A Heart Beats At Night

Chapter 13

Yuri reluctantly surrendered himself to the waking world, pulled abruptly from the void of unconsciousness by a crisp, rhythmic tapping against his bedroom door. Viktor, he assumed, with another manufactured crisis –

            "Can I come in?"

            Well, fuck. Yuri closed his eyes again. He didn't want to deal with this, ever, but especially not when the sharp, searing pain still burned in his gut. I don't appreciate the reminders. He had been so stupid, letting himself believe, even for a moment... Otabek didn't want Yuri back, was repulsed by the very idea of it, the barest hint of memory.

            "No. You can't."

            Was Otabek here to say he was leaving? It was more than he'd expected. But then, he wasn't here to tell Yuri, but evidently Otabek could almost tolerate Yurio, and maybe that was enough to earn the courtesy of a –

            "Please, Yuri."

            The soft tone was a melancholy echo of how Otabek's voice had shaped his name before, when the sound meant contentment and joy and future. Yuri sat up in bed, clutching the duvet to his chest, because no, he didn't want Otabek to come in, but something inside him ached for the knowledge of what would make him whisper Yuri's name, not even as a question, but a plea.

            His own lips parted wordlessly, any reply smothered by the lump forming in his throat. Instead, he flicked on the dusty lamp by his bed, half expecting the glow to rouse him from a doze, blinking and confused, though Yuri hadn't dreamed for years now. But the light was invitation enough. The door swung open.

            "You finally figured it out, huh." Yuri's voice returned as Otabek stepped across the threshold and shut the door gingerly behind him. His shoulders were hunched, head bowed, as he lowered himself to the floor, only looking up once he was seated against the far wall, leaving a clear path to the hallway. The message was clear: Otabek wasn't here to challenge Yuri.

            "Can I tell you a story?" The veneer of shrewd assessment cloaking his face had cracked,. His eyes were pained as they lifted to meet Yuri's shocked gaze. Otabek didn't continue; silence hung in the air between them until Yuri consented with a terse nod. "After the..." The funeral, he didn't say. He didn't have to. He really did go to it, some distant piece of Yuri observed. "After, I tried to go back to Almaty."

:: :: ::

"I went home for a while."

            Almaty was the same as ever. The familiarity should have been comforting, but something else had changed – he had, Otabek realized. Instead, it was suffocating. Tentative questions from concerned relatives and old friends about his health ('your mother told me about that flu, such bad luck to get bronchitis right before that big competition, but I'm sure you'll be right as rain before next season') before their faces shifted to the socially mandated rictus of pity, patting his shoulder while they told him how very sorry they were 'for his loss.'

            One week passed, and then two, and Otabek watched the moon every night as it waned and began to wax again. He couldn't grow used to the overwhelming brightness of the summer days. He shielded his eyes from the sun's glare with dark glasses, until reporters caught wind that the Hero of Kazakhstan was back in town after his mysterious disappearance several months ago.

            "I didn't stay for very long."

            Every moment took him closer to the edge. Otabek couldn't stop himself from glancing behind him as he walked through the nearly-deserted night streets, a cold sweat dampening his palms every time a passerby glanced in his direction. Once or twice, he caught the metallic tang of magic, forcing himself to stand his ground under the curious regard. It was only a matter of time until one of them recognized him, connected who he was and what he was, and Otabek couldn't trust that they would be a friend. Not that they would be wrong. He was still dangerous, despite the meager control Otabek had learned to exert over the other him.