Author's Note: Work has been rather demanding so I am quickly posting a short piece, this fic has not been abandoned! I do have an end in sight now, and I am looking at 42 chapters. I know how I would like for it to conclude, just got to find the time to get there! I'll probably be really nice and not count this one as an actual chapter because I just wanted to post something.

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Recap on my Feelings…

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Second place to Viktor Nikiforov at Russian Nationals and the damn press were loving this shit. Viktor announcing his retirement, Viktor taking on Yuri Plisetsky in their home country, and all Yuri wanted was to skate circles around the living legend.

Nationals had been tense, rivalry aside, for entirely different reasons.

"I had really hoped this season would be different," commented Sergei, "but now not only does Viktor have a hard on against me, but Yakov—well, he's never been a fan of mine, since I told him I didn't like his taste in hats back when I was a Junior—but Viktor sure can give the cold shoulder."

"Tch. He's acting like a typical idiot," groaned the blond, as they sat in a corner of the locker room stretching. "He's just pissed off because I told him I'm staying with you. I'm not some fucking feather in his cap, ya know?"

Sergei gently pushed Yuri's back down further into the stretch, "I hear you, and I'd be damn envious too, if a future Olympian turned me down."

"It's too fucking personal for him," Yuri found his hands grabbing his ankles as he continued, "When he's with Katsud—Katsuki he doesn't see anyone else. I'm not fucking competing with that."

"And no student should feel that they are," sympathized his coach, "Jeez kid, you're so damn tense. There's nothing wrong with a silver medal. We could get the extra 10% with the new point system if we backed our jumps, but I don't think you should do that right now."

"I can't be off the podium, I won't be able to pay you or take care of my grandfather and sponsors don't—

"Yuri, calm down," cautiously began the brunette, rubbing the muscles in his student's shoulders, "you want to tell me how Nikolai's appointment went?"

Yuri felt his cheek rest against the coolness of the foam mat as Sergei's deft fingers worked his neck muscles, "Back surgery more than likely…fucking expensive too."

"Well, based on your performance at World's, the Grand Prix and today's outcome, I'd be willing to train you for free, if you want to take care of your grandfather first.," the older Russian offered.

"I don't need your charity," the blond stated, frustration evident in his voice.

"It's not charity," observed his coach, "did you know that when I was 15, my father died, and my mother worked three jobs just to keep a roof over my head?"

Yuri quietly listened, "I thought if I reached more of the technical components quicker, I could take the burden off my mother. It was Lilia, my ballet coach at the time, who asked me if ruining my body would bring my mother any happiness? A week later, I had a new coach. I found out that Lilia had told Yakov that he was going to coach me for the season and that I would pay him back with every future win."

The teen smiled with his eyes still closed, "I can see Lilia doing that…"

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In a few weeks Yuri would reach the same level of defeat with another silver medal hanging from his neck at Euros. The blond did not want another fluke comparison. He didn't want people to think that his win at Worlds last year was just a one-time deal. Yuri stopped scrolling through his social media feed soon after securing second place to Viktor Nikiforov.

This went beyond petulance—this was just who Yuri was. The teen was competitive and driven because he has someone he needed to care for. No, that didn't describe the situation enough. The blond felt he needed to repay his grandfather for every time he had taken Yuri to and from practice, for every meal he had made from scratch, for the sincere smiles his grandfather had offered him throughout childhood.

How do you even begin to thank someone for raising you when your own parents didn't want to?

Currently, the Russian was sprawled out on a hotel bed, arm draped across his eyes as he tried to drown out the world.

Yuri Plisetsky knew how people perceived him—arrogant. Otabek once told him that people misunderstood his determination as arrogance.

If he were being honest, Yuri would admit that he might be feeling lonely…

Otabek had the surgery soon after the Grand Prix, and even though he had qualified for Worlds, neither of them thought he would actually make it to Japan. It was fine. Everything was fucking fine.

But what if it wasn't? It's not like Yuri was going to complain about bad luck and the unfairness of it all when he knew Otabek was probably feeling like shit.

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Earlier in the week Yuri had heard his name being called out from the locker room. The Russian had looked up and soon had made the acquaintance of Marius DeBois. The Frenchman was the one who Otabek had trained with in Canada and had been reunited with over drinks in France.

Okay, so maybe Yuri wasn't the most perceptive individual when it came to his own feelings—and sometimes the feelings of others—but he was pretty damn sure that Marius may be harboring a crush on Otabek.

The dark-haired man didn't say anything bad about Yuri's boyfriend; nothing that he could fault him on anyways…

In fact, Yuri kind of liked the guy after he treated him to dinner with the conclusion of the short program. Marius had even told the Russian some embarrassing tales about the Kazakh.

It had only made Yuri miss—er—notice Otabek's dwindling presence in his life.

Between Otabek's rehab, another loss, and his grandfather's imminent surgery during the offseason Yuri was just kind of spent.

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When he awoke, reaching dumbly toward his phone to see what time it was, he saw 3 missed calls and 6 new text messages on the screen. With a yawn, the blond rubbed the sleep from his eyes and focused on the screen of his phone.

He swiped his thumb across the screen to find, 1 call from Sergei and two from Katsudon which made him groan.

Onward to the text messages…

Katsudon: Oh Yurio?

Delete.

Katsudon: Viktor thinks you might be ignoring—

Oops. Delete.

Viktor: My Yuuri suggested I might have a better response if I text—

Damn that trigger finger.

Sergei: Hey kid, if you need anything for dinner or want to talk just ask.

Save for later. Since the clock on his phone indicated that dinner was only an hour away.

Otaya: I know you don't think so, but you did well today Yura…

Otaya: Call me when you have a moment, you little shit…I miss you…

Answer immediately.

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Otabek saw the name appear on the screen of his phone and smiled. He quickly answered, trying not to sound too happy—he had a stoic reputation to uphold.

"Hey."

'Hey,' came the response on the other end of the telephone.

"When do you get back from Belarus?"

Part of what made their relationship work was that they didn't dwell on loss. Like all sports, figure skating had a great deal of ups and downs. In the end you had a winner and a loser—no pat on the back or handshake would change the outcome.

'We're leaving tomorrow evening…' there was a pause before Yuri added, 'Oh I met your friend Marius.'

Otabek was taken aback by the change in topic and managed, "Uh…okay…"

'Yeah, I heard some embarrassing stories about you over a free dinner…"

"Wait, you went to dinner with Marius?" Otabek was trying to wrap his head around this newfound information.

'Don't worry, Otaya…he's only got eyes for you.'

Yup, the Kazakh had definitely chosen the worst possible time to take a sip of tea from his mug as he sputtered, "Wh-what?!"

'Yeah…if you were currently dating anyone…'

"Wait…huh?" The stoic reputation completely cast aside as Otabek stammered from embarrassment.

'Asked me if I knew what kind of guys you liked to date…I said, I wasn't sure you were even into guys…thought you had a girlfriend back in Kazakhstan.'

"Yura," his voice practically went up an octave, "you didn't."

'Of course, I didn't, you asshole…' the humor evident in his voice, 'but he does have a crush on you.'

The older teen let out a sigh of relief, "You're such a little shit, you know that?"

'So, I've been told…'

"My knee is healing well," he decided to breech the subject, "and I'm coming back next season…"

'Good…' a pause followed, 'you still want this, right?'

Otabek understood the implication, this meant us.

"You know I do…" he admitted with a shaky breath as Otabek closed his eyes and held the phone closer as if it would bring them together.

'Because if you ever want to just go back to being friends, if this shit is too much of a hassle…'

"I tereñ seni süyemin," there's a rawness to his voice, "Jesus, I wish my knee didn't have to give out like it did. I fucking miss you and…"

It's unspoken but they both understand the silence.

'Otaya, I'm glad your knee didn't give when you were on the ice,' he can hear Yuri taking a deep breath, 'and yeah, it fucking sucks because we're not the sappy couple, but making love to you isn't terrible.'

Otabek sincerely laughs. This is his Yuri, shitty sense of humor and all.

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March 01, 2019

Today is Yuri's eighteenth birthday and he is seventeen days away from competing at Worlds in Saitama Japan. He's currently busting his ass off to perfect a routine. After his defeat at Nationals and Euros the blond has decided that he's going to reinvent himself once again this season to see if he can secure gold against the sport's living legend.

Sergei and Lilia both have advised the teen for the choreography of Mozart's Requiem – Dies irae and Lacrimosa. This program had been started before he Grand Prix qualifiers but had been scrapped due to the harsh technical components. Yuri can hear Sergei shout in excitement as the footing comes together and catches Lilia's nod of approval as he rounds the corner.

If Otabek can't there, then Yuri is going to give him one hell of a show from the live stream, and the world is going to remember his name.

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Otabek calls to wish his boyfriend a happy birthday. The brunette is nothing but grateful for the past year. A year that may have never happened had Yuri not woken up.

As he listens to Yuri's excitement about his program, the Kazakh hits a button on his laptop and remarks, "Sounds like Viktor's in for a hard time if your skate is as good as you say."

'Oh, that idiot won't know what hit him!'

His lips curl upward at the screen's confirmation:

Your itinerary for March 16, 2019 – Almaty, Kazakhstan to Saitama, Japan

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Again, so sorry for the two-month delay. Life, it just kind of happens…