Archive of Our Own ^beta

2015

From the moment children in his country lose their baby fat, they are taught the same proverb. It's a sentiment drilled into their minds, repeated by every adult. This stoic doctrine becomes as pervasive as the air they breathe, shaping their very beings.

In school, teachers emphasize it as fiercely as any lesson on history, intertwining it with tales of a Russian prince whose tyranny was legendary. As they grow older, they learn that varied stories might be fabrications. Yet, the underlying message still needs to be made public.

His grandfather, Nikolai, even in the face of a debilitating back injury and subsequent surgeries, upheld the proverb with a stoic resolve. Despite the pain, Nikolai urged Yuri to never let the tears fall and to remain strong no matter the adversity. And then, even Yakov made this thing. Like the day Yuri moved in, he could swear he saw a glimmer of moisture in Yakov's eyes, though Yakov would never admit it. He masked it with the same cold facade Yuri was learning to perfect. He later learned that the room he moved in used to be Viktor's, and the old man had moved from Yakov's after a fight between the two...and everything made sense.

For him, concealing troubles by having a proverb flagging your every move seemed like an idiotic concept. The absurdity of it all only deepened his scorn. 

And everyone does it, even the most fucking disgustingly gross person on the continent, Viktor. The skating dinosaur could make every person in the vicinity shriek with just one horrid, ridiculous smile and seem genuinely happy. Then he would go inside their rink, sulking, staring at the ice for hours as if someone had kicked his dog, recorded it, and made the geezer watch the video repeatedly.

What a liar.

The echoes of "Moscow does not indulge in tears" shaped Yuri into the fierce competitor he was. But still, he questioned it.

"What a lame-ass excuse." 14-year-old Yuri thought.

Deep down, he battled with the longing to just let go, to express the frustration and sadness without the burden of judgment. This internal conflict came to a head after a particularly successful day when he won gold in what he hoped would be his last Junior division. It was a particularly good day for him. All he wanted was to escape the after-party, the final banquet, return home, and start working on the next season. 

But then, in the bathroom of the venue, he heard it—the unmistakable sound of someone crying in a stall.

Instinctively annoyed, feeling almost attacked by the vulnerability displayed, he knocked the door down, only to find Yuuri Katsuki, the skater he admired. The sight conflicted him. Yet, Yuri envied the Japanese man—not just for his effortless grace and raw talent on the ice but also for his ability to openly express his emotions—to cry. Something about the simplicity of crying, the raw human emotion of it, seemed forbidden to Yuri, fenced off by years of being told it was a sign of weakness.

How could someone so talented allow themselves such a public display of weakness? 

And yet, why did part of Yuri long for the freedom to do the same?

2025

The rink was a blur of motion and ice, with Yuri executing a flawless combination of jumps for his new short program. His long, blond hair flowed freely, framing his face and trailing behind him as he skated. He wore a tight, black, long-sleeved sports shirt that accentuated his lean, athletic build, paired with black gloves. 

"Yusha!" Viktor called out, his voice echoing through the rink. "That was almost perfect. But you need to put more feeling into it. Remember, you're telling a story out there."

Yuri skated over.

"I'm trying. It's just...not the best day." He panted.

Viktor stood at the side, smiling stiffly.

Yuri knew better. 

The absence of Katsudon was starting to show despite his attempts to mask it with his typical charm and flamboyance. Viktor tried hard to maintain his usual self, but Yuri could see through it. It reminded him of 2015 Viktor Nikiforov before Katsuki Yuuri came into his life—elusive, lonely and somewhat lost.

Yuuri had announced his retirement from competitive figure skating at 30, having achieved a record-breaking career. He was a two-time consecutive Olympic gold medalist in PyeongChang 2018 and Beijing 2022, and he had also won four Grand Prix gold medals, one silver, and numerous World Championships and Four Continents titles. Since retiring, Yuuri worked alongside Yakov, assisting with rink-related activities in their home rink in St. Petersburg, Russia. Also, when the season was over, he and Viktor traveled to Japan for a few months and taught little kids in Ice Castle. He knew they had it all to root their lives there, with a house bought in Fukuoka and even a car, choosing to stay in Russia for a little longer.

A few months back, the JSF reached to Yuuri at the last minute to offer him an incredible opportunity: to coach a Japanese ice skater for the upcoming Olympics. Yuuri was hesitant to leave his home in St. Petersburg—and his husband, mostly—but Viktor, in his typical and disgusting romantic ways, encouraged him to take the opportunity. Viktor believed it could open new doors for Yuuri and gave Katsudon a TED Talks-level motivational speech about it. Truthfully, Yuri agreed. It was an amazing opportunity. So, Katsudon accepted the offer and had been gone for five weeks now. And, of course, his idiotic Coach was playing this role and failing to fool anyone who knew him well. Despite his efforts to hide it, Yuri could see how miserable Viktor was without Yuuri.

"I know things are tough with our schedule, but this is the time to channel all that emotion into your performance. Imagine the audience is here, and you're giving them everything." Viktor's smile faltered briefly before he clapped Yuri on the shoulder.

"Oh, sure. I'll just magically turn all my personal problems into a Disney performance. Thanks for the tip, Coach." Yuri rolled his eyes, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. 

To be fair, this wasn't the most hard he'd got with his sharp comments or insults. Yuri wasn't that moody teenager snapping at everything and everyone anymore. Still, he could keep his coach's sense of humor at bay.

"That's the spirit!" Viktor chuckled, unfazed.

Their banter was interrupted by the booming voice of Yakov, who had been watching from the sidelines. 

"Idiots!" he bellowed. "Get yourselves together and focus! The season is just around the corner."

For some reason, that spiked Yuri.

"We get it, Yakov. Maybe if you stopped yelling we'd actually be able to concentrate!" Yuri turned sharply, his frustration bubbling over. 

Yakov's face hardened, ignoring what was a typical Yuri thing when he was in a bad mood. "Vitya, you've been a Coach for three years, remember? Start acting like one."

For a second, Yuri's anger flared at being passed on, but he quickly realized he had crossed a line and was rightfully ignored. He skated off to the other side of the rink and started skating figures to cool off. From the corner of his eye, he noted how his former and new coach exchanged words, and when Yakov left, Viktor skated over to Yuri.

"Do you remember your first Senior Grand Prix in Barcelona?" The silver-haired coach asked, trying to lighten the mood. 

"How could I forget? You were there, prancing around, showing off how good of a coach you thought you were." Yuri sighed, trying to shake off the lingering anger.

Viktor laughed, clearly enjoying the memory. 

"It was quite an eventful time, wasn't it? Remember the dinner we had, and everyone was there? We completely ignored that obnoxious Canadian skater... what was his name again?" The old man asked, putting a finger on his chin while trying to remember.

"J.J. You still can't remember his name after all this time?" Yuri couldn't help but grin. He hated that guy.

"Right, J.J. How could I forget?" Viktor chuckled. "We had a great time ignoring him, though. And then there was that shopping trip where my Yuuri lost a bag of nuts right before we got engaged."

"Classic Katsudon." Yuri snorted. 

Viktor's laughter softened, his expression turning a bit more serious. 

"You know, the night before the free program, Yuuri told me out of the blue to end it after the Grand Prix." 

"Seriously?" Yuri's eyes widened.

"Yes." Viktor nodded, his smile turning wistful. "I was a complete mess. Even cried the whole night trying to make sense of it, but we agreed to wait until the end of the competition to decide." His eyes looked a little distant while remembering, and then he giggled. "...but the next day at the event, I had to hide in the bathroom to cry. I kept having the recurring thought everything would change after that day."

"And now you're laughing about it?" The younger man asked.

He started to feel...empathy? Some kind of understanding.

 "Well, now it seems a little silly and dramatic." The man said, amused. "But...it was something we needed to go through. It made us stronger. Looking back, it was a turning point." Viktor nodded and looked at Yuri. "Sometimes, we must face the hard stuff to appreciate the good things."

That made Yuri admire his Coach a little more, but there's no way he would ever say it to Viktor's face. 

He remembered the first time he met Katsudon crying in the bathroom. Then there was Viktor, the epitome of the idiotic Russian who vowed never to cry about things with a solution, crying about something that had a solution because they both loved each other. As disgustingly romantic as Viktor and Yuuri could get, it was impossible to think that Katsudon would have walked away from Viktor. 

And damn, he couldn't help but draw parallels to his own life. 

"You know what else I remember from Barcelona? It went viral on social media how you escaped from those stalking fans of yours—what were they called, Yuri's Angels?—by hopping on the back of Otabek's motorcycle. That was the day you two became friends, right?" Viktor asked, humming.

It wouldn't be his stupid coach if he didn't ruin the moment with the worst thing he could bring out. The mention of Otabek struck Yuri like a lightning bolt.

He paused, his face struggling to remain impassive while internally feeling like the ice had shifted beneath him.

"Yeah." Yuri said, turning away. "We should keep going before Yakov yells more and ends up having a stroke."

Viktor laughed and nodded, skating back to his position.

As Yuri skated away, his thoughts were all over the place, but he tried to push them away. 

The same way he had pushed Otabek away.

"I have responsibilities! My career is at a key moment, and I must be there for my grandfather, for his therapy. And what about you? What happens when you retire? What if you regret everything?" Yuri's anger boiled over, mingling with panic. 

Panic, that was all he was feeling.

"I'm not asking you to give up your dreams, Yura. I'm asking you to share your life with me. We can make it work together." Otabek reached out, placing a hand on his arm.

Yuri pulled his hand away, the agitation in the room rising.

"You just don't understand shit!" Yuri shouted. "You sound like a fucking asshole!"

He noticed how Otabek clenched his jaw, then breathed really slow.

"Am I the asshole? You were the one who said it was better to keep our relationship to ourselves, but it's been almost four years. I can see why you might have some reservations, but I think we deserve more, Yura..." Beka said, really low, as if trying to remain that way, balancing out their tempers.

"Well, we were good enough before all of this idiotic stuff, weren't we? We had a more than amazing fuck just yesterday before all of this, right? Are you an idiot and I'm just noticing it?" Yuri asked harshly, grabbing Otabek by the shoulders. "You sound so stupid... perhaps you don't even know what you want!"

And that was it.

Otabek pushed Yuri away, eyes flashing with rare anger.

"I know what I want, Yuri! I want more from life, even if it means not having you in it. I'm tired of us being nothing, of you not being able to say what you feel for me after all these years. I want someone who loves me, and for whatever's worth, it doesn’t seem like you do." He barked, breathing hard, then averted his eyes from Yuri.

The realization of Otabek’s last words struck him so much he had to put a hand on the kitchen counter, shaking a little.

"Beka, wait…you don’t mean that." But for some reason, Yuri feared that yes: Otabek had meant every word.

"I do…You’re never the one who asks to see each other or even suggest it. And I can’t remember when was the last time you said how you feel about me. Even I need to have some dignity, don’t you think? Guess I made a fool of myself…or maybe that’s what I’ve been for years. And I’m tired. I’m done with that."

The next morning, the air was stale and hard to breath. 

Otabek stood by the door. 

As Yuri reached for the handle, Otabek's expression remained unreadable as he spoke.

"Well, good luck."

The 2025–26 ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating has come and gone this year in Tokyo, Japan. Katsudon's trainee didn't make the cut, but Yuuri was there to support his husband and Yuri from the stands.

Now, standing alone in the apartment his grandpa and him lived in, on the middle of December, Yuri couldn't stop the flood of memories and emotions. Nikolai had gone to visit some friends in Moscow and wouldn't be back for a week, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Thoughts feeling like drown him from the inside and the storm, unrelenting, rising to suffocate him. He had thought that the rain would subside when they saw each other in Tokyo.

He'd been wrong.

The real storm started long before the Grand Prix Final. At the beginning of the season, when assignments were announced and his placements were different from Otabek's. Yuri tried not to think much of it, brushing off his chest's sinking feeling. But it was hard not to connect the dots—especially when paired with the lack of messages and the absence of a reply to the text Yuri had sent after his last visit to Almaty. Then, ever since arriving at the hotel base for the final, a consecutive chain of events made it all a surreal comparison between their relationship and what it had become after the last time they saw each other.

Strutting along with his coach, Otabek walked past Yuri while Viktor checked them in. He had shaved almost half of his head, the other half grown and styled in an edgy, elegant way. But a shiver of hopelessness ran through Yuri's spine at how Otabek didn't even glance his way. In the past, he felt the weight of Altin eyeing him first. It was Beka who initiated those moments.

During the first practice, Otabek kept to himself and didn't acknowledge Yuri with even a nod or a thumbs-up as he had in the past. No texts were waiting for him, no flirty praises, no invitations to sneak off to the changing rooms. Zero stolen glances, unseen touches, or forbidden kisses at risky times when there were many people around. Of course, no early morning cuddles, no shared breakfasts.

And to add to the domino effect, his mind wasn't in the right space to win.

Spoiler alert: he didn't win.

Back when Katsudon was still competing, silver felt well-achieved. The taste of the challenge was enough, even if he didn't win. But this felt like swallowing cyanide. The medal strangling him by the neck when there wasn't even contact at the award ceremony.

In the bustling conference room, a sea of flashing cameras and eager journalists buzzed with anticipation. Still reeling from his unexpected loss, Yuri sat stiffly, his eyes fixed on the table before him. The atmosphere was electric, every reporter eager to dissect the event's outcome. All eyes turned to Otabek Altin, the newly crowned champion of the 2025-2026 ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating. One journalist finally asked the question on everyone's mind, "Mr. Altin, how does it feel to steal the gold from this year's favorite, Yuri Plisetsky?"

Otabek's expression remained unfazed.

His response was smooth, a well-rehearsed PR answer designed to be diplomatic yet respectful. "Yuri is an incredible skater, and competing against him is always challenging. I have immense respect for his talent and dedication. Today, I was fortunate enough to have a great performance, and I'm grateful for the support of my team and coach who helped me achieve this victory." The words were professional, devoid of any personal connection. To the general public, it sounded like the respectful acknowledgment of a worthy competitor. But to Yuri, who knew Otabek intimately, the response felt cold, impersonal, and detached. The name "Yuri" rolled off Otabek's lips without the warmth or familiarity that had once been there.

As the conference continued, another journalist raised a hand, bringing a different energy to the room. "Mr. Altin, there's been speculation about your future in the sport. Can you comment on that?"

Otabek took a deep breath, his eyes briefly flickering over to Yuri before focusing back on the crowd. "Yes, I can confirm that I will retire from competitive figure skating after the Milano-Cortina 2026 Winter Olympics. It's been an incredible journey, but it's time for me to move on to new challenges."

The room erupted in murmurs and gasps, reporters scrambling to capture the shocking news. Yuri felt a sudden chill, his mind struggling to process the announcement. He had known Otabek was considering retirement, but hearing it declared so publicly, with such finality, felt like a punch to the gut. For a moment, Yuri's vision blurred, the cacophony of the room fading into the background. For one last time, he glanced at Otabek, hoping for some sign, some unspoken message. 

But Otabek's gaze was resolute, focused on the future, on a path that seemed to no longer include him.

Yuri Nikolaevich Plisetsky was a fucking mess after that.

And recalling the events for the hundredth time didn't do him any good. He had been doing it, over and over, after returning to St. Petersburg, overthinking the shit out of what happened. Eventually, with his head everywhere but the here and now, resulted in suffering a couple of hard falls on the ice which also resulted in Viktor ordering him (yes, it was an order) to steer clear of the rink for some days.

Three days in the apartment felt suffocating, and the silence strangled the last of his sanity away.

With his coat in hand, Yuri stepped out into the cold night air, walking aimlessly until he found a dingy bar. The kind of place that served cheap vodka and didn't ask questions. He ordered the cheapest one they had, throwing back shots like they were water. The burn in his throat was a welcome distraction from the ache in his chest. The tears finally spilled over when he reached his eighth glass. Drunk and desperate, Yuri grabbed his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found the only person he wanted to talk to.

With a trembling hand, he hit the call button. Listening to the dialing sound, he chugged what was left in his glass.

"Yurio? Why aren't you sleeping? Must be almost 3 AM there," Katsudon answered.

Yuri gulped the last of his drink, the music from the bar blaring through the call.

"Hey, Katsudon," he slurred, his voice thick with alcohol. "I want to understand something. Why did you wanted to break things off with Viktor in Barcelona? Because you loved him, right? Or were you just a fucking coward, incapable of making a choice?"

There was a gasp on the other end of the line.

"...how much have you been drinking?" Yuuri's voice came back soft and concerned, as if he was about to hear glass shatter at the other end of the line.

Yuri ignored the question, his tears flowing freely now.

"Hey, don't be an asshole. I asked you a question!" he demanded, his voice breaking. "Why, Katsudon? Why?"

"Yusha, please. You've had too much to drink. We can talk about this when you're sober."

But Yuri was relentless, the alcohol fueling his desperation.

"I need to know. Did you loved him, or were you just too scared to make a choice?" He asked again, frantic.

Yuuri sighed from the other side of the line.

"Back then, I was scared. I didn't think I was good enough. I thought he deserved better and didn't want him to regret leaving his career for me."

Yuri sniffed, his sobs subsiding into hiccups.

"So, you were a coward," he muttered, more to himself than to Yuuri.

"Maybe I was. But I faced my fears, and it made us stronger. You need to face yours too, Yuri." Yuuri's voice was gentle.

The words hung in the air, the truth of them sinking into Yuri's alcohol-fogged mind. He knew Yuuri was right, but everything felt overwhelming.

"But I don't want to end up like my parents..." Yuri choked out, his voice a raw whisper. "Their marriage fell apart because my mother retired from her stupid singing career and became bitter. I don't want that. But it's all my fault now."

"Yura, you're not your parents. And you're not alone. Listen, it's time to pay and go home. I'll stay on the line with you." Yuuri, not understanding the full context, tried to soothe him.

Yuri let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You don't fucking get it. Was it because you were scared everyone would know about you two and laugh if you broke up? Is that why you wanted to end things? Were you afraid of becoming a joke?"

Yuuri sighed again, the weight of past fears and regrets evident in his voice.

"At that time, maybe I was afraid of that. But what matters is how we moved past it. You have to find a way, Yuri. There's always a solution."

Yuri sniffed, tears still streaming down his face. The last words he heard from Otabek's lips to him ghosted him more than ever.

"Yeah, well, good fucking luck." he muttered before ending the call.

Then, he was alone in the bar again.

With whatever consciousness he could gather, he managed to pay his tab and debated between going home for a moment but didn't want to be alone. In between moments of clarity, he thought about calling Viktor. Still, his inebriated mind remembered how Viktor's eyes had looked red and glossy when he and Katsudon said goodbye at Narita Airport. It wasn't enough, even if they had spent some days together. Viktor wasn't a selfish mess like he was, and he didn't have to deal with Yuri's greedy, stupid ass. Viktor always took care of him. So Yuri found himself knocking—no, banging—on a door. After some minutes, Mila emerged, with red hair in a high ponytail and about to shout at whoever caused the disturbance, but stopped when she saw him.

Just behind her, Sara Crispino popped into view.

At the sight, Yuri vaguely remembered Mila mentioning that Sara was spending some days with her in St. Petersburg.

Right, he was a selfish bastard and forgot about this.

"I'm sorry," Yuri started apologizing, his voice coming out in sobs. "I didn't mean to—I...I'll go..."

"You're not going anywhere." He was dragged into the apartment and Mila's voice was a comforting murmur while crushing him in a hug. He hunched forward to return the hug, being a head taller than the redhead. Mila patted him in the back of the head. 

The sobs came harder, and Yuri let himself cry, finally releasing the pent-up emotions. For once, he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

Sara must have closed the door, because he did not move or open his eyes, not only because of the tears but the alcohol started making his limbs numb. He heard movement, the clinking of glasses, and other sounds around him, but his mind was too clouded to process everything. "Can you go get a blanket, moya lyubov'?'' - "You read my mind, let me...'' The two women whispered to each other while Yuri drank from a glass Crispino gave him. Was it water? He might have asked if it was water, but he wasn't sure what came out of his mouth. 

"Yes, it's water. Drink up, you idiot." Mila said, her voice a mix of exasperation and affection.

"You need to sleep this off." Sara said when she returned with a blanket and draped it over Yuri's shoulders. 

Yuri nodded, too exhausted and emotionally drained to argue.

He felt Mila's steady hand guiding him to the couch. ''We need to be here and check he doesn't throw up while sleeping.'' Sarah whispered, to which Mila hummed. 

As he hit the soft furniture, the weight of the blanket and the warmth of the apartment began to lull him into sleep.

Voices broke through the haze of Yuri's sleep. He could barely make out the words, but the tone in one was unmistakably Viktor's.

"Thank you for taking care of him, Mila and you too, Sara." Viktor said softly. "Yuuri called me and told me about their talk and how Yuri cut the call. When I tried to call him back, his phone was dead."

"No problem." Mila replied, her voice a mix of concern and affection. "I tried to contact Yuuri, but his line was busy."

Viktor nodded. "That was when we were trying to locate him."

Sara chimed in, "He's been sleeping since then. We took care of him."

Yuri's mind was still clouded, the remnants of alcohol making it hard to focus. He felt a blanket being adjusted around him and heard the soft clinking of glasses being cleared away. Despite the fog in his brain, he tried to make sense of the conversation, he heard Viktor continue, "I was worried, but I'm glad he's here with you both."

He then just registered the morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow in the room. Yuri stirred, the voices around him becoming clearer. He groaned, his head pounding with a relentless ache.

"Why are you all so noisy?" he muttered, trying to open his eyes but squinting against the light.

"Good morning, sunshine. How's that hangover treating you?" Viktor laughed softly.

Yuri groaned again, the sound of Viktor's voice like nails on a chalkboard to his sensitive ears. "Shut up, ugh."

Mila slid two aspirins and a glass of water to Yuri. "Here, take these. They'll help."

Yuri took the pills, swallowing them with a wince.

"Thanks." he mumbled, still feeling like he had been hit by a truck.

Later that day, Yuri and Viktor sat in front of a frozen pond in Yusupov Park. The air was crisp, with a cold breeze rustling through the trees. The park was tranquil, its serene winter beauty contrasting sharply with the chaos inside Yuri's mind. If it was summer, the water should have been rippling gently, reflecting the lush greenery and the vibrant flowers that lined the pathways. It would have done little to calm Yuri's stormy thoughts...instead, he was almost grateful for St. Petersburg unforgiving December weather.

He was still hungover, his head pounding and his stomach churning. He watched as the wind moved the trees but they still remained tall and quiet, wishing he could find the same kind of strength.

"How are you feeling?" Viktor broke the silence, his voice gentle.

Yuri shrugged, not meeting Viktor's eyes. "I've been better," he answered, looking down at his hands.

Viktor nodded, understanding the weight behind those words. "Is it because of the Grand Prix?" Viktor asked, his tone tentative, but also as his Coach tinted with guilt.

Yuri remained silent, his gaze fixed on the pond.

The memories of the competition, the coldness from Otabek, and the weight of his own expectations pressed heavily on him. It all felt too much still.

"Yusha," Viktor began, choosing his words carefully, "I know this has been a tough time for you. But holding it all in won't help. You can talk to me."

Yuri clenched his fists, fighting the urge to lash out.

He inhaled deeply and after five seconds, exhaled slowly, feeling a wave of resignation wash over him. "I can’t…not yet. But uh...I promise to call Yuuri and apologize." he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Hmm, that's a good start." Viktor nodded. 

Yuri nodded.

An idea formed when he looked at the mirror when he stepped out of the shower at Mila's. It made sense as he saw his own reflection, now the overthinking returned. His head throbbed the next time he opened his mouth to speak. 

"Viktor, can I ask you a favor?"

"Of course." Viktor hummed, waiting to hear it.

He hesitated for a second, then just went for it.

"Do you think it's time to cut my hair?" Yuri's voice was quiet, the question loaded with deeper meaning.

Viktor's eyes softened, understanding the implications.

Then his face lit up. "Absolutely! And just like in The Princess Diaries, we need a makeover montage."

Yuri looked at him and couldn't help it. He laughed. Viktor's ridiculousness was just what he needed to break through the gloom of uncertainty. As the laughter faded, the reality of their conversation settled in. Yuri's decision to cut his hair was more than just a physical change; it was symbolic of his need to shed the past and move forward. They stood up to leave the park, but Yuri took one last look at the lifeless pond.

"Let's go get that haircut." Viktor said with a wink.