Chapter Text
Before this hell year of a season, Yuriy could tell you, without a second thought, how many many times he’s willingly had someone lying next to him in bed. Now. Now he couldn’t. He didn't have the faintest idea how many times Boris had slipped into bed next to him. How many mornings he’d woken up to Boris’ strong hands wrapped around his slim waist. He didn't want to count, all he knew was that he wanted it to continue for as long as Boris would join him. He would gladly take this distraction over everything else, because once they left his bed, they both had to live through what was going on outside.
Volkov wasn't getting away with it this time. None of them believed a word of his. That he was atoning for his mistakes. That he was trying to create a better future Beyblading. They knew it was a lie. They lived through his hell to know what this sick fuck was capable of. They made a vow that they would do everything in their power to stop Volkov. Volkov wasn't going to ruin anyone else’s lives, like he ruined theirs. He wasn't going to steal anyone’s childhood if they could stop it. They wouldn't let this cycle repeat. They wouldn't -
“Yurya.” Boris calls softly. “Don't. Stop. Don’t think about what's going on outside. When we’re here, and it’s just the two of us. This… this is our safe haven. This is your sanctuary in my arms. And this is my sanctuary, holding you. Just try and not dwell on it. Take a break.”
Yuriy lets out a snort. Who would have thought all that therapy they had would make Boris corny?
Boris pinches at a bony hip, “Don’t snort at me, asshole. I’m serious. Just enjoy this. We don't get that many moments where things are calm.”
Yuriy sighs, relaxing into Boris’ arms. “Sorry. Sometimes it’s just hard to ignore.” He apologizes. “I don't understand how people can think Volkov is rehabilitated. That the past was all Sōichirō. As if he wasn’t truly a mastermind behind everything. All Kai’s grandfather did was fund his experiments and abuse. And then on top of it,” Yuriy scoffs, “after Volkov went into hiding, the fucker paid off every single person who would have went after him, after it all got quiet. Makes me sick.”
Boris hums, and brings up a hand to pet Yuriy’s hair. His eyes are closed as he cards through Yuriy’s ungelled loose hair. It’s wavy and shiny from his shower earlier. And so silky soft.
It’s rare moments like this, behind closed doors the two are tender with each other. It’s gentle. Domestic. And sweet. Unexpected for the two. But their new normal.
It’s nice.
“I- Boris.” Yuriy stops, looking up at Boris’ closed eyes. “Borya.” That snaps his eyes open as he gazes down with soft eyes at the red head. “Thank you. This whole season. Between dealing with Kai and Volkov. You’ve been my rock. I-“ Yuriy lets out a small groan. They’re just words. You’ve wanted to say for a whole. Just say them. “I really appreciate you.”
Boris raises an eyebrow. “I appreciate you too, Yura.”
Yuriy clicks his tongue against his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut. “That’s not what I mean. That’s not what I want to say.” His voice groans. Another click of his tongue. “ Boris. Borya. You’re special to me. There’s better words to say what I’m feeling. I- I don’t want to say it.”
“Say what?”
“How I’m really feeling.” His voice small. “I think- it’s a weird feeling. Feeling like this.”
“Feeling what?” Boris asks, and Yuriy thinks about elbowing him. Can see a hint of a smirk on Boris’ lips, but can see he’s being patient with him. He’s not pushing or rushing Yuriy. Fucker knew what he meant. He wanted to hear it. Which meant… this was mutual. He wasn’t pushing him away. What a relief.
“It’s just weird. Feeling like this. I’ve never known this before. How was I ever supposed to feel something I never experienced?””
“What haven’t you experienced?” Boris asks, a teasing hint in his voice.
Yuriy swats at his chest and sits up. “You’re an asshole. You know what I’m talking about. L-lo- like.”
“Like? You’ve never experienced, like?” He’s got that smug smirk. Yuriy wants to kiss it right off of him.
“You’re a menace. I would take Kai over you. A menace, Borya.”
Boris chuckles, trying to pull Yuriy back down on his chest, but Yuriy fights it. He stays sitting up looking down at a shirtless, hair moussed and soft from a nap Boris. He could wake up to this sight everyday.
“I love you. You idiot. I fucking love you.” Yuriy admits. And it’s silence that follows. Boris’ eyes go wide and for a second, Yuriy fears that he’s read the room wrong. How could he be wrong?
Boris would kiss him. Hold him. Sleep with him. He couldn’t be wrong, could he? Could-
Boris’ eyes soften and look like crescents, his lips pulling up into a smile. He reaches out a hand and grabs Yuriy’s. The red head realizes at that moment his hands are shaking. “I love you too, Yura. Fuck. I love you. I never thought- at least not for a while, you’d say that.”
Yuriy makes a face, “Well if you weren’t a menace, you would have had to wait. So it worked out for you, huh?” He says with a bratty tone.
Boris chuckles. “I would have waited an eternity for you to tell me you loved me, Yura.”
Yuriy’s face flushes a scarlet red, his mouth dropping open. “You can’t just say shit like that, Kuznetsov.” Then he clears his throat. “I just never thought I would feel like this about a person. About anything. How was I supposed to feel it, when I’ve never experienced love before?”
“You haven't experienced love, at all?” Boris asks incredulously.
Tala shakes his head, then stops, “Well, now I have, but before you, before this.” He gestures to the two of them close on the bed, “I hadn’t. I wasn’t wanted, not since I was born. My mother was promised a daughter and then out I came. She never wanted a son, especially one who ended up reminding her of my father. “ -a pause- “Have you felt loved?” He looks up into turquoise eyes.
Boris’ eyes go blank for a second, like he’s reliving something. And then he smiles softly, “Of course I have, but It was before the abbey.”
Yuriy wants to ask what it was, but he doesn’t.
—
Yuriy finds Boris and Sergei on the roof of the hotel they are staying in. He hears hushed whispers as he opens the door to the outside. They’re both up against the edge of the roof, leaning against the balcony.
Yuriy can feel a melancholy air as he approaches the two. And he figures there must be, Sergei never smokes… and Boris had promised that he’d stop.
Boris has his back against the balcony railing, his body angled towards Sergei who has his forearms resting on the railing, looking down at the city below. Boris smiles when he looks over and his eyes land on Yuriy’s approaching figure.
The redhead offers a weak smile and finds a spot to the other side of Boris. He raises an eyebrow towards Sergei. “You don't smoke.” He comments, “But for some reason there’s a cigarette hanging from your lips.”
Sergei blows a puff of smoke, “They wouldn’t sell us alcohol, needed something to relieve stress.” He shrugs his shoulders and offers it up to the redhead.
Yuriy shakes his head and makes a face. “I’m stressed but not that stressed.” He glances back down at Sergei, “You mean to tell me they didnt believe you of age for alcohol, but of age for cigarettes?”
Boris lets out a chuckle, “Hard for them to check when I swiped them.”
Yury gives him an icy glare. He doesn't even need to say it for the words to dance around Boris’ head. We have enough eyes on us. Don’t do anything stupid.
Sergei shakes his head, “Surprisingly they called my bluff.” He blows out a ring of smoke in Boris’ direction and earns a playful shove back. Boris chuckles out a Dick. “I look older than most Japanese men my age, you’d think they would have just accepted it.”
“Maybe your poor Japanese gave it away.” Boris suggests. “Probably knew you were here for beyblading.”
“Fuck you, my Japanese is the best out of all of you. Guy was just biased against me.” Sergei passes the cigarette back to Boris, but before he can grab it, Yuriy snags it and puts it out on the railing. Boris makes a face at the red head and shrugs his shoulders, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the rest of the pack.
“Boris” Yuriy’s give a tone of warning. “You better stop if you know what’s good for you.”
Sergei raises an eyebrow and looks between the two of them. “So have you guys finally figured out what’s going on with you two? It sounds like it.” That comment causes the two to blush. Yuriy is stark red and Boris is a pale pink shade.
Sergei clears his throat and changes the conversation, grabbing the forgotten pack of cigarettes from Boris and pulling one out. It takes him a few clicks to get fire on the lighter.
“He can smoke but I can’t!” Boris grumbles indignantly.
Yuriy throws him another look. It could kill. “You said you’d quit.”
“I did. But need something to distract me. We all do.” He lets out a sigh. “Wish Vanya was here.”
They all agree. Ivan was always able to lighten the mood and take their minds off of things when things were rough. As the years went by they needed less of his comedic effect, but fuck could they use it right now.
“I miss him too”, Sergei laments. “But he seems to be doing well back in Moscow. The social worker says he’s happy. His grades are good. He has friends.”
“They’re not us though.” Boris sneers? Says bitterly. A little jealous, maybe? Yuriy can’t describe it fully. It sounds ugly and unhappy.
Yuriy places a soft hand on Boris’ shoulder. Yuriy’s thumb rubbing his back in slow circles. Boris leans back and looks up at the red head, his green eyes twinkling from the contact.
“It’s good Ivan is doing well,” Yuriy comments. “With us not there.”
The other two nod.
Sergei is next to speak, “Yeah, I think I’d it was just me, without you two, I’d go a little crazy.”
“Same here.” Boris agrees. “It would be very… not good.”
Yuriy nods. A foreign feeling bubbling in his chest. “It’s good he was able to adjust to not being with us.”
“Vanya’s always been different.”
The three make eye contact but no one needs to say more.
They already know what they mean by that. Ivan didn’t need therapy like the three of them did. He still went and spoke with the therapist though, more for them than himself.
He didn’t experience what they did to any level. He had been so lucky he was so young and small. Not that they felt resentment towards him for that. No. They were so thankful for it. That there was one less person broken at the hands of Voltaire Volkov.
Jealous might have been a better word. Ivan always felt emotions that they struggled with.
Fuck, there were even times where they couldn’t articulate it and Ivan would be the one to say
“Hey that sounds like you’re upset about XYZ”
“You’re describing sadness.”
“That overwhelming feeling is happiness.”
Or a more memorable situation;
Sergei was speaking at length. Going on and on, in an incredibly long detailed tangent about them. Boris and Yuriy were enthralled watching him speak about their group. They couldn’t look away. The longer Sergei went on, the more he seemed to get distraught. He couldn’t find the word. And then Yuriy and Boris started looking at each other because they couldn’t figure out what the hell was the word Sergei was looking for. What was this emotion? (And at that time, they wouldn’t admit they always had whatever feeling it was for the group).
But Ivan, who knew, snorted over a bowl of cereal and looked at the three with a funny expression, “Oh come on, you haven’t figured out what you’re talking about?” Then looked at Boris and Yuriy, “You guys don’t get what Seryozha is feeling either?” He lets out a laugh. And he sounds so much older than them right now. Like an elder explaining something so simple to him, but foreign to them. “Hey Seryozha, love you too man. All of you.”
Or, Yuriy’s personal favorite.
Yuriy remembers Boris going on and on, complaining about why was Kai their fourth this year ? He hated that emo little unhinged brat. And everyone is just trying to eat breakfast. And then a wickedness flashes over Ivan’s eyes. Yuriy almost misses it, but Sergei kicks him under the table and tilts his head. He catches it at least second.
“Borya. Borya,” he called, “Do you know what you’re feeling right now.”
“Obviously. I’m pissed. I’m angry. Having this fucking shithead as a teammate, a-fucking-gain. Thanks Yuriy.”
“We needed a fourth.” And as Yuriy was saying that, Ivan spoke over him.
“No Borya, Borya. Listen, listen. You got it all wrong. That’s not the word you’re looking for.” The wickedness was back in Ivan’s eyes. It danced like a wildfire. Yuriy leaned back in his seat. He sat and watched intensely. He had wondered what Ivan had up his sleeve and how it would play out.
“The fuck I am. I know what I’m feeling this time. I’ve always known this feeling.”
Ivan shook his head. “Na ah. You're getting it confused with anger. Aggression. What you’re feeling is lust.”
And Yuriy was so happy he stopped to watch this, because he would have snorted his tea if he had been drinking it, because Sergei had. They’re both were fighting back laughs. But Boris had looked so confused at first.
“That is not what I’m fucking feeling, Ivan.” Boris growled.
“Definitely is.” Ivan insisted, “I wish you would use less words to say it though. You could just say you want to fuck Kai.
“I don’t want to fuck him. I want to murder him or at the very least beat the shit out of him.”
“Fuck, murder, beat the shit out of. Same thing. Probably meant you want to pound the shit out his ass.” Ivan shrugged.
Then Sergei can’t hold back his laughter and it erupts from him. And Yuriy had covered his mouth to hide his giggling. Boris glared at the two, then turned his attention back to Ivan.
“Papov, I wish to do no such thing.”
“Well you sound so passionate about it Kai. It sounds like you do.” Ivan had sounded so offhanded when he spoke.
And after things had cooled down Boris had pulled him aside to explain that he did not want Hiwatari like that. Yuriy needs to know he does not want to fuck Kai at all. He wasn’t interested. And Yuriy laughed that, yes, he was certainly aware that Ivan was fucking with him.
But that all seemed so long ago. It had been months since they had seen Ivan. Months since this chaos had started. Months since they had seen Volkov after so long.
Yuriy sighs, watching Sergei and Boris joke around with each other. If only things could stay like this.
But as long as Volkov was allowed to run free, these rare moments of calm were to be treasured.