don’t shake off whatever’s bothering you. Are you seriously going to make it that easy for JJ?”
That finally gets Yuri’s attention as he jerks away from the wall to yell at Otabek, “Fuck no! I could never lose to a dipshit like that!”
Otabek crosses his arms and stares. They stand in place, frozen except for Yuri’s flaring nostrils as he sucks in noisy, heaving breaths. Yuri is surprised when Otabek gives in first, his face softening slightly as his arms drop. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Whatever you say in here stays here. We’re not competitors again until we leave this room.”
Yuri’s heart clenches. He wants to shout, That’s not how this works! He wants to tell his Kazakhstani friend that he’s treading remarkably close to Viktor territory with gross declarations like that. He desperately wants to believe him.
Yuri’s hands shoot up to his head to run his fingers through his hair in a fit of frustration before he remembers at the last second the terrifying amount of pins and hairspray holding it all in place. He lets his arms fall helplessly to his sides and lets his gaze follow.
“...my grandfather told me this morning that my mother is here today,” he finally grinds out.
Otabek waits silently, and the part of Yuri that isn’t freaking the fuck out is overcome with gratitude for his friend’s presence. Had it been Victor or Katsudon here for this breakdown, this conversation wouldn’t go nearly as well.
“I haven’t lived with her in years, and we haven’t talked in nearly as long.” His lip curls up as an unwelcome memory rises unbidden in his mind. “At least until she showed up at my home rink in Saint Petersburg after I took gold at the Grand Prix Final last year. I told her to fuck off. So she went and gave multiple “exclusive interviews” about my childhood to a few different gossip rags.” He lashes out at last, cracking the flat of his hand against the electric hand dryer with a resounding smash. “She’s a has-been idol and is trying to rebrand. Now that I’m finally fucking useful to her, she wants to ‘reconnect.’ Fucking cunt!”
This time Otabek reaches out to grab Yuri by the wrist mid-swing. His eyes still show no signs of pity, which is the only reason Yuri doesn’t fight back as Otabek lowers his arm but retains his grip. It’s quiet for a moment before Otabek finally says, “I’m trying to think of something helpful to say, but all I can think of is what an absolute bitch your mother is.”
A startled laugh erupts from Yuri’s throat. “That helps more than you think it does. You never fucking swear.”
“I’m angry,” Otabek replies shortly, and Yuri can see it in the tightness of his mouth and around his eyes. “I’m angry that she’s been treating my friend so poorly, and I’m angry that she’s messing with my favorite competitor right before we go on the ice.” He gives a rough sigh and drags a hand against the back of his undercut. “I’m also annoyed with your grandfather for telling you.”
Yuri’s already shaking his head. “No, I needed to know. Better than finding out when the cameras flash to her rinkside because she’s somehow talked her way into the kiss and cry.”
Otabek mumbles something in Kazakh that sounds like a prayer or a curse before pulling out his phone to glance at the time. His eyes snap up to bore into Yuri’s. “Why is it bothering you so much that she’s here? I understand why you’d be upset, but normally you’re good about channeling your emotions into your skating.”
“It’s… it feels wrong that she’s here. I don’t want her watching. I skate for me, but she’s going to see it and somehow make it about her, and—” Yuri digs his nails into the meat of his palm and lets out a high-pitched half-scream that would embarrass him if he was anywhere other than this locked bathroom with his best friend. “It’s like she’s tainting it by being here. I’m going to skate out there and all I’ll be able to think about is her, and her stupid fucking drama, and her watching me, and I, I…” Yuri feels the anger, the panic, and the fear roiling in his chest and suddenly he doesn’t remember how to make his lungs work.
“Yura. Listen to me.” The nickname drags Yuri’s attention to Otabek’s solemn face. “Her gaze means nothing. It holds no weight, no meaning. If you think you feel someone staring at you, it’s not her. It’s your grandfather or one of your coaches. It’s one of your rinkmates, or even JJ, when he realizes how good your free program is. It’s me. She’s just another faceless spectator.” He squeezes Yuri’s wrist, and Yuri’s breath catches. “Skate like you did for the exhibition last year. Whenever I rewatch that performance, I can’t help but think of an electric current. Bright and fast, something that will burn me if I get too close.”
Yuri is horrifically embarrassed when he realizes his eyes are prickling with the threat of tears, and he clears his throat. “You’ve rewatched the exhibition program multiple times? Fuckin’ loser.”
Otabek’s mouth quirks up in a half-smile. “Says the guy with more cheetah print than my sister.”
“Fuck off, asswipe, what that does that have to do with anything? Besides, you know it’s cool.” Yuri tips his head back, willing the tears to go back into his eyes so his makeup doesn’t run. “She doesn’t control me.”
“She doesn’t.”
“This is my moment.”
“The second you step out on the ice.”
Yuri nods slowly and sharply inhales before letting out a feral scream. Otabek doesn’t even flinch. “I’m the motherfucking Electric Ice Tiger of Russia,” Yuri hisses, and Otabek gives him another squeeze before dropping his arm.
“Show me. I want to see that Yuri today.”
The intensity of the moment snaps when Yuri’s phone suddenly starts ringing, and both boys jump. Yanking it out of his pocket, he sees Yakov’s name flash across the screen. “We better go, or all you’re gonna see is a dead Yuri,” Yuri mumbles, and Otabek nods in agreement. He turns to unlock the bathroom door but halts when Yuri tugs on the back of his jacket. He stays still even when Yuri drops his forehead to rest against the back of his shoulder. “Thanks, Beka,” Yuri whispers.
He doesn’t have to see Otabek’s face to know he’s smiling. “That’s what friends are for, aren’t they?” He replies before throwing open the lock and pushing the door. “Gold and silver today belong to us.”
“You’ll look good in silver,” Yuri snarks playfully, and dodges Otabek’s elbow as they trot down the hall. “Friends don’t abuse friends, Beka.”
“You are the last person in the world who can say that. I’ve seen how you talk with Katsuki and Nikiforov.”
“Friends, not rivals.”
Otabek snorts and chooses not to respond, but he smirks when he catches Yuri grinning at him. “See you at the podium?”
“See you there.”
They tap their fists together.
“Davai.”
“Davai.”