ax_main | Otabek and Yuri, Thursday afternoon/evening

Yuri finds someone unexpected at his new rink. The Hero of Kazakhstan kidnaps/rescues the Russian Fairy. Otabek gets poetic. (With a nod to actual YOI. Yes, the cheesiest of this dialog is, in fact, canon.)

Yuri shifted his weight to the inside of his blade and turned. Skating backwards, now, he glanced over his shoulder to see how much room he had, then executed the threeturn and swung his right leg around and--

Quad salchow. Just like that.

It'd be better if he could raise his arm, but he had time. The GP series wasn't that near, yet. He'd nail it before then. He'd nail all of his quads, and have at least three in his free program, and Yakov could shut the hell up. Not like he cared anyhow--

Boom, triple axel.

Yuri narrowed his eyes, anger fueling him to try jump after jump even though his warmup had been short. Without Mila here to distract him or Yakov barking, everything was easier. He'd facetime with the old man when he damn well felt like it. For now, he had jumps to practice.

And even if being stuck in the middle of nowhere, New York sucked, at least he had a rink all to himself for the first time ever. That, he could use.

It was nearly the end of Yuri's booked time when the doors open and the next group came in. One of the American coaches and a couple of students came in, all but one skater making a beeline for the locker room. The last guy paused on his way toward the door, stopping to glance at Yuri. The expression was inscrutable. Maybe he was interested in Yuri's skating? Maybe he was critiquing it? Hard to tell.

Yuri narrowed his eyes and slid to a stop on his edges. He recognized the guy. He'd been on the podium at Worlds, right? What the fuck was he doing here? And what the fuck was his problem? "What are you looking at, asshole?" he snapped.

Otabek Altin, unconcerned with the reaction, merely tipped his head. He then turned and wordlessly headed for the locker room with the rest of his rink mates.

Yuri snorted and started off again, determined to make the most of his ice time before those losers took over.

A few hours later, after relaxing in the whirlpool to keep his muscles from complaining, then a long shower, Yuri stepped out into the sun. The car wasn't there yet; he was early. He frowned and pulled out his phone. Ugh, Mila and that stupid hockey player finally broke up. What a douche. And now--

"Ahhhh! It's him! It's Yuratchka!" Squealed someone way too nearby.

Yuri looked up and past his hood... then froze in horror. How had they found him? These rabid fan girls were everywhere, dammit! He backed up slowly...

"Come to our fan club meeting, Yuratchka!" Someone squeed.

Yuri would rather cover himself in paper cuts and dive into a vat of lemon juice.

"We thought it was just a rumor, but you're really training in the US? Wow!"

Shit, shit, shit. He had no idea where he was, and they were getting closer, fast. And they'd touch him. And put fake cat ears on him. And ask him a million questions he couldn't answer.

They called themselves "Yuri's Angels." It wasn't that Yuri didn't appreciate the support. It was even kind of nice to think he had it here, in the US, even. He guessed.

But how come they always made Yuri feel like he was about to puke and laugh and scream at the same time? It must be the touching. All that touching. Fuck.

Yuri muttered something about having to go--and then he took off running.

The first on the ice and off the ice for practice today, Otabek was already on his way home when he heard the squealing fangirls. He cut around a side street and the pulled up next to Yuri at an intersection. “Get on,” he said. Yuri’s admirers weren't far off.

Yuri hesitated. At first, he didn't recognize the guy with the helmet. Then he realized.

The screaming girls came closer. Oh god, they would tear him apart...

Otabek offered his hand.

Yuri looked at it. Then up at Otabek's face. His expression changed to one of steely resolve as he took the offered hand, and swung up onto the back of the bike.

Otabek passed Yuri his spare helmet. Once Yuri was secure he took off with a jolt. They sped away from Yuri's Angels, but not before cell phones came out and they started snapping pictures. This was going to be all over twitter in five minutes.

Otabek took a few intentional turns to mislead anyone tracking them and then took off out of the main stretch of the city center. Once they were off the pedestrian paths they picked up a burst of speed. It was a beautiful day out, and the fresh air whipped at them under the open blue sky. Otabek coasted to stop next to one of the scenic overlooks at the edge of town. They were tucked out of the main view of the road, a brook running tranquilly beneath them. Otabek pulled his helmet off to glance back at Yuri.

"Does this happen to you often?" He asked curiously. "Teenage girls chasing you down in packs?"

"Da," Yuri replied as sullenly as he could. Funny, but with the memory of the wind on his face and his hands still buried in Otabek's jacket, he didn't FEEL that sullen. He realized what he was doing and let go quickly, jumping down off the bike. The insides of his thighs still hummed from the engine.

That bike was fucking awesome.

Yuri took off the helmet and shook out his hair. "But I didn't know it'd happen here, too. Not this fast."

Otabek pushed off the bike and slipped the keys into his pocket. He stretched, black t shirt riding up under his jacket as he popped the kink in his back from today's practice.

“The Ice Tiger of Russia,” he commented, picking the less dainty of Yuri’s popular nicknames. “Didn't expect to see you so far from home.”

Yuri grudgingly had to admit that this guy was cooler than he initially seemed. He didn't move like a dancer, like most skaters; there was something different about him. Overtly athletic. Yuri could respect that. Even if this was kind of weird.

He tore his eyes from Otabek and moved to take in the view. It was nice. He guessed. "Just as strange as finding the Hero of Kazakhstan here. I thought you trained with that idiot JJ." Yeah, Yuri knew who he was, and he didn't mind letting him know now.

Otabek’s lips quirked with the hint of a smile. “Leroy is still in Detroit. I had an opportunity out here, so time to move.”

Yuri had no idea where Detroit was, but not far enough. He snorted, then said. "So we don't have to do introductions, I guess."

“You are hard to forget.” Otabek looked out over the water.

Yuri frowned thoughtfully and turned to look at Otabek again. "You've seen me skate, you mean?"

"Before that. Four years ago, at Yakov's summer training. It was my first year in Juniors, but I couldn't keep up with the Russian skaters in my bracket. They put me in novice dance classes." He slid his hands into his pockets. "You weren't like the other students. I remember, you were always so determined. Yuri Plisetsky had the unforgettable eyes of a soldier."

Yuri's eyes widened. "A soldier... me?" He'd been called many things. Russian Fairy. Punk. Ice Tiger, even, which was the one he liked--and had already scored Otabek some points.

But a soldier? Never. And yet, it felt... true.

"I had just moved my home rink from Moscow to St. Petersburg." Yuri looked over the water now, remembering. It felt like ages ago, but certain memories came back to him with frightening clarity sometimes. Being alone for the first time. Without Grandpa. In a new city. Surrounded by talented novices, all of them competing for a spot on the national juniors roster. "I was desperate," he remembered, gaze far away. "I'd decided that I wouldn't complain until I was good enough."

Otabek glanced at Yuri and his lips quirked again. “Find yourself complaining now?”

"Yes," Yuri admitted grimly. "About being in this stupid country."

"Are you training with someone new?" Otabek asked curiously. "Or is this a short visit?"

"An old friend of Yakov's," Yuri mumbled. "There's a school here. I live there now." That was all Yuri was willing to say about Xavier's, for both their sake and his own. "It sucks."

Otabek nodded. He was very familiar with the adjustment from home to here. He was maybe a few years younger than Yuri when he'd left Almaty. Otabek switched to Russian. “I'll be around a few weeks. Have you been down to the city yet? There are some places where the food is almost as good as home.”

Yuri looked back to Otabek. "I haven't been anywhere--and the food is killing me."

"Let's fix that. When are you expected back?"

Yuri snorted. "No one will notice unless I'm out after 10. And then I just need to check in. Not that I care," he added quickly.

Otabek actually grinned at that. "I'll check in too. Let's get you something decent to eat."

Yuri smiled. It felt creaky, like a door that hadn't opened in years. Then he nodded.

Otabek might have more freedom now that he was in New York, but he still sent a quick text to the necessary parties that would worry if he didn't show up that night. He let Yuri contact whoever he needed to as well. Once there was less worry of being accused of kidnapping, Otabek made good on his suggestion. A couple hours later they were sitting in a small restaurant, the sun starting to set outside the windows. The place wasn't much to look at, but the food was delicious. First generation owners, all the recipes as good as home. Otabek found himself smiling more frequently and easily as they talked over the course of the meal. While they waited for dessert to come out Otabek slid his phone across the table. "That's Inzhu. My cousin still sends me pictures to prove she's completely spoiled and better off without me." The photo was of a fluffy cat, white like the pearl she was named after.

"She's beautiful." Yuri smiled, leaning forward over the table to look at the fluff ball. "I miss Pyotya, but Mila swears he's happy. When he gets mad, he pisses on the bed." He was smiling like that was incredibly endearing and reaching for his own phone to find a picture.

"Inzhu wrecked the house the first few months I was away. Now her loyalty is torn when I visit. Four years is a long time... And she was bribed well. That cat eats better than I do during competition season." Otabek took Yuri's phone once he'd pulled up the photo of Pyotya and his face immediately softened. "Beautiful."

Yuri's chest swelled with pride. "He's a Himalayan. Grandpa gave him to me when I moved to St. Petersburg." The thought made something in his chest hurt suddenly, but Yuri shook it off. "Though Pyotya would say grandpa gave me to him."

He wanted to try talking to Pyotya sometime as a tiger... but he wasn't sure that would work out so well. Stupid mutation. Cool, but... stupid.

“I love that you always know where you stand with cats.” Otabek smiled. "If you win their friendship, you know you must have earned it."

Yuri smiled. "But they still don't take any shit from you. I like that too."

“It's true. No false pretense.” Otabek curled his fingers around his mug before sliding it close.

Without noticing, Yuri wrapped his hand around his, too. There was something about this conversation that made him feel a little bit lost, but also a little bit found, and he didn't have the words or maybe even the feelings for it. So instead, he just said. "This place is great. We should come again sometime. After practice. I'm there every night until eight."

“We usually get out earlier in the day. I could come pick you up when you finish?” Otabek suggested.

Yuri's eyes widened in surprise. Before he could stop himself, he asked, "You'd do that?"

Otabek arched a brow. "Of course. We're friends now, yes?"

Yuri's expression morphed into one of determination, but his eyes smiled. He nodded. "We're friends now. Yes."