Chapter Text
“Hold still, Otabek,” said Christophe irritably, yanking the clippers away. “So help me, we will postpone this date if I mess this up.”
“You’re making me nervous,” retorted Otabek. “It’s weird having someone else cut my hair – I’ve always done it myself.”
“Yeah, we can tell,” said Phichit, scrolling through his news feed. Otabek grunted angrily at him, making Christophe lightly smack him on the back of the head.
“Phichit, you’re distracting him,” snapped Christophe. “Shouldn’t you be coordinating his outfit?”
Phichit, without looking up, nodded towards Otabek’s futon, where a blue flannel shirt and nice jeans were laid out. “Already done.” Otabek had already expressed concern with how little time Phichit had taken to pick out his outfit, which was shut down after Phichit countered that he didn’t have much to work with and that this was the most appropriate and serviceable ensemble he could throw together.
“Remind me again why I’m letting you both do this,” said Otabek crossly.
“Because you are long overdue for a fresh undercut,” said Christophe, brushing a few stray hairs off Otabek’s shoulder. “Honestly, you looked like it’s been weeks since you had a proper trim.”
Otabek scowled to himself, angry that Christophe’s observation was accurate. “Why can’t I just wear what I normally do?” he asked, changing the subject.
“What’s that, hockey pads? Or sweats?” asked Christophe. “Honey no, we are making you presentable. This is a big deal.”
Otabek sighed. “I know it’s a big deal. I’m just…I’m nervous, okay? This needs to go perfectly, and I don’t really know how to make that happen.”
“I’ve never seen you so vulnerable,” remarked Phichit. Before Otabek could shoot another angry glance, Phichit stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Seriously though? I’ve seen you interact with him on a normal day and you don’t seem nervous at all. More relaxed and in your element. So just pretend it’s a normal day and he’ll have the time of his life. You two make a cute couple.”
Otabek blushed a little. “Thanks, Phichit. That means a lot.”
“Alright, alright,” said Christophe. “Let’s save the hugs for after I’m done.”
.:.:.:.
“No, no, and no,” said Yuri, crossing his arms.
“Aw, I think it would be cute!” whined Viktor, wielding a curling iron in one hand and hairspray in the other like weapons.
“You are not giving me ringlets, end of story!” insisted Yuri. “You’ll make me look like Shirley Temple!”
Viktor smiled gleefully. “That’s why it would look so cute on you!”
Yuuri gently put a hand on Viktor’s wrist. “Come now, Viktor, let’s not force him. This is his date, after all.”
“Fine, fine,” chuckled Viktor, unplugging the curling iron. “What kind of hairstyle do you want, then?”
Yuri raised a hand to his cheek thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Otabek still hasn’t told me what kind of date this is. How am I supposed to plan anything?”
“What do you mean?” asked Yuuri.
“What if it’s a really fancy restaurant and I’m underdressed? Or what if it’s just a café and I’m overdressed? Or what if it isn’t a restaurant at all and I’m not dressed for the weather?” These thoughts had plagued Yuri’s mind ever since Otabek told him that he wanted to surprise him with this date. On the one hand, he loved that Otabek trying to be spontaneous and romantic, despite it being way out of his comfort zone. It was a sweet gesture. On the other hand, Yuri was so anxious for this date to go well that he was obsessing over small details like what he was going to wear or if he needed to bring anything else.
Yuuri put a comforting hand on the younger’s shoulder. “You might be overthinking this a bit, Yurio.”
“Of course I am!” said Yuri, throwing his arms in front of him. “This is a big deal!”
“Ah, young love,” mused Viktor, eyes glittery and dreamy. “Remember our first date, Yuuri?”
“How could I forget?” laughed Yuuri. “We were playing in the European circuit. You took me to the fanciest restaurant you could find in Rome, only to find that neither of us had remembered to exchange our yen for euros.”
“I had to leave my passport as collateral while we rushed around the city to find an ATM,” said Viktor. “Took us forty-five minutes!”
“And on the way back to the restaurant, we ended up stopping for gelato,” said Yuuri, walking over and wrapping his arms around Viktor’s shoulders. “That’s when I knew I had to ask you on another date.”
Yuri watched the two lovebirds with both disgust and envy. He would never admit it to them, but a relationship like theirs is what he had desperately wanted ever since he realized he liked Otabek. “Are you two gonna start making out or are you gonna help me?”
The couple shared a fleeting kiss before separating. Viktor picked up the flat-iron. “Why don’t I straighten your hair? You’ve got a lovely fine texture, I could make it look so sleek. Maybe do a half-up-half-down look?”
Yuri contemplated. “Yeah, actually, that sounds good. It’s different, but still practical.”
Before Viktor could even plug in the flat-iron, Yuri’s phone buzzed. He scowled. I swear to God if it’s Mila again, I’m gonna lose it. Much to his relief, it was Otabek. His heart began racing as he read the message. “He just texted me! Says that I should dress comfortably and warmly.”
Yuuri and Viktor shared a knowing glance. “See? It worked out,” said Yuuri. “And I think I know just what you should wear.” With that, he began rifling through Yuri’s closet.
“Let’s get your hair done,” said Viktor, delicately picking up a blond lock of Yuri’s hair and clamping the flat-iron down on it. Yuri took a deep breath and turned himself over to Viktor’s skilled hands, nervously anticipating the evening ahead.
.:.:.:.
Yuri stood in front of Ice Castle, shivering in the early spring chill. The front doors were locked, leaving him no choice but to wait out in the cold for Otabek to show up. He couldn’t even be mad about having to wait – he’d been so excited and nervous all afternoon that he’d ended up leaving much earlier than he needed to. “What if there’s traffic?” he’d asked Viktor and Yuuri, to which they’d pointed out that he was walking, not driving. “Still, I’d better go early just in case,” he’d insisted.
He checked his phone again, thankful that he hadn’t received yet another notification from Mila, and opened up his messenger app.
Beka: meet me in front of ice castle @ 5:30
Yura: Oooh, where are we going?
Beka: it’s a surprise~
Yuri blushed at the little tilde at the end of his last text. It was uncharacteristically flirtatious for him to embellish his text messages – he typically kept things pretty minimal.
He peeked in the window, not seeing much save for the main foyer doors. That’s really odd, he thought, blowing a piece of hair out of his eyes. I thought these were open skate hours.
Yuri looked at his reflection in the window, fretting inwardly at the state of his appearance. He didn’t think he looked like he was about to go on his first date – his hair, in Viktor’s neat half-up half-down style, looked fine, but he was wearing his favorite black yoga pants, Adidas shoes, a blue long-sleeved thermal shirt, and his warm, puffy, cream-colored vest. I look like I should be hanging out in a ski lodge or something, he thought regrettably.
“Yurio!”
Yuri shrieked, clutching his chest. “Jesus, Kenjirou, you scared the shit outta me!”
Kenjirou gave him a cheeky laugh, his head poking out of the front door of Ice Castle. “Sorry, I didn’t think I’d startle you that badly.” He slid out the door, careful not to open it all the way as if he were concealing something. “You look nice.”
“Thank you,” huffed Yuri, smoothing out his hair. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought the place was locked.”
“It was,” he answered nonchalantly. “We’ve been in there for a few hours now.”
“What for? I thought there wasn’t any practice today.”
Kenjirou shrugged. “Beats me. By the way, I need you to close your eyes and come with me.”
“…why?”
“No reason. Now close ‘em!”
Yuri complied, feeling Kenjirou’s petite hands on his shoulders beginning to guide him. “You’re not very good at acting casual.”
“Yeah, I know.”
The two boys slowly made their way through the foyer of Ice Castle into the main rink area. Yuri wanted desperately to ask Kenjirou what was going on, but he had a feeling that this was part of the surprise – he didn’t want to ruin the anticipation.
“Keep ‘em closed!”
“I am, I am,” griped Yuri, stumbling slightly as he tripped over what he assumed was a nearby bench. He thought he could hear muted shuffling and whispering around him.
“Okay, open your eyes!”
Yuri wasn’t prepared for the scene that lay before him: Otabek sat on a picnic blanket adorned with several decorative cushions, looking sheepish as his teammates yelled, “Surprise!” A picnic basket sat next to a bucket containing two bottles of sparkling cider on ice. The rink lights had been dimmed, leaving the candlelight to provide most of the ambience.
What he really wasn’t prepared for was Otabek himself: his wild mop of hair had been trimmed with a fresh undercut and tamed with product. Gone were the bags under his eyes, as if he’d been sleeping better (which, Yuri realized, he probably had ever since he began to warm up to everyone) and gone were the baggy sweats – he was dressed in a partially-buttoned flannel shirt with nice jeans. It was like Yuri was looking at a completely different person, but in a good way.
“Bon appétit!” said Viktor. “Come men, let’s give them some privacy.” With that, the team quickly filed out of the rink area, leaving the two boys alone.
Yuri stood for a moment, dumbfounded. Otabek looked equally as awkward, rubbing the back of his head nervously. “Oh shit,” he muttered, standing up. “Uh please, w-would you join me for dinner?” He bowed and gestured to the blanket, holding his hand out. Yuri blushed a little as he took the outstretched hand, kneeling gingerly on the blanket. The two avoided eye contact for what felt like an eternity – Yuri absentmindedly played with a loose thread on his vest while Otabek tapped his knuckles on the floor.
“What’s on the menu tonight?” asked Yuri, desperate for an end to the awkward silence.
“Ah, right,” said Otabek, opening up the basket. “So, I’ve prepared a little smorgasbord for us.” He started taking out travel dishes. “Two small servings of katsudon, courtesy of Hiroko, some sashimi from that restaurant you told me you liked, a nice salad with carrot-ginger dressing, an assortment of different cheeses…”
“I’m impressed,” said Yuri, some of the nervousness beginning to fade. “You remembered my favorites!”
“Oh, just wait,” said Otabek with a grin. “Here’s the main course…” He took out a travel container and opened it with a flourish.
“Pirozhki!” exclaimed Yuri. “That’s my favorite!”
“I know,” answered Otabek. “Yakov gave me the recipe.”
Yuri grabbed one and took a bite, savoring the flavor. “It’s my grandpa’s, isn’t it?”
Otabek nodded. “I hope it turned out okay, I had a lot of help from Mari and Hiroko…”
“It’s impeccable,” said Yuri with his mouth full. “It tastes exactly like his.” His eyes began to sting with tears – he wasn’t sure if it was because of homesickness or because of how thoughtful it was that Otabek would go to such great lengths to make his favorite food. He was leaning toward the latter.
“Well, shall we?” Otabek poured some cider into two wine glasses and offered Yuri one.
Yuri smiled and took the offered glass. “We shall.”
The two clinked their glasses and tucked into their meal, making merry conversation in between bites of food. Yuri had finally completely relaxed – talking to Otabek was as natural as breathing. Gone were the days of angry glares and biting words, replaced by shy smiles and laughter.
Once they finished their food, Otabek reached into the basket and took out a travel container and two plastic forks. “Hope you saved room for dessert,” he said, opening the container to reveal a sizeable slice of cake.
“Oh wow, that looks delicious!” Yuri could feel his mouth watering even after a decently filling dinner.
Otabek beamed. “It’s almond cake! They let me try a sample of it at the bakery and I thought you might like it!” He set the container on the blanket and handed Yuri a fork. “Sorry, it’s just one piece. We could cut it if you want.”
Yuri blushed. “I mean…I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.”
“I don’t mind either,” blurted Otabek. Both boys averted their eyes from each other, embarrassed. “I mean…yeah, I’m okay with it.”
Yuri cursed inwardly. Why can’t I just be forward with my feelings? He went ahead and took a bite of cake, hoping it would get rid of the awkwardness. Otabek followed his lead and soon enough the cake was gone.
“That was delicious,” said Yuri contentedly. “We’ll have to go back to that bakery at some point.”
Otabek smiled. “Okay, now for the main event! Close your eyes!”
Yuri quirked an eyebrow at him. “What for?”
“It’s a surprise, just close them!”
Yuri complied, listening to the sound of Otabek rooting around, hoping it would give him some kind of hint. He didn’t like being held in suspense. Something that sounded heavy was plunked down in front of him.
“Okay, you can open them!”
Yuri did and was met with a sizeable gift bag. “Otabek…?”
“It’s a birthday present!” he said proudly.
“I’m…I’m speechless…” Damnit, don’t start crying, that’s the second time today!
“Well? Open it!” Otabek was wriggling with excitement, like a child on Christmas morning. Yuri almost melted at how adorable it was.
He took out the first layer of tissue paper and pulled out what was on top. “Oh!” It was a stuffed tiger, from what he assumed was a Build-a-Bear or similar custom stuffed animal store. It was dressed in a red, blue, and white tracksuit with tiny ice skates and headphones over its fuzzy head. An adorable smile was stitched onto its face.
“I tried to find something that looked like one of your competition outfits,” said Otabek hurriedly. “But they didn’t really have anything that wasn’t a tutu, and I didn’t think you’d want the gymnastics leotard, but then I found the tracksuit and I thought, ‘oh, that looks like Yura’s tracksuit!’ But then I wasn’t sure…”
“Beka, I love it!” Yuri got up and all but tackled Otabek in a hug, partially to put a stop to his rambling but mostly as an assurance that he made the right call. “He’s so cute!”
“Oh, you haven’t seen the best part yet!” Otabek took the initiative and dug through the enormous gift bag. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”
Yuri complied warily, his hands hitting his folded legs as Otabek placed something unexpectedly solid and heavy into them. He opened his eyes to see a small parcel filled with an assortment of colorful and patterned athletic tape and pre-wrap sitting on top of a large book.
“Oh Beka!” he cried, sifting through the rolls in the box. “Oh, they’re pretty!”
Otabek was giddy. “I found a website that sells all kinds of neat kinds of tape. I couldn’t decide which ones you’d like best, so I got a variety bulk order.”
“I won’t have to buy any tape for years at this rate!” He held up a roll of teal tape that was speckled with tiny paw prints.
“Look at the best best part,” said Otabek. Yuri set the box aside to look at the cover of the enormous textbook.
“’Becoming a Supple Leopard,’” he read. “What’s this?”
Otabek opened up the book and turned to the table of contents. “It’s a whole book about movement in sport. It shows you the proper technique for all kinds of lifting moves. But the part I think you’ll like the best is toward the back where it talks about correcting muscle imbalances and stuff. I figured you could use it in your stretching and whatnot.”
“Beka,” began Yuri, his voice catching in his throat. “This is so incredibly thoughtful. Thank you…”
Before Otabek could reply, Yuri stood up and grabbed his wrist, pulling the taller boy to his feet to tackle him in a hug. He stumbled as Yuri’s weight crashed into him.
“Whoa!” he chuckled. “You’re strong for a little gu-mphh…” Words became muffled as Yuri gently pressed his lips against Otabek’s. Otabek was stunned, completely in awe of what was happening. Yuri pulled away after a few seconds (though it felt like an eternity) and balked at Otabek’s deer-in-headlights look.
“I…” began Yuri, fidgeting with the tail of his shirt. “I’m sorry, I-…”
“No,” said Otabek, calmly but assuredly. “No need to be sorry. It’s just…” he paused, searching for the right words. “…I’ve wanted to do that for quite some time now.”
Relief washed over Yuri like a tidal wave crashing onto him. “I have too,” he said, embarrassed. “Ever since we started getting close.”
“I’m so glad we did,” said Otabek, smiling bashfully. “Oh! I almost forgot.” He broke the embrace and dipped behind the partition between the ice and the bleachers. He popped back up, a pair of skates in each hand, one pair Yuri’s white figure skates and the other his black hockey skates. “How about a romantic skate date?”
“Did you just say that because it rhymes?” asked Yuri, trying to hide his eagerness. He came up with all this…for me?
“Maybe,” said Otabek. “Whaddya say, Yura?” He extended Yuri’s skates to him in a gentlemanly way.
Yuri smiled and took the skates. “Let’s,” he said. The two sat on a nearby bench and laced up their skates, practically vibrating with excitement. Once they finished, they set foot on the ice and began skating, almost as if they were warming up. Music began swelling over the speakers, playing Fire of Eternal Glory.
“My program music!” exclaimed Yuri.
Otabek grinned, pulling the Bluetooth speaker remote out of his pocket. “I thought you’d like it. I’ve actually been listening to a lot of your program music lately. It makes me think of you.” He turned up the volume. “You’ve seen a lot of me playing hockey. I want to see you in your element. Care to skate for me?”
Yuri could cry. He nodded and broke away from Otabek, picking up the routine where the music was leading him. He glided across the ice effortlessly, the music seeming to move him as he completed his step sequence. He picked up speed and kicked off the ice, performing a flawless quadruple axle.
This, he thought. This is the feeling I’ve been missing. The feeling of being the only person in the room when he’s performing. The feeling of being completely engrossed in his performance. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time.
He stopped and looked over to Otabek, whose jaw had dropped. “That was incredible, Yura,” he said. “I’ve never seen you skate before and it’s…” He paused, unable to find the right words. “…beautiful,” he said. “Elegant. Magnificent. I can’t even decide which word describes you best.”
“Not bad for a prissy figure skater, eh?” teased Yuri, poking him in the ribs.
Otabek blushed. “I don’t think I’ve ever really understood how difficult it is,” he said. “Though you really do make it look completely effortless.”
“Well, what can I say?” said Yuri. “I’ve got a good audience cheering me on.” He reached out, beckoning Otabek to him. The song faded out, shuffling into the next: True Colors, the Anna Kendrick version. Otabek smiled shyly and took Yuri’s hand, and the two set out on the ice.
“Cute playlist,” said Yuri sincerely. “Did you make this?”
“Well, I had a little help,” said Otabek. Chris and Viktor had set out to make him a playlist after listening to him gush about all the things Yuri loved, one of them being the movie Trolls.
“Y’know, I’ve never really pair-skated with anyone before,” remarked Yuri.
“I hate to say, but I’m probably not the most graceful partner,” said Otabek.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Yuri. “Look at you right now, doing your own share of effortless skating.”
Otabek grinned. “Maybe I should try one of those spinny moves of yours.”
“Better not, since you don’t have toe picks on your blades,” said Yuri.
“In that case,” began Otabek, turning gracefully to face Yuri. He put one hand on Yuri’s waist and with the other took Yuri’s smaller hand. “Why don’t we make this a proper slow dance?”
It was a little awkward at first, dancing with skates, but once they found their rhythm it was as natural as breathing, as if they were meant to be there. Otabek would raise Yuri’s hand to twirl him, to which he would gracefully elevate onto his toe picks and land gently back down. The song changed a number of times, covering an array of genres from Aerosmith’s I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing to the ballad version of Cascada’s Every Time We Touch. Yuri wasn’t entirely sure how long they’d been there, but he could stay here forever.
Otabek grabbed Yuri’s waist, lifting him up in a gentle spin. Yuri’s melodious laughter filled the rink. He’s pretty strong, thought Yuri. Otabek didn’t falter as he picked up the smaller boy, and maintained his skating gait as he set him back down. Yuri rested his head on Otabek’s chest, listening to his even heartbeat.
“Can we try that again?” asked Yuri.
“Try what?”
Yuri didn’t answer, opting to take Otabek’s chin in his fingertips and guide his face down. Their lips met, this time with no hesitation. Yuri felt his heart beginning to race. His hands drifted to Otabek’s hips, his thumbs hooking the belt loops of his jeans and resting there. Otabek followed suit, wrapping his arms around Yuri’s waist and interlocking his fingers at the small of Yuri’s back. They swayed back and forth with the music, their lips intersecting like puzzle pieces. Otabek deepened the kiss, pulling Yuri closer. Yuri’s fingers unlooped themselves and reached up to tangle themselves in Otabek’s messy hair.
This must be what heaven feels like.
They pulled apart, both boys sighing simultaneously and laughing. ”It is so nice to be able to do that now,” said Otabek.
“How long have you wanted to kiss me, Beka?” asked Yuri, intertwining his fingers with Otabek’s.
Otabek looked up thoughtfully, resting his free thumb on his chin. “Honestly? I started thinking about it the night the team invited you to dinner.”
“Oh really? The night you blew your lid at me?” said Yuri playfully.
He nodded. “Yep. I can’t really describe it, there’s just something about a feisty little fella.”
Yuri playfully smacked his arm. “Jerk,” he teased.
“What about you? When did you realize that you wanted a taste of this hot mess?”
Yuri giggled. “Um, let’s see…probably after that time we went for a jog.”
“Really?”
“Mhm,” said Yuri. “Besides the fact that you were trying to make nice with me, you were incredibly gentle and sweet when I was having that panic attack. Showed me a whole other side of you I’d never really seen before. I liked it.”
Otabek blushed. “I guess I have a hard time expressing myself, huh?”
“You’re doing better,” said Yuri, patting Otabek’s hand. “You’ve come a long way. I suppose I have too.”
The two of them skated so long they lost track of the time, so long that the playlist reached the end and started back over from the beginning. They shared several more kisses, each one deeper and more adventurous than the last. For the first time since leaving Moscow, Yuri had found a place where he felt he was at home, in Hasetsu, skating at Ice Castle, hanging out with his new friends from the hockey team, and, most importantly, in Otabek’s arms where he felt safe and loved.
Who would’ve thought?