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[video] @yuri_plisetsky @katsudon-yuuri
v-nikiforov He’s been like this ever since we got back from the airport ❤️ #socute #hemissedus #wemissedhimtoodontworry
“… twenty triple axels in a row, Beka, because Viktor is fucking insane, and no one should ever let him coach anyone ever…”
Otabek Altin had been waiting for a long time for the chance to be friends with Yuri Plisetsky. From their first interaction at Yakov’s Juniors ballet class, when Otabek had been the oldest and entirely out of his depth, he had been fascinated by the boy who was so easily able to do everything that he couldn’t. The unforgettable eyes of a soldier, Otabek had said to Yuri last year at the Grand Prix Final, looking down over the top of Barcelona. He had been waiting for years for the chance to have that conversation, and it had been worth the wait in the end. Because now he was able to call Yuri Plisetsky his friend, and he knew there were few others truly able to claim the same.
“… Katsudon started crying, because of course he did. He’s really the biggest wimp I’ve ever met, and I have no idea how he managed to convince people of that whole Eros thing even for a second…”
Currently, Yuri Plisetsky was grinning down at Otabek from atop his own bed. It was a hot summer’s day in Almaty, and the two of them were crammed into Otabek’s tiny room. Otabek himself sat on the floor, pressed up against the wall, while Yuri laid on his back on the bed, tilting his head upwards in order to maintain eye contact. It was too hot for them to be able to sit on the bed side-by-side and the sweltering air was a silent companion between them.
“… Yakov yelled at him, of course, but Viktor didn’t care, because if he cared about Yakov being mad at him, he never would have flown off to Japan in the first place…”
Worlds had come and gone last month and there was still a bit of time left before training for next season would begin in earnest. It had been nearly half a year since Barcelona, since Otabek and Yuri had become friends. They had seen each other since then at Worlds, of course, as well as 4CCs where Otabek had been competing and Yuri and Viktor Nikiforov had flown out to support slash coach Yuuri Katsuki. But this was Yuri’s first time visiting Almaty, and the first time that the two of them had spent any time together not during a competition and outside of the immediate context of their careers. It had been a few days since Yuri’s plane had landed, and so far they had been both similar to and different from what Otabek had been expecting.
“… I was just standing there—it was my break—when Viktor and Katsudon decided that it was the perfect time to be even grosser than they usually are, and it turns out that yes, that actually is possible…”
So far, Otabek had introduced Yuri to his family, shown him some interesting sights around Almaty, and, of course, spent some time at the rink. They were still professional figure skaters, after all, even if it was the off-season. Yesterday, they had even spent a couple of hours working together to refine their respective programs for next year, and it was one of the most effective practices that Otabek had had in a while. It reminded him a little bit of sharing a rink with JJ and the others in Canada. He did not feel bad to admit, however, that he enjoyed Yuri’s company much more than he enjoyed JJ’s.
“… Katsudon was making katsudon for dinner, so what was I supposed to say? Katsudon is literally the best food ever, and when you finally visit me in Russia, I’ll make him cook it for… Beka, are you even listening to me?”
Snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of his name, Otabek blinked several times in the hope of hiding the fact that he had not, in fact, been listening. For the past several minutes, Yuri had been telling him a story that involved himself, Viktor Nikiforov, and Yuuri Katsuki. Otabek had been paying attention at the beginning, but since Yuri had arrived, he’d told dozens of stories that involved himself, Viktor Nikiforov, and Yuuri Katsuki. So really, Otabek didn’t feel all that guilty about the fact that he hadn’t been listening.
By the scowl that was now on Yuri’s face, he had figured out Otabek’s inattention without him having to say anything. Seeing the disappointed look in Yuri’s eyes—and the way he was trying to hide it—did make him feel a little guilty. He took a deep breath and stretched his legs out in front of him.
“I’m sorry, Yuri. I know Viktor and Yuuri are very important to you.”
It was almost comical, the exaggerated expression of horror that crossed Yuri’s face at those words. Especially considering that he’d talked about Russia extensively and that Viktor and Yuuri had been in every single one of those stories. Even the ones about Yuri visiting his grandfather in Moscow. While Viktor and Yuuri stayed in Saint Petersburg.
“They are not important to me,” Yuri snapped, convincingly enough that Otabek nearly believed him. Still, he had to wonder if Yuri actually believed what he was saying, or if he had just gotten very good at lying through his teeth. It was honestly hard to tell.
Otabek merely raised an eyebrow. Yuri met his stare head-on—he really wouldn’t have expected anything different—but his cheeks were turning pink. He didn’t say anything, because he was that good of a friend, but grinned with the smugness of someone who knew that they had won. Yuri’s green eyes narrowed into a glare.
It was Yuri who looked away first, although Otabek suspected that it was mostly because it was difficult to glare at someone upside-down. Still laying on Otabek’s bed, he rolled over onto his front and propped himself up on his elbows. They faced each other now, but Yuri very pointedly kept his gaze on anything in the room except Otabek.
They’d been friends for long enough that he knew Yuri would talk if he was patient enough. They both knew that he’d said anything but the truth, and that Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki were the most important people in Yuri’s life apart from his grandfather. The fact that he was still trying to avoid Otabek, then, meant that there was still something he wasn’t saying, and Otabek wanted to know what it was.
“Viktor’s old and ridiculous, and Katsudon’s gross and pathetic,” Yuri started, his tone of voice betraying that he didn’t really believe what he was saying. “But… I was young, when, when I started training with Yakov. And Viktor… he was annoying most of the time, but he was always there. And Katsudon… Katsudon’s a better skater than Viktor is, and I’ll wipe the ice with his face for the rest of time. But he makes Viktor… better, I guess. A thousand times more annoying, obviously, because they’re the worst, but, but… better.”
He knew Yuri would yell at him if he saw it, so Otabek hid his smile behind his hand. In general, Yuri Plisetsky was prickly and somewhat unapproachable—it was only those closest to him who knew the truth. Who saw the person he was when he wasn’t trying to be something else. Otabek knew himself to be one of these few. Yuri had even gone so far to say that he was the only one, aside from Yuri’s grandfather. But Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki, he knew, were there too. They had probably been there, really, even before Otabek. Even if Yuri didn’t like to admit it.
It was clear by the fierce scowl that he was suddenly fixed with that his attempts at hiding his thoughts hadn’t been altogether successful. “Shut up,” Yuri snapped again.
“I didn’t say anything,” Otabek pointed out, only barely managing not to laugh.
Yuri merely glared at him for several more seconds, then, with a mighty groan, let his head drop until his face was buried in the bedsheets. Here, Otabek could no longer help himself and snorted loudly. Yuri mumbled something into the bed. It was muffled enough that he couldn’t make out any words, but he thought it sounded Russian.
“Didn’t quite catch that.”
Yuri lifted his head for long enough to inform Otabek: “I hate you. I’m going back to Russia. Baka,” before dropping it back against the bed.
“By all means. Don’t let me stop you.”
When Yuri made no movement, even to lift his head, Otabek hooked a thumb over his shoulder, to the door of his bedroom. “Yuri. Russia is that way.”
When Yuri groaned and, without looking up, aimed a pillow at his face, Otabek could no longer hold back and burst into laughter. After a few seconds, Yuri gave up on sulking and joined in.
It was this, he realized suddenly, that he had missed about training at a rink with other skaters, about having friends that were his own age. He and JJ had such different personalities that they had never been particularly close even when they saw each other every day. Yuri, though, was more like him. They understood each other, sometimes even without using words. He’d long known that he wanted to be friends with the boy with the eyes of a soldier, but he didn’t realize everything else he’d been missing until Yuri showed him.
Otabek didn’t realize that he’d been staring until Yuri, looking up at the silence, caught his eye. Startled, Otabek blinked and it was like a trance had broken. It took him several seconds to realize that he was blushing, and even longer to realize that Yuri was, too.
A part of him wanted to say something, to tell Yuri about all the ways he had changed Otabek’s life. He wasn’t sure, though, how to put the scope of everything into words in a way that Yuri would understand. For all that he willingly kept himself apart, he’d always had peers and friends and people who loved him. Otabek loved his family and they loved him enough to let him leave Kazakhstan to go train in Canada, because that had been the right choice for him at the time. But that—being away from them in order to pour his heart and soul into getting better—was something that Yuri wouldn’t be able to understand. He was innately talented in a way that Otabek wasn’t, and when he’d uprooted his life to focus on his skating, he’d been gaining a family instead of losing one.
Maybe, Otabek thought somewhat ironically, he should speak to Yuuri Katsuki. That he would understand having to work hard, harder than everyone else as well as the difficulty of moving continents in pursuit of your dreams. He’d moved to the US and gone to college and trained in Michigan, Otabek had learned courtesy of Yuri’s barrage of information about Yuuri and Viktor.
“Why are you smiling at me like that?” Yuri asked with suspicion bleeding from his voice. He had pushed himself up to a sitting position on the bed, his legs crossed and his elbow resting on his knee.
Otabek’s smile widened. “Just thinking about Yuuri Katsuki. Maybe I should make friends with him. We could bond over leaving our homes to go train in America.”
He’d been expecting it, but Otabek was still taken aback by the horror in Yuri’s eyes. He retched dramatically, and then exclaimed, “No? No, no, no! You’re not allowed to make friends with Katsudon, Beka! You wouldn’t even want to! He’s gross and old just like Viktor!”
Of all the reasons that Yuri could have gone with, Otabek found it interesting that he’d chosen that one. He raised an eyebrow. “He’s twenty-four, right? Six years older than me. That’s definitely not old.”
“Too old for you to be friends with,” Yuri insisted.
Otabek smirked. “You’re friends with him, and you’re even younger than me.”
Yuri blushed. “That’s different!”
Otabek’s smirk widened. “How?”
Yuri was silent for several long seconds, to the point where Otabek wondered if he would say it just to win the argument. To say what they were undoubtedly both thinking. That it was different because Yuri considered Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki as brotherly or parental figures, not friends.
Eventually, though, Yuri growled in frustration and with the weight of everything unsaid. He grabbed another pillow from the bed and threw it, shouting, “Oh my god, Beka, I hate you so much!”
For the second time in less than an hour, Otabek burst into laughter. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed this much. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun at all. Yuri was much more fun to tease than anyone he had known in Canada. It had taken him years, but he was finally learning more about his competitors, and it was the best change to happen recently.
This time, Yuri did not join him in his laughter. He huffed, crossed his arms, and pouted, looking for once every inch the sixteen-year-old he was. The thought tempted Otabek to continue laughing, but he didn’t want Yuri to actually get mad at him. Slowly, and with no small amount of effort, he forced himself to calm down. Yuri continued to glare like he didn’t appreciate the vast sacrifices Otabek made for him.
“C’mon,” he said instead of apologizing, because he knew Yuri wouldn’t have wanted that. “Let’s go downstairs. It’s getting close to dinner, and you can help my mom like you promised.”
Yuri’s grandfather’s katsudon pirozhkis, the few times he’d sent them to Almaty, had quickly become a favorite of both Otabek’s mother and his little sister. It wasn’t much of an exaggeration to say that they—mostly his sister—had demanded Yuri make a batch for them the minute he’d stepped off the plane.
Yuri blushed, but uncrossed his legs and stood. “Fine.”
He crossed the small space between them and held out a hand to help Otabek stand from the floor. He took it, but once he was standing noticed the way that Yuri was looking at him. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Well. As he followed Yuri out of his bedroom, he grinned to himself. As they started down the stairs, he dropped it. “Maybe after dinner, we can go to the rink. But don’t worry. We’ll be back in time that you don’t miss your nightly Skype call with Viktor and Yuuri.”
Yuri nearly fell down the stairs with how quickly he whipped around to glare at Otabek.
Comments on v-nikiforov’s post
otabek-altin He didn’t stop talking about you two the entire time he was in Kazakhstan, either.
v-nikiforov @otabek-altin @katsudon-yuuri !!! ❤️❤️❤️ I knew he missed us!
katsudon-yuuri Aaaww we missed you, too, Yura! ❤️
phichit+chu @katsudon-yuuri @v-nikiforov @yuri_plisetsky Could you three get any more adorable??
katsudon-yuuri @phichit+chu ❤️
yuri_plisetsky @v-nikiforov @katsudon-yuuri @otabek-altin You three are DEAD to me.
v-nikiforov 💔
yuri_plisetsky @v-nikiforov Die.
yuri_plisetsky @v-nikiforov Also take this down right now.
“… And then we went to the rink and worked on our programs! And Otabek helped me with mine for next season because he’s the best and he’s definitely going to beat you at the Grand Prix Final next year! I’ll win, Beka can get silver, and you’ll be stuck with bronze, Katsudon. Viktor can have fourth because he’s a loser.”
Yuri had been young when he moved to Saint Petersburg to train under Yakov, so Viktor had known him for most of his life. They’d both been young—Viktor himself hadn’t been more than seventeen, which of course felt like ages ago by now. And of course they were both going to change significantly in ten years. As they would have even if Viktor had never met Katsuki Yuuri and had his life rewritten in the best way possible. Looking back from the other side of that felt like looking at two completely different people, the people Viktor Nikiforov and Yuri Plisetsky had been before they’d met Katsuki Yuuri.
But even still, seventeen was young, but it wasn’t that young. Viktor could still remember the fondness he’d immediately felt for Yura, for this scared, determined little boy who had plans for the future and who’d already begun to change the world. It was a fondness that had increased over the ten years that were to follow, but even then Viktor had seen himself in Yura.
That was one thing that hadn’t changed even in the ten years that had: Viktor seeing himself in Yuri. There were differences, of course there were—Yuri had made mistakes that Viktor never did, and Viktor had made mistakes that he hoped Yuri never would. But in Yura’s dedication, in his determination to never accept less than the very best from himself or from those around him, Viktor saw traces of the person he once was, and of the person he had become.
One of the places where he was able to see it the clearest was here, in this. In the way his Yuuri—the light and love of his life—wandered around their apartment, doing laundry, cleaning, moving Yuri’s things into their guest bedroom, and sharing occasional smiles with Viktor that were both exasperated and fond. And in the way Yura, his cat in his arms and a beaming smile on his face, followed Yuuri from task to task and room to room across the apartment, talking about his trip to Kazakhstan at a kilometer a minute. Many of his comments were no less than vaguely insulting because Yuri was very sixteen, but it was so open and genuine in a way that Yura so rarely was, so really, how could Viktor not take a video?
He knew as he did so, of course, the way that Yuri would yell at him when he finally noticed that he was being recorded. And the way Yuri would yell at him again, on Instagram this time, when Viktor posted it there despite warnings (threats) of what would happen if he did so. He knew all of this, and Viktor would be lying if he said that the prospect of little Yura’s reaction didn’t make getting blackmail material that much sweeter. Viktor’s wonderful fiancé had noticed the camera being pointed at them almost immediately but—because he was the best fiancé in the world—he’d looked at Viktor sternly but ultimately made no move to stop him. Viktor had blown a kiss to his Yuuri, silently promised to follow it up with many more kisses later, and taken that as all the approval he needed to continue recording his precious baby rinkmate.
And then his precious baby rinkmate had been so adorable and sweet and this afternoon was shaping up to be one of the best that Viktor had had in a while. But, surrounded by his Yuris and how much he loved both of them (and how much they loved him and each other, reluctant as some might be to admit it), how could it not be?
“It sounds like you had a good time in Almaty, Yura,” Yuuri remarked. He glanced at the clock and wandered into the kitchen to get a start on dinner: katsudon, as a “welcome home” meal for Yuri. Yuri himself followed like an eager puppy, his smile still as wide as anything. Viktor grinned to himself and zoomed in on his phone’s video to follow them.
“’Cause Beka’s way better company than you and Viktor,” Yuri affirmed, dropping his cat to the ground and taking a seat at the bar. His eyes never left Yuuri as he wandered through the kitchen. “But it’ll be even better when he comes here! You have to make katsudon for him, Katsudon, he’s never tried it!”
Yuuri looked over his shoulder and smiled at Viktor. He felt his heart squeeze as he smiled back. “You’ve made your katsudon pirozhki for him, da? I’m sure he’d love those just as much as he’d love my katsudon.”
“Da,” Yuri said, but he was blushing and oh Viktor was absolutely going to have to look into that more later. “My katsudon pirozhki are the best. But he won’t know that until he tries actual katsudon, so you have to make some.”
In Viktor’s opinion, this logic was flawed, and the look he received from Yuuri suggested that his fiancé felt the same way. But it hadn’t been very long ago that Yuri did everything he could to avoid spending time with any of them outside of the boundaries of practice. For the sake of how proud he was of his baby rinkmate’s recent growth, Viktor could take his less-than-subtle requests for their company with a smile on his face.
“I’d be happy to make katsudon for Otabek, Yura,” Yuuri was saying, not looking away from the vegetables he was chopping but with a smile clear in his voice. “But I could also teach you to make katsudon if you want, so you can make it for him yourself when he comes to visit.”
“Really?” Yuri asked, and Viktor suspected that the only reason his eyes were so bright was because Yuuri still had his back turned. Yuuri himself was smiling privately down at his cutting board. It was a look that Viktor had seen many times before, directed both at himself and at Yuri. It was his look of fondness and love and Viktor was never going to forget the way that Yuuri had brought light into his life and changed everything.
He was glad for it—he was thankful every single day for everything that had transpired for Yuuri to dance his way into his life. But as glad as he was for himself, he was just as glad for Yuri. Over the years that they’d known each other, Viktor had learned how to understand Yuri, and it wasn’t until he was able to do so that he realized how few people could. Mila and Georgi and their other rinkmates, by virtue of proximity, had learned how to see deeper than the façade that Yuri showed the world, but for most doing so was a skill that took years to refine.
It had been a while since Viktor had met someone like Yuuri, someone who was instinctively able to speak Yura’s language. And never before had Viktor met someone who was as gentle and caring as his Yuuri was, who able to pass through the walls around one’s heart like they were made of nothing but air.
There were many things about Yuri—both good and bad—that reminded Viktor of the person he used to be. But the changes that he could see come about because of Katsuki Yuuri made Viktor optimistic that Yura wouldn’t have to repeat the mistakes that Viktor had once made.
“Really,” Yuuri answered with an aura of nonchalance that Viktor suspected he did not truly feel. “Let me know when Otabek will be arriving, and we can set aside a day for me to teach you.”
“Viktor’s not allowed to be here while we’re cooking, right? You’ll make him leave, right Katsudon?”
Yura was grinning and his eyes were sparkling, but Viktor couldn’t let that blatant slander of his very self go unbidden. “For the last time, my cooking skills are not—”
Except his defense went unheard because Yuuri—Viktor’s dear, darling fiancé—spoke over him before he could finish. “—Viktor can take Makkachin to the park while you and I are cooking.”
For a moment, there was a heavily-laden silence. Then, Viktor’s mouth dropped open in shock at this heinous betrayal from the person he’d trusted most, Yuuri shot him an apologetic look that almost was enough for Viktor to forgive him, and Yuri… Yuri burst out laughing.
Instantly, Viktor forgot the words he’d been about to say. He felt his mouth slowly close of its own volition as he looked between his beloved Yuris. Yura was loudly exclaiming his triumph at the fact that Yuuri had sided with him and not Viktor, while Yuuri looked between the two of them with that same fond smile. It was the sort of quiet contentment that didn’t demand attention—that didn’t exist for any reason besides that Yuuri was happy and needed to show it. Viktor knew because it was an expression he’d recognized enough on his own face, in the past year.
He’d felt it often and he felt it now as he watched Yuri and Yuuri smiling at each other, making plans to teach Yuri how to cook and for Otabek’s visit and for the future. Viktor’s phone and the video he’d been taking fell away forgotten as he basked in the knowledge that he didn’t need to immortalize this. He didn’t need to hoard every second of happiness like it was a limited resource. He didn’t need to remember every single second he got with his Yuris, because there would be more of them. A thousand seconds, a million, too many to count. There was an entire lifetime of happy memories ahead of them.
Viktor Nikiforov was the five-time figure skating gold medalist, and Yuri Plisetsky was the sixteen-year-old who had broken Viktor’s own world record his very first year competing in the same division. For years, the world had had its eyes on Viktor, and he’d known for almost as long that the same would one day be true of Yura. It was a future that he had dreaded for the both of them, for as much as the rest of the world wished for talent and fame, none of them realized how isolating the view from the top of the podium was. It turned those who saw it into people that no one dared to touch.
But Katsuki Yuuri had also broken Viktor’s world record at the Grand Prix Final and drawn the eyes of the world to him for the first time. It had offered Viktor the chance to breathe away from the blinding spotlights for the first time in almost longer than he was able to remember. Together, Yuuri and Yuri had done what Viktor though to be impossible and reminded him of why he’d fallen in love with figure skating in the first place.
Viktor had fallen in love with figure skating, and he’d also fallen in love with Katsuki Yuuri. Yuuri, his wonderful, darling Yuuri who brought love and light into his life, into Yura’s, and into so many others’. Yuuri, who Viktor couldn’t wait to marry and wake up next to and skate with and love for rest of his life. He couldn’t wait to see what they would do next, together.
For the first time in far too long, that prospect no longer seemed daunting.