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1.
Fourteen-year-olds don't get crushes on little kids, and Otabek doesn't have a crush on any of the children who surround him in class. His crush is on Ivan, who has the elegantly sculpted muscles of a Renaissance masterpiece and the jaw of a movie star. He saves his mental image of Ivan in the locker room for late at night, when he's sure everyone else is asleep.
But that doesn't mean Otabek doesn't notice Yuri Plisetsky. He's a different kind of sculpture, something modern, mobile, in bronze or gold.
Otabek knows in his bones he will never be so graceful.
2.
At 18, he still doesn't have a crush on Yuri Plisetsky, but he finds it impossible to say no to him. He pulls Yuri's glove off with his teeth and lets Yuri slide into his lap later, their makeup smudging on each other's faces, hunger building in his gut and every inch of his skin burning. Yuri's triumphant, golden, and he smells like sweat and leather. Otabek wants to swallow him whole.
"Good, right?" Yuri says when they're both spent, and Otabek doesn't know if he means the skate or the sex, but he nods, because it was, either way.
3.
At 22, he's in Hong Kong, dating a DJ who doesn't care about figure skating but is gently supportive of Otabek's drive for Olympic gold. The season's a blur, but he still sees Yuri at the Cup of China. They get dinner and spend most of their time talking about their pets because everything else feels too important, too fraught. Yuri puts a foot wrong at his short program and grits his teeth through the pain, literally limping to third. Otabek comes in second, sixteen points behind Katsuki Yuuri. He can see the tension in Yuri’s body at the podium, how much effort it's taking him to stand.
Otabek's boyfriend doesn't care about skating but even he can see how pretty Yuri is, and the night before they all fly out it ends with them taking Yuri slowly apart in Chao’s hotel room, Yuri clutching the sheets and cursing both their names in low, intense Russian. Yuri doesn't say thank you or goodbye when he eases his way out the door, which Chao calls rude and Otabek registers as normal.
They don't break up that night, but Otabek realizes months later that the fight was the beginning of the end.
4.
26 is the last year he’ll compete. He knew it wouldn’t last forever, but it still hurts. He wants to go out strong but he's popping too much naproxen, reacting too slowly.
Katsuki Yuuri--who is tandem coaching with Victor now, an arrangement Otabek is not sure anyone understands, let alone Victor or Yuuri--takes him to dinner, lets him complain. Retirement has been good to Yuuri, which is oddly comforting; his anxiety is still there at times, a running undercurrent in his life, but his faith in his proteges seems to have brought him strength.
Minami Kenjirō, who already kicked Otabek's ass in Las Vegas, is out with an American ice dancer whose name Otabek can never remember. They end up at the table, Minami stealing Otabek's neglected fries.
"Yuri hasn’t been at practice. Is he all right?" Minami asks Yuuri.
"I think so," Yuuri says, which isn't an answer.
He hasn't been talking much to Otabek, either. Normally Yuri goes silent before a competition for a few hours, not a few days. He sends a text for the hell of it, but hears nothing.
It's not his business; Yuri's a friend, a good one, they've had good memories and bad ones and some spectacular orgasms, but they've always been well aware of the near-continent's worth of distance between them, that they're competitors.
He sends another text when he's back in his hotel room.
The answer comes back with a picture. I'm fine. They say it'll wear off by tomorrow.
The swelling’s so bad that Otabek doesn't recognize Yuri’s face at first. What the hell?
I'm allergic to shellfish now. It sucks. Tell no one.
No one else sees the pictures. No public statement is ever made about Yuri’s absence before the short program.
5.
At thirty, it’s Otabek’s first Cup of China as a coach. Katsuki Yuuri politely tells Otabek how sorry he is that his prize student's about to kick Roman's ass.
Yuri Plisetsky makes everyone look like pretenders. Maturity suits him, and his grace hasn’t faded. He has another good year left, maybe two, and the height of his jumps still makes Otabek's heart tighten in his chest.
Roman comes in a respectable third, three points ahead of Yuuri's student. A small victory, but one to savor. There are other champions coming up in Kazakhstan now. The future’s theirs.
Sharing w/Roman? Yuri asks, and sends his room number when Otabek says yes.
They’re not teenagers any more, but they're still good for a second round before midnight. "He's still doing that bullshit with his inside edges," Yuri says, knowing Otabek will know he means Roman. He opens up one of the bottled waters next to the minifridge and tosses one to Otabek.
"I know.”
Yuri drops onto the mattress. “Everything hurts,” he says. “This is bullshit.”
"We're older." Otabek lets Yuri put his feet in Otabek’s lap so he can try to rub the bruising away. "Remember? I'm retired."
"I don't--" Yuri takes the top off his water; Otabek watches his throat work as he drinks. "What the fuck do I do after this?" He throws the emptied bottle against the wall; it clatters into the recycling bin. "I want it to be on my terms. I don't want to just start failing. But--" He gestures, still angry at times after all these years.
Otabek strokes the top of his foot. "You've done everything you've tried for."
"Sure. Maybe. So now what?" Yuri asks.
"I can't tell you that."
A shadow over Yuri’s face. "You never have."
"Would you want me to?"
Yuri looks away from him. "I don't know. What would you say?"
He’s known the answer for years. "That the Almaty zoo has Siberian tigers and a pair of white lions."
Yuri laughs, a little bitterly. "I'm not fifteen any more, Beka."
He hardly ever uses the nickname, and it feels like it means something. "You still like them." You still like me.
"I could stay with you."
"You could stay with me," Otabek echoes. It's always felt like asking for this would be asking for too much. But Yuri asked. And Otabek wants.
"I could help Roman with his fucking edges."
"You could. It wouldn't be like coaching full-time. You’d have some time to think. Decide what you really want."
Yuri’s voice is soft. "We'd still be friends, right? No matter what."
Otabek leans forward, puts a hand on Yuri's hip, and it’s good. As good as it was that first time in Barcelona. "Yes. No matter what."
Yuri turns back to him, kisses him until they're both out of breath again. "Let me borrow your jacket for the banquet. I want to start rumors.”
“Sure,” Otabek says, because he does too.