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Adiós/Goodbye, Barcelona (2017)
After the 2017 Grand Prix Final, Yuri Plisetsky found himself more annoyed than satisfied with the shiny gold medal around his neck.
He swore he felt his blood boil over at the sight of that stupid fatso pig Yuuri Katsuki being all gross over Viktor Nikiforov. What the hell were they even being so lovey-dovey for? Yuuri didn’t even win! That meant they wouldn’t be able to get married until Yuuri brought home a gold medal. That is, of course, unless Viktor was just lying for the sake of lying, which wouldn’t surprise Yuri.
Not to mention the other skaters all wanted to hang out and be equally gross. That pretty good Thai skater, Phichit, was always red-faced every time he looked down at his phone. According to Viktor, that nosy shitbag, the guy was starting up something with the grumpy parrot from Korea, among all people! Of course the best friend of Yuuri would get involved in a mushy romance with someone hard to understand.
It didn’t help the annoying Canadian JJ and his girlfriend were also practically glued at the hip throughout the hotel, and smooched just about anywhere. Yuri was positive even Russia’s best iron welders couldn’t stick metal together the way those two were. And don’t even get him started on Chris Giacometti, whose middle name was probably “will bang anyone who consents”.
Ugh, Yuri couldn’t make sense of any of them. Gay or straight or whatever letter from the alphabet they decided on!
Thank God there was one other person among the finalists who wouldn’t drive Yuri up a wall the way the others did.
Otabek Altin was an interesting dude, to say least. He wore leather jackets and a sharp undercut and rode motorbikes like a punk. Yet, at the same time, he’d always remove his shades when speaking to someone, and used incredibly polite language, even with people his age. When Yuri spent his free time with the Kazakh skater, after being saved by said skater, he found himself interested in the other boy’s life. They were interested in cool music, punk fashion, and cool things, like motorbikes and winning gold medals.
Pork Cutlet Bowl’s female friend and sister both said something along the lines of his and Otabek’s friendship as “cute”. As usual, he ignored them. The alternative was to cuss both women out, but someone Yuri found himself holding his tongue a bit more in the presence of the other boy. Otabek was just that cool . He didn’t even try to be.
And then… the whole ‘Welcome to the Madness’ thing happened.
Everything was a blur. Yuri knew he was batshit crazy for pulling a last minute skate choreography the night before a gala exhibition. Yakov and Lilia literally screamed their heads off at him as soon as he picked himself off the ice, but it was worth it. The bright purple and pink lights, the insane rhythm, the beat and the bass and the shred of the electric guitar- everything was madness and it all made sense.
Somehow, Otabek agreed to it all. Eventually.
Initially, the Kazakh skater had a ten foot pole up his ass, but when Yuri explained why he wanted to go into that club and how inspired he was by Otabek’s music, he caved. They spent the rest of the morning refining the music and Yuri’s skate, and the timing of the gunshot snares in the mix, and the rest was history.
However, there was definitely something in the air that tingled, bright and electric, when the older boy used his teeth to rip Yuri’s glove away during the skate. Yuri was too in the moment of the performance to think too deeply about what his newfound friend did for the sake of an exhibition skate, but damn. It was kind of hot.
Both skaters went viral hours later, on Skate Twitter and other social media platforms. Not that it mattered to Otabek, who didn’t care too much for social media. Gleefully, though, Yuri checked the trending tags and found himself more than amused at the slew of hashtags and gifs and memes made of his performance.
In his hotel room later that evening, Yuri showed Otabek a few of the comments from the other figure skaters that made him snicker.
“Can you believe these fans?” asked Yuri, as the other boy washed up in the bathroom. He lay on Otabek’s neat hotel bed, feet up in the air like a schoolgirl, as he scrolled through the ridiculous comments and photos. “You befriend someone once and all of a sudden, everyone and their mother thinks you’re dating.”
“Hm,” came the stoic response from the bathroom. Then the sound of running water from the sink. “The message we sent during your skate wasn’t exactly platonic, Yuri.”
“Pshh. Please. It was all for the sake of being badass. We were badasses, Otabek.”
“Well, this badass needs to pack. My flight to Almaty is at 7 AM tomorrow.”
Oh. Pack. The word threw a huge brick in Yuri’s lighthearted mood, shattering everything into pieces. Right. He forgot that beyond skating in competitions, he and Otabek wouldn’t get to hang out regularly. Even if Otabek spoke Russian, and skated, and got his humor, he wasn’t actually a Russian skater.
Yuri huffed, and made a face at his phone. Welcome to the Madness was now #1 trending on Twitter, but suddenly that victory didn’t taste sweet anymore. Screw this guy for ruining his good mood. Also, fuck this guy for also being such a cool person and then fucking it all up by not being in the same rink, or even in the same country. It wasn’t fair!
“Can’t believe we became such good friends only now,” muttered the blond skater in annoyance as Otabek popped out of the washroom. In his hand was a single toothbrush, a smooth black comb, and a little dark blue bottle of aftershave. “That was such a cool night. Seriously.”
“We can always message each other, you know,” replied Otabek. He sat down beside Yuri on the bed, and the blond immediately turned his head at the older boy in surprise.
“I thought you hate social media?”
“I don’t prefer social media, if I can,” corrected the Kazakh skater. Still, he pulled out his phone and showed Yuri what was on the screen. It was Yuri’s instagram page. Beside his handle was a white button that said ‘following’. “But we can still talk. Do you text?”
Yuri released a snort, and eyed Otabek in disdain. “What am I, seventy? Of course I text! You’re the one who leaves everyone on read.”
“Text me, then? When you go back home to Russia.”
When they exchanged goodbyes, they didn’t hug, or shake hands, or anything like that. However, Yuri felt the empty pang of something in his chest as he boarded that plane back to St. Petersburg. Otabek’s company really was different from everyone else he had ever met in the figure skating world. They clicked instantly. For once, Yuri didn’t really want to say goodbye to someone.
Yuri Plisetsky [3:00 PM]: Bye for now
Yuri Plisetsky [3:00 PM]: I guess
Otabek Altin [3:01 PM]: Goodbye, Yuri.
Otabek Altin [3:01 PM] : I hope our paths
cross soon.
Yuri stared at the texts for the rest of the flight home from Barcelona.
—
Anyeong/안녕, Pyeong-Chang (2018)
Goodbyes didn’t get any easier at the Olympic-level.
It was the night after the podium for the Winter Olympics in Pyeong-Chang. Yuri was in a sour mood because he placed silver to Cutlet, and of course the crybaby Japanese guy was out celebrating his win, and essentially his marriage, to stupid Viktor. He was so close , if only he didn’t mess up that quad lutz, triple toe, quad loop combo-
“At least I can count on you to not be a complete and total sap,” said Yuri, as he launched himself face-up on Otabek Altin’s hotel room bed.
Unlike his room, his friend’s, and 2018 Olympic bronze winner, space was relatively neat. The only sign that the suite was occupied, aside from the sleek black suitcase in the corner of the room, was a pair of shades neatly folded up on the bedside table. Yuri assumed Otabek would be that kind of polite guy to not go ham and throw parties in his hotel room.
“That depends on what your definition of a sap is,” said Otabek.
“Can I make it any more obvious?” Yuri made a face.
Sap would mean “ devotion ”, which was the running theme for Pork Cutlet’s Olympic skate. Nothing sappier than picking what basically is “love” spelled differently. Bleh. Yuri could have barfed at the gross mushiness of his ( ugh) friends’ relationship. And when Yuuri basically let Viktor kiss him at the very top of the podium?? Disgusting.
“At least they are happy,” was Otabek’s reply. Ever so polite. The cool bastard.
The older boy sat down on the white covers beside Yuri. He couldn’t help but stare at the pair of loose dark gray sweatpants Otabek wore. For a simple pair of sweatpants, they managed to look extra cool, even without Otabek wearing dark sunglasses. They fit him well.
“Yuri.”
Otabek’s voice was distant thunder. Soft, rumbling, yet ever so powerful. Yuri couldn’t stop the shiver that ran up his spine. He forced himself to look up at the temperature switch on the wall as if it was the most interesting thing on the planet.
“What?” asked the blond, a little too defensively.
Shit. SHIT. He couldn’t help but stare lately, or maybe he had always been looking at Otabek, one way or another. What a dumb bitch he had to be, going off and letting his eyes trail his friend as if he was a giggly fangirl.
Yuri expected the Kazakh skater to comment on him staring. Or maybe Otabek would say nothing, just stare him down with that intense yet silent stare. Somehow that was so much worse.
But all Otabek said was, “Do you have plans?”
Yuri snorted. Better that than breathe a visible sigh of relief. “I mean I’m here, aren’t I? The only plan was get the gold medal and get the fuck out of the couple’s sight after they have their celebratory bang.”
In response, Otabek raised an eyebrow at him. Language, Yuri , the younger skater could almost hear him say.
Yuri pulled one of his knees close to his body into a deep stretch. The hotel room was too stuffy. They were in South Korea for fuck’s sake! Shouldn’t they be going insane at the club or dancing the night away? They should be at a club, and Otabek should have been DJ-ing the night out like a total boss, but nooo he had to be so uptight about Yuri only being 16.
Ugh. No, of course, Yuri had to be stuck with a bunch of gross romantic couples who just wanted to do gross couple things. And of course his friend had to be the coolest person ever but also lived stupidly far away that they only saw each other during training camps of competitions. They fucking placed the podium at the Olympics, shouldn’t they be going out and getting absolutely shitfaced??
If only he could drive- wait.
“Otabek,” said Yuri suddenly. Lifting himself up from his core, he stood up straight and looked his friend in the eye. “Let’s go for a ride on that bike you rented.”
The Kazakh man looked mildly surprised for a moment, but then his features settled back to their usual stoic look. He pursed his lips in amusement as he asked, “Weren’t we invited to the Gala to skate, Yuri?”
“So?”
“So, you should rest.”
“Damn you sound like Baba Lilia,” complained Yuri. He scowled at Otabek, and that stupidly good-looking straight face as those piercing dark eyes made him feel incredibly…naked, of all things. “Otabek, seriously! I mean, you have a motorbike and all that. We need to go to see the sights.
“I’m not doing any impromptu changes to my choreo like last time,” added the blond. He inched closer to the Kazakh skater, who slowly got up from the hotel bed. “We might as well have a good time. Unless you want to hang out with a bunch of lovey-dovey- ack!”
Within seconds, Otabek tossed a bike helmet at Yuri and managed to swing his leather jacket over himself. Yuri grinned at his persuasion. Normally, he needed to bitch so much more to get his way, but with Otabek? All he needed to do was complain and make a displeased face, and then boom, they get to do something cool for once.
—
“Hurry,” hissed Yuri, as they exited the lobby through the back.
They passed by a few ice dancers, pair skaters, and skaters. While a few heads turn their way, most of them don’t even bat an eyelash. Everyone was too busy stewing in their own post-Olympics emotions, after all. People were off drinking their accomplishments, drinking to drown their losses, or just… drinking.
But still, he and Otabek were medalists. If someone decided to shout them out, Yuri wouldn’t get his chance to just hang out with Otabek. Just the two of them.
Yuri was glad Otabek wasn’t the type to make idle chit chat with people around. He’d hate to be stopped by that cocky bastard Canadian, or even worse, by a drunken Pork Cutlet and his shameless fiance.
“We should be back by one at the latest,” said Otabek firmly.
The Kazakh skater revved up the engine of the motorbike. It was a cool model, sleek and shiny, yet somehow it was the motorcycle that was Otabek’s accessory, and not the other way around.. Yuri tried really hard not to stare at the way Otabek looked. His jaw was sharp, and his black turtleneck was sharper.
Turning his head away sharply, Yuri muttered, “Two.”
“One thirty.”
Yuri let out a frustrated groan. “Fine!”
He sat behind Otabek on that motorbike. The sharp scent of leather and sage and cedarwood burned into Yuri’s nostrils, but he couldn’t be mad at it. It was a comforting smell. He didn’t remember the last time he liked someone enough to press close, especially of his own accord.
And again, that someone had to leave.
The Russian skater tried hard to focus on different things that night. The bright neon lights and the view of the mountains beyond the skyscrapers as they sped through the night. The signs in lines and squares and detailed pictures of alcohol, and the smells of grease and meat and street foods.
He didn’t spend the night pressing his body against his friend. He did not spend the night thinking of goodbye.
—
It came anyway.
The morning after the Gala, Yuri found himself back in Otabek’s room.
Before they were rudely interrupted by Pork Cutlet and his romance-addled gang of friends, they were supposed to spend the entire night talking and listening to Otabek’s new sick beats. It was tough luck Yuuri and Viktor “borrowed” the two of them to help them take couple shots with sunrise over the mountains. The photoshoot lasted until three in the morning, or at least until Yuuri passed out drunk in the snow and had to be dragged back into the hotel to not die from hypothermia.
Needless to say, Yuri’s mood was rotten by the time Otabek had to leave and join his coach for the flight. He stared bitterly at Otabek’s neatly packed suitcase in stark contrast with his own messily stuffed luggage (there were a lot of really, really cool tiger print oversized sweaters, okay). The yellow and turquoise blue baggage tag that said ‘Team Kazakhstan’ in bold letters caused the boy’s eyebrows to knit ever closer.
When he was growing up, Otabek informed Yuri that he traveled to Russia, the USA, and to Canada for training. However, the Kazakh skater now got to return home with his mother and sisters in Almaty. It was selfish, but Yuri wished Otabek could be forced into a training camp in St Petersburg, or hell even in Moscow. He’d introduce him to his grandfather, and he’d show Otabek the sights, and they’d even-
“Yuri.”
There he went again. Gentle thunder in the distance. Emerald green eyes blinked up at the Kazakh skater.
“What do you want?” asked Yuri, almost rudely.
He focused his gaze on the screen of his smartphone. Instagram was full of lives of skaters either waking up with the worst hangovers of their lives, or people taking selfies at the airport gate, on their airplanes seats. Athletes were bustling about, saying their final farewells to their peers and getting ready to go back to their loved ones at home.
Even though he could feel the weight of his friend’s stare, the blond refused to meet Otabek’s gaze. Yuri would forget how to be the badass he knew he was if he looked into those eyes. He’d remember the evening they had, the night before the Gala, and the scent of leather and cedarwood wafting through the vivid pink and blue neon lights.
If he looked now, Yuri knew his eyes might sting and therefore betray him.
Suddenly, Yuri felt something brush against his hair. And then, a warm weight all around him. Blinking furiously, he realized he could see their reflection from the hotel mirror by the little entrance before the door.
Otabek was hugging him.
“The sights are beautiful in Almaty,” whispered Otabek.
The soft rumble of that deep voice made Yuri almost shiver. Again, Otabek smelled of leather and cedarwood, but also of that aftershave that he claimed he picked up somewhere in Barcelona the year before. But more importantly, Yuri heard the things the older skater was trying to say.
Come visit me in Almaty, Yuri.
Heartbeat thundering in his chest, the younger skater pushed Otabek off him. He turned his face to the ground, praying to everything holy that his cheeks did not burn as bright as they felt. “You’re so damn close!”
Otabek raised an eyebrow. “And you weren’t?”
The night prior, Otabek probably meant. Yuri thought about the way he held on tight to Otabek’s waist on that motorcycle. The older skater never said anything about it. Was it fair for Yuri to assume they’d just… never talk about it?
“Fine,” Yuri almost growled back. But then, he curled one of his fists and gently punched Otabek on the arm. “But you better not back down when we make pirozhki in St Petersburg, you got that?”
He thought of that smirk on Otabek’s face the rest of the flight back to Russia.
—
Au Revoir/See you again, Vancouver (2019)
With practice, most things get easier. Three turns, crossovers, mohawks, lutzes, spins… Everything got easier with a shit ton of effort.
However, as a seventeen year old, Yuri found a few things to be absolutely fucking difficult.
Not to say quads weren’t hard, but Yuri knew his body was changing for good. He wasn’t the dainty ice fairy he was at fifteen years old. For starters, he shot up several centimeters in height, and outgrew a lot of his old clothes. More often than not, his grandfather called him a young man, instead of a boy. And a young man’s body was more difficult to revolve through the air four times than a young boy’s.
“Fuck!” hissed Yuri, as an under rotation caused him to smack the ice. The side of his hip was going to have the most multicoloured bruises.
“Yura!”
Cheeks flushed, Yuri picked himself and his pride up from the ice before Otabek could do something embarrassing like, say, glide up and check in on him. As if falling wasn’t part of the job of a professional figure skater. The blond boy nodded quickly at the older skater, and then went back into practicing that damn quad lutz, triple toe combination.
So Yuri never got to visit Otabek in Almaty .Whenever Yuri found the chance to impulse buy tickets to Kazakhstan, suddenly, Otabek was just… not there. The popular bastard! The Kazakh skater managed to get roped into DJ gigs with friends across Europe (“You’re still only seventeen, Yuri.” Jackass.) during the off season. When it was training time, Otabek wasn’t really in Almaty either. He ended up in cities that Yakov and Lilia considered “second-rate” for figure skaters.
Finally, Otabek’s training landed in Vancouver, Canada, which was undoubtedly a city with good training facilities for skaters. It took a month of threatening and whining and being a complete and little bitch to convince Yakov to sign him up for the Vancouver Skate Intensive Camp.
Unlike their irritating fellow countryman JJ, most of the Canadians in the Vancouver skate camp Yakov and Lilia forced him into were tolerable. Though he could just about keep up with their English, Yuri found them polite. Thank God.
Really, the only saving grace of the entire training camp was Otabek himself. They challenged each other to morning runs across the street they dormed at all the way to the ice rink. After practice, the two of them fucked around the city with their shitty English and talked shit about others in Russian.
Well, at least Yuri did. Otabek was always the polite one, but he cared to listen to Yuri and that was the most important part.
It was stupid teenager stuff. Everything they did together was stupid. Whether it was getting absolutely soaked in the miserably Vancouver rain or taking the wrong bus and missing gym time, or even just chilling by the park early in the morning before they went to the rink.
Honestly, though?
It was the most fucking fun Yuri had in a long time.
Figure skating wasn’t fun, not at the rate athletes at his level had to work. More often than not, his feet hurt like hell, his spine and legs were bent and twisted into shapes that did not feel as pretty as they looked, and there were days when his skin was so mottled with purple and yellow bruises, it was like he was out on a battlefield.
Yuri Plisetsky has the eyes of a soldier. Otabek once said. He felt that he was that soldier now. Grim-faced, sweat soaked, and the unrelenting pressure to achieve every single gold medal before his body broke down.
At least he didn’t have to deal with the weight of his country’s expectations. There was always a new Russian figure skater on the rise. The same couldn’t be said for Kazakhstan.
“I’m sorry,” said Otabek slowly, once, over a bowl of subpar ramen in a Canadian fusion restaurant. “I know you wanted to see Almaty. Vancouver is rainy.”
Dipshit, thought Yuri viciously over a furious bite of grilled mackerel. I wanted to see you.
But instead, he just harrumphed. “Wouldn’t be fucking fun to go without my best friend.”
Yuri wasn’t sure if it was a grimace or a smile on Otabek’s face. Or his, on that matter.
Best friend. Last year, today, he would have been overjoyed at the title. This time, however, Yuri found himself resenting the word. Especially when they could have been more.
—
All good things had to come to an end eventually, and the summer of 2019 was no exception. Yuri found himself trying his best- and failing- at keeping his fit from exploding as Otabek came into his tiny dorm room for one final goodbye.
“I hate it,” whined Yuri. he knew he was being a brat and he didn’t care. “I hate saying goodbyes.”
“Then, what do you want me to say?” Otabek asked.
In response, Yuri simply stomped on the ground with one gaudy leopard-print sneaker. He hated this. Sometimes, he almost hated Otabek too. He hated the way their relationship was a constant exchange of things left unsaid as they said goodbye.
Ugh, I don’t know!” Yuri snapped, even though he did know.
Shouting and bitching was easy. Being honest about his feelings? That shit was hard. How could Yuri be honest about Otabek, of all people, about his feelings for him? His best friend would probably be polite about the whole thing, even though it was stupid and awkward as hell.
Muttering cursed under his breath, the Russian teenager shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. He felt his eyes sting, and honestly? Cringe. Ugh.
He was sick of it. This whole…dancing around each other thing. Yuri would have just kissed Otabek then and there to be over and done with the stupid butterfly wings inside his chest. But that would mean potentially losing his best friend.
“Yurotchka.”
“Beka.” Yuri continued to stare at the yellow and brown colors on his sneakers as if they were the most interesting item in the world.
“I need to ask you something, please, Yurotchka,” said Otabek.
The blond Russian skater chose to scowl at the carpet. He refused to meet those sharp brown eyes. Not when Yuri wanted to cry from saying goodbye. They’ve said those things a thousand times before. Why did it get harder to say each time?
“Before I go,” he heard Otabek murmur. Both of them heard the faint buzzing sound of the Kazakh boy’s phone in his jacket pocket. A warning call from his coach, most likely. “Yura, look at me.”
No ! Yuri wanted to snap. He wanted to be a brat, even though he knew it was unfair to Otabek. It wasn’t anyone’s fault they lived in different countries, and couldn’t hang out like normal best friends could. Sadly, it was definitely Yuri’s fault for falling for the other boy.
There was a sharp inhale. “Yura. Please? I really need to go soon. Just one thing to ask.”
“Ugh. Fine.”Yuri released a groan, and finally glared up at the taller boy. “The hell do you need to ask?”
“Can I kiss you?”
What. The fuck. What the actual goddamn fuck. Did Otabek just- no wait. Hold up. What. No way. Was Yuri dreaming? Or did he hit his head on the ice from a quadruple flip done wrong? The latter must have happened, because there was no way-
“Yurotchka?”
Body trembling from head to toe, the younger Russian skater nodded. Or did he? He couldn’t remember if he said something or nodded. All he could remember was a warm, soft, slightly wet press against his left cheek, and a gentle “see you later, Yurotchka.”
Luckily, he managed to snap out of it in time before Otabek could close the door in front of him. In an almost blind rage, Yuri grabbed the back of his best friend’s jacket and whirled the surprised older boy around. The Kazakh boy’s eyes widened even more when Yuri leaned forward and kissed him roughly on the lips.
“At least kiss me properly, you asshole!” Yuri snapped, as soon as he pulled away. His chest heaved from the flurry of emotions coursing through his veins. “It’s the least you can do when you say goodbye!”
They kissed and kissed until the buzzing of Otabek’s phone couldn’t be ignored any longer. Yuri found himself leaning against the door of the tiny room in Vancouver, breathing in and out harshly. Fingers traced the outline of his mouth slowly, remembering the faint scent of cedar wood and leather and Otabek.
It was one of the better goodbyes, yet.
—
Sayonara/さよなら, Tokyo (2021)
Of all times and places, Yuri found himself trading goodbyes with Otabek in Tokyo, Japan.
It was 2021, and the year before that was absolutely fucking dreadful. Either holed up in his room or with his rink mates in St Petersburg, Yuri spent the last year trying not to lose his mind. He swore that one more second kept away from people would cause him to attack people trying to stay two meters apart with his skates.
“I don’t see why we can’t see each other,” complained Yuri at the beginning of the dumb lockdowns, almost baring his teeth at the screen of his phone. “Our countries aren’t that far away.”
“ Safety of the public first ,” replied Otabek, from the video screen.
“To hell with that.” Yuri snorted. Was he surprised his boyfriend was always so respectful? No. But could he still bitch about it? Well, shit. “It’s not fair. We were supposed to do so much shit!”
There were a lot of things planned for that year, like that year’s 4 Continents and then Worlds. Shanghai and Venice. Yuri turned 18 the year before, too. It was a crime for him not to be able to hit the nightclubs and legally watch his boyfriend DJ and make everyone go wild on the dance floor.
“ Patience, Yura .” Otabek replied. “ I’ll be here next year .”
“Tch. You better not, Beka.”
But Yuri heard the reassuring words hidden behind Otabek’s few words. We’ll get through this, don’t worry. We’ll see each other again. Leave it to Otabek to know the right things to say, even when the world literally burned.
Fortunately, 2021 allowed athletes to travel again. While Yuri loathed the uptight security measures and the sticks shoved up his nostrils, he’d begrudgingly withstand all of it. He wanted the thrill of competition. The feel of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he leapt across the ice, the burn in his lungs as he contorted himself into shapes beyond most human measures as he spun. He missed all that.
However, he missed Otabek more.
“Beka!” Yuri yelled.
He didn’t care that he yelled a pet name across the street. Neither did Yuri care about the curious onlookers and giggles of the insufferably married Yuuri and Viktor as he made his way through the crowd. His eyes were on the gold. Specifically, the gold and turquoise of the Team Kazakhstan.
Otabek’s embrace was warm and soft and everything Yuri dreamed of since they last kissed in Vancouver.
Despite the yells from Yakov and Lilia, and the warnings from the polite Japanese volunteers, Yuri clung to Otabek’s side most of the time off the ice. Heck, everyone should be grateful he obeyed the rules and wore the dumb masks. Besides, Otabek was his boyfriend- special exemption!
So when it came time for Yuri to let go, he held on even tighter.
“Yura,” said Otabek exasperatedly.
He tried to peel the Russian figure skater off him. Sadly, the Japanese hotel rooms were incredibly tiny so there wasn’t too much space for Otabek to make a scuffle. Worlds was over, and they didn’t do as well as they liked (Yuri placed bronze and Otabek didn’t even get on the podium). That meant Yuri got to summon his inner barnacle as an excuse.
“Fuck off,” muttered Yuri, without any bite.
As the sounds of the television blared out, the Russian skater buried his face into Otabek’s chest. The smell of cedar wood and sage comforted him once again. Ever since Yuri texted him the scent of his aftershave cleared his thoughts, Otabek allowed Yuri to breathe against his neck. In and out. In. Out.
“Yura,” repeated Otabek. Yuri could hear the fondness in his tone despite the roll of the older man’s eyes. “You need to pack. Your flight’s before mine.”
“No,” argued Yuri. He pouted against his boyfriend’s grey shirt. “Leaving is illegal. Cancelled.”
“Unlike last year, the Winter Olympics next year won’t be cancelled.”
“You’re cancelled.”
“ Yuratchka .”
Grumpy, the younger skater pouted against the light cotton fabric of his boyfriend’s shirt. It wasn’t fair they barely got to see each other because of a stupid worldwide crisis on top of being competitive athletes. It wasn’t fair at all.
“ …and once again Japan places gold at the figure skating Worlds. Twenty-eight Yuuri Katsuki and his husband and coach, Viktor Nikiforov, both celebrated the victory in Tokyo -”
At least dumb Pork Cutlet and dumb Victor got to see each other all the time. If they weren’t training together, they at least had the luxury of being together. They got to eat nice pork cutlet bowls, and relax in the hot waters of Yu-topia, take care of their dogs…regular couple stuff.
And Yuri and Otabek didn’t. Homophobic.
Not that they didn’t spend all of their free time in Tokyo going to all the cat cafes and going batshit in Harajuku (or, more accurately, Yuri went insane with the cool fashion). But Worlds only lasted a few days. What about the next few months? He’d be lucky if they could attend a training camp together, or if either one could take more than a month off in Almaty or in St Petersburg. Even if they had their fair share of impromptu flights (Yuri heard more than his fair share of yelling from Yakov in 2019), it just wasn’t enough. Since 2020, however, international borders have been a lot more strict so it was harder to plan those things.
So forgive Yuri for wanting to become a brat about it.
“It’s not fair…” mumbled Yuri.
Otabek said nothing at first. Instead, Yuri felt gentle fingers card against his blond hair, and the caress caused him to sigh deeply.
Then, he murmured, “Should I quit? Fly to Russia, be your coach?”
“Shut up!”
Half-heartedly, Yuri swatted at Otabek. The very thought of Otabek quitting to be his personal coach irritated him. How could someone be as selfish as Viktor was? Give up his country’s glory to chase someone’s pants? It was reprehensible.
Yuri respected what he had with Otabek. They both still carried out their duties. They had ambition. It sucked that they were far away more often than not, but that was what both of them chose to do.
A sigh. “Yuri, seriously. We need to go soon.”
“Uuuuuugghhh. Fine! Be that way. You always want to leave. If you just wanted to be away from me, then be my guest, Beka-!”
And suddenly, Yuri was pressed flat against the hotel bed, drowning in a sea of intense brown. Otabek’s breath against his mouth was hot, and he smelled of sage and cedar wood and boy. Pinned down by more than 65 kilograms of solid muscle, Yuri couldn’t help but shiver at the sheer strength of his boyfriend.
“I never want to be away from you, Yuratchka,” said Otabek slowly. Seriously. As if he was swearing under an oath for his country and for his honour. “Understand that. Please.”
Beneath the murky brown of that gaze, Yuri thought Otabek might cry. The very thought filled the younger skater with a sharp, static feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know if he could handle that.
Yuri wrapped his arms, once slender and graceful, now long and gangly, around the older man. He felt the anxious bubbling underneath his skin settle down a little, when Otabek gently sunk his weight into his arms. It may have been more than a year since they have seen each other, but Yuri still knew the subtle signs of Otabek’s comfort.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “I was just pissed. Wish we could see each other more often.”
“Mn. I know.”
“Don’t quit for my sake, okay, Beka?”
“I won’t.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too, Yura.”
For a moment, they breathe in tandem. Yuri rested his hands against the broad muscle of Otabek’s back. Everything was warm and quiet, and for once, the rage inside Yuri simmered down into something calmer…and perhaps sadder.
It took four missed calls and Yakov screaming at them for exactly three minutes and thirty five seconds for Yuri to grab his things.
It took a few more seconds for him to kiss Otabek goodbye, and then one last missed call from Lilia for him to be out the door.
—
Zaijian/再见 , Beijing (2022)
Yuri Plisetsky performed spectacularly during the Beijing Winter Olympics in 2022. It was a great battle of the Yuris, Japan versus Russia, for the top spot. Ultimately, Russia took home the gold, like the Grand Prix Finals that took place five years ago.
However, the press boomed with drama at the Kiss and Cry. Videos uploaded went viral, and netizens smashed keyboards at the insanity of it all. Yuri Plisetsky was filmed, holding back his tears in vain, as he smacked the seventh place, Otabek Altin of Kazakhstan, on the chest over and over. It appeared Otabek was whispering in his ear, and murmuring something, but whatever he said only proceeded to make the blond cry harder.
It was crazy. Silver medalist Yuuri Katsuki and a few others were trying to pry them apart.
—
(“ You’re so bad! ” Russian translators broadcasted the words of the upset gold medalist all over Instagram. “ How can I do this without you? Why?? ”)
Figure_skater_fan do u think they broke up??
Seungchu05train Omg did the power couple just break up?? Did Otabek just dump Yuri in the Olympics if all places?? 😱
Yuraangel4ever I always knew Otabek wasn’t the gentleman he let on to be. How dare he break Yura’s angel heart!! 🤬🤬
Otabae178 @yuraangel4ever take that back u bitch!! Otabek would never! Everyone knows Plisetsky is a total and utter drama queen
—
Sniffling angrily, Yuri scrolled through the endless comments speculating about he and Otabek’s alleged breakup. It was all stupid- that, and all the other dumb rumours fans and whoever else made up because they had nothing else to do with their time.
But he did agree with one thing. Otabek did break his heart. Just not in the way people expected.
“Why the actual fuck didn’t you tell me you were going to retire,” said Yuri bitterly, behind closed doors. “Beka, seriously what the fuck .”
His eyes were so damn puffy from crying. What a baby he was! Otabek was so mean to just tell him that before they went on the podium!
“I didn’t want to distract you, Yura,” replied Otabek softly.
And there he was, as wonderful and gentlemanly as ever. It made perfect sense why Otabek never told Yuri anything beforehand. The news would have buried itself deep into his mind. It would have been far too difficult for Yuri to focus on his quads and on his theme (‘Unstoppable’).
Now, however, Yuri felt anything but unstoppable. How could he do this without Otabek? Really, how?
“I wasn’t performing well for a while,” said Otabek. “It was time to consider the facts.”
“Then train harder.”
“You know age isn’t on our side, Yuri.”
“Pork Cutlet was 27 when he retired!”
“Yuuri from Japan is on a different level from me.”
“Beka!”
But Yuri knew he was being unfair to Otabek. He knew more than anyone else in the world how much the Kazakh skater loved skating and in his own way. He saw it every single time his boyfriend, quiet and powerful, made the ice sing as he jumped across the ice. If anyone was the soldier on the battlefield, it was Otabek.
However, the reality of any competition was in order to stay strong, you had to keep on winning. Objectively, Otabek wasn’t able to qualify for major competitions like he used to. Yuri knew this well. He remembered every single time the older man clenched his jaw, or retreated into an impenetrable bubble of polite silence. Even if Yuri couldn’t understand why Otabek would want to ever bottle it up, he knew exactly how shitty the feeling was. They’d bitch it out in their own way.
That was why he felt so shit about Otabek leaving. Who else could he bitch with ?
Yuri could remember what it was like competing without him. It was shit. Long, gruelling hours on the ice without anyone in particular to shoot memes and DM about how gross the couple were being? Not having someone to chill with after competitions or training camps? Absolutely fucking not. Those days were horrible and boring.
More than that, they were lonely. Yuri would rather eat a dozen rotten blini than admit it, but he was so lonely. Yakov and Lilia cared about him, sure, but he couldn’t consider them his confidants. The other confidants he had, besides Otabek, also had their own plans.
“Cutlet’s officially retiring after this, too,” muttered Yuri. “Mila already quit for school, and Georgi wants to be all gross and get fucking married.”
And… there went his list of people he didn’t just talk to when Otabek was around. Everyone else was either a friend of Cutlet’s or Otabek’s, or Yuri just didn’t vibe with them. He curled up into a ball and glared at the glittery lights in the inky black sky as if they did him a personal wrong.
“I’m still going to come and support you, Yura,” huffed Otabek.
He could hear the almost-smile in the Kazakh skater’s words, and he felt his hair almost bristle from the irritation. It wasn’t just about the support, damn it! It was about having a friend, a comrade on the ice.
Also, it was fun competing against Otabek in competitions. The press loved to talk shit and say that one let the other win, but that was all bullshit. Even when together, working to win that damn gold took priority. It was a mutual thing. It wasn’t like dumb Cutlet and Viktor, with one giving up his pride and duty to his country to chase after a drunken one night encounter. He and Otabek were better than that. They had hopes, dreams of their own. And they used that sheer drive to push each other to the next level.
No one would be the same like Beka was.
Ever so gently, warm fingers combed through his blonde hair. As if Otabek was petting some fragile animal instead of his angry boyfriend’s head. It felt nice, but Yuri grit his teeth and curled into a tighter ball.
“I wish you trusted me,” muttered Yuri softly. He heard the waver in his tone, and tried to swallow the lump that threatened to grow at the back of his throat. “What? Was I not important enough to you to tell?”
The hand stroking his head stopped for a moment.
“Yurotchka.” Otabek sighed. “I didn’t think that.”
“Did you tell anyone else?”
“My coach. My mother and sister.” A pause. “And now, you.”
Yuri bit his bottom lip, and glared at the full orange swirl of the hotel room carpet. The immature part of him wanted to stay pissed at Otabek. But he wasn’t the naive fifteen year old kid he used to be. Life went on, even after figure skaters retired. He knew he could continue to train and win, even if his partner wasn’t there, but-
“I’ll miss you.”
Yuri turned to look at Otabek, his gaze sombre. After a second, he scoffed and prayed his cheeks didn’t burn as hot as they felt. Considering how long they were dating, Yuri still had a hard time with all that mushy crap. It was weird, and so feelsy, and no way he was like Viktor and Pork Cutlet.
But… but then he’d look back at Otabek, and see that stoic face soften so slightly at the edges. And Yuri would melt. He’d turn into goo, or melted snow off the ice, and there would be nothing he could do to stop it.
So when Beka gave him that soft look, Yuri once again felt weak and defenceless. He could only bite back his frustration and sadness and loneliness in a grimace, but he couldn’t stay angry at Otabek forever.
“I’ll miss you too, Yura,” said Otabek quietly, approaching the blond skater slowly. “But I’m still here.”
With Otabek’s warm arms around him, and the familiar scent of leather and cedar wood, Yuri once again was reminded of last nights in hotel rooms or early mornings in departure terminals. Even with his boyfriend’s words of visiting and coming to support him, he couldn’t help but feel that loss. Couldn’t help but feel the goodbye that both of them refused to say.
—
The retirement of Otabek Altin, the Hero of Kazakhstan, was announced during the Beijing Olympic Gala.
Yuri did not cry then. With the bottle-green glass eyes of a soldier, he looked on. He clapped his hands and joined in the festivities as the many figure skaters at the gala cheered all the retiring skaters their final hoorah.
When Otabek came close, he smiled at him and only at him.
“Of course I’ll miss him in competitions,” Yuri told reporters then, and a hundred times over for the next few days. “It’s goodbye to one of our greatest performers, isn’t it?”
—
Hey/Привéтик , St Petersburg (2022)
The world stopped for no one. Not for soldiers, not for presidents, not for heroes- self-proclaimed or not. It was stupid for Yuri “I’m a fucking punk” Plisetsky to think the world would change without the Hero of Kazakhstan competing in figure skating, but here he was. Mourning the loss of his best friend and partner on the ice.
It was stupid for him to do so, considering they weren’t even pair skaters, but give a bitch a break.
@Michele_Crispin I remember when Sara had to quit skating because of her injury. The loss I felt-
@_georgi_popovich Truly, a fellow competitor has been lost. Well wishes to @Otabek-Altin for retiring!
@mila_babicheva_official I know some people who will be more than a little salty now that you're gone, @Otabek-Altin, but you'll always have a place in our hearts!
UGH. Yuri threw his phone against the wall of his room.
Finally, a semblance of sanity and comfort came in the form of a call from Pork Cutlet. Of all people. Back in St Petersburg, Yuri holed himself up in his room in the Barovskaya estate when his namesake called from another part of the world.
“ I remember when Viktor quit competing to become my coach ,” said Yuuri quietly, from the phone. “ I couldn’t help but blame myself for his decision .”
“It was partially your fault, though,” retorted Yuri, though with not as much bite.
“ Mn. But I didn’t force him to do it. Viktor stopped competing because he wanted to .” he could hear Pork Cutlet take a deep breath. “ The heart knows what it wants. Do you understand what I mean? ”
Of course Yuri understood what the fucking Cutlet meant. After the years of (ugh) friendship they cultivated, he grew more than used to Pork Cutlet’s weird, cryptic messages. Still, Otabek clearly wasn’t into skating the same way he used to be. Yuri could see that. He was young, not stupid. Damn.
“I’m no dumbass, Katsuki,” snapped Yuri. “I know winning hasn’t been in Beka’s favour for the past year, but it feels like he…”
To convey the wordless feelings of frustration, Yuri threw his gangly arms up in the air. Ugh! He hated everything. He wanted to scream and kick and shout at everyone, and especially at Otabek. Otabek wasn’t so bad that he simply didn’t qualify for anything anymore. How could he just… suddenly not want things anymore? What changed?
Yuri wanted to think Beka and fucking Viktor weren’t the same, but then this shit happened. One day, they just wake up and -poof- their ideals, their hero status, their everything… gone. The blond couldn’t fathom it. At least, not until he was a little older, say as old as Viktor, and definitely past his prime. Only then would Yuri just-
“ Gave up ?”
If Yuri was a cat, his golden hair would have bristled. Still, Yuuri was not wrong. That’s what pissed him off the most.
“Yes.”
“ Mn .” Yuuri hummed as he nodded his head. “ I know you understand this, Yuri, but people change ambitions, Yuri. A person’s heart isn’t any less because their goals change… or feelings. Viktor is still Viktor, even if he no longer competes. ”
Yuri snorted. Viktor Nikiforov was forever going to be a jackass
“ Would you love Otabek less because of his decision?”
“What?” Yuri’s head snapped up as he almost screeched at the phone. “Absolutely fucking not! What the hell is wrong with you? I’m just- I-”
“ I didn’t mean it that way, Yuri .” The Japanese skater put a hand up from the screen. Before the Russian one could unleash a tirade of sharp words. “ Not in the way you think. It’s just something to think about, when you feel like you resent his decision sometimes.
Yuri tried hard to swallow the lump growing in his throat as Yuuri added, “ It's not a bad thing to say thank you and goodbye to things that no longer work for us, ne? ”
“I get that, Cutlet,” replied Yuri, a little hoarsely. “But I just really, really hate goodbyes.”
“ Mn. Yes. Saying goodbye is always difficult .” said Yuuri, vaguely. “ But it’s not always goodbye, but hello to new beginnings .”
The Russian skater snorted. “You’re so full of shit, Pork Cutlet Bowl!”
From the speakers, Yuuri laughed sweetly. “ And you’re welcome, Yuri-kun. Tell Otabek I say hello, okay? ”
“What the hell are you-“
Knock-knock-knock. His question was interrupted. Unable to stop his heart from quickening in pace, Yuri tossed his phone aside and opened the door.
He must have died somehow, when he saw Otabek standing in front of the door.
—
“Салáм алéйкум,” greeted Otabek politely. Peace be upon you. A standard Muslim greeting, but in Russian. “Yura.”
They stood almost eye to eye now, but this time it was Yuri who was a few inches taller than the Kazakh skater. The years really stretched out Yuri’s spine, and- Wait, why was he thinking of heights? That wasn’t even important right now!
“Beka, what the actual fuck?” hissed Yuri. He stared up and down at the other guy. Otabek’s hair was neatly combed and he wore his usual leather jacket, but this time he wore a respectable pair of black trousers and a white button down underneath. “You didn’t tell me you were coming to Russia!”
The older boy nodded grimly. “I wanted to. However, some of your friends were more… insistent that I keep this visit a surprise until I got here.”
Motherfucking bastards, thought Yuri viciously. His thoughts immediately turned to Viktor and Cutlet Bowl, who probably were giggling up a storm of their own back in Japan. Those two were always about spontaneity and impromptu surprises, and all of the things Yuri thought got in the way of his fierce ambitions. Of course those two would scheme something to wreck his plans to mope back at home for the rest of the week.
“So, how long are you staying?” asked Yuri. He leaned against the door of his room, and made a smug face as he folded his arms across his chest, “I bet you’ve got a lot more time to stay because you’re retired. I still have training, though, so we’re going to have to figure this out somehow!”
“Four years.”
“Hah! Four ye- wait.” Yuri blinked up dazedly at his boyfriend. “What do you mean four years?”
“Yes.” Otabek nodded, and held up four fingers. “Four years, I believe the program is that long. Maybe if I pursue extra studies, I can stay longer, but right now the university program I’m registered in-”
“WAIT. Waitwaitwaitwait-,” gasped the Russian skater. He held up both of his hands, green eyes wide in utter disbelief. Beka was… staying? In Russia? For longer than a week or two? Studies? What the actual fuck? “What are you even saying?”
“Oh,” said Otabek. Suddenly, the older boy’s shoulders caved in slightly and his ears turned a rather bright pink. “I got into the state university. Here, in St. Petersburg. I wanted to tell you back in Beijing. You were upset, though.”
“You could have texted!”
“Every time I did, you got upset about me retiring.”
It was as if someone punched Yuri in the solar plexus. He stared at his boyfriend, unable to speak. Perhaps a few years ago, he would have yelled at Otabek in disbelief. Or jumped for joy. Or both. However, he was twenty years old now, and Otabek was twenty-two. They weren’t kids who could just fuck around in excitement.
But there Yuri Plisetsky stood, feeling once again, like a kid.
“So you’re really staying?” asked the Russian skater breathlessly. The words rushed out of him like he was being squeezed. He took one step towards Otabek, and then another, and another. Right until he was standing close enough to his partner to see the separate lashes on the Kazakh boy’s eyes. “You’re not just going to get up and leave tomorrow, are you, Beka?”
Otabek raised an eyebrow. “The tuition for the semester has already been paid for, and I have living arrangements near campus. If you mean here, I don’t need to leave until later. Unless you want me to.”
“Dumbass!”
Without another word, Yuri wrapped his arms around Otabek and hugged him tight. Once again, that familiar smell of cedarwood and old leather and just plain Otabek filled the Russian skater’s nostrils. It felt good. Everything about his best friend and partner felt good. Like home, but this time more complete.
As soon as he felt warm hands cup his jaw, Yuri raised his head and then tilted it slightly for their lips to meet. It was gentle and slow, and nothing like all their goodbye kisses. Those were fast and furious and desperate. It was easier to communicate with their bodies than with their words. Figure skating, after all, was a language of the body.
This time… This time, both of them could take their time with what they wanted to say.
When their lips parted, Yuri rested his face against the crook between Otabek’s neck and shoulder. “Привéтик, Beka. ” Heya, Beka .
In response, Otabek’s laughter rumbled gently. “Привéтик. Я люблю тебя.”
Yuri grinned and gave him another kiss. “I love you too. But you still fucking owe me for not telling me you were going to stay here long term!”
“In fairness, Nikiforov made it rather difficult for me to communicate this…”
- End-