Yuri!!! On Ice Book 2

Chapter 6

May 3rd, 2018- Just after the Last Chapter

Yuri's POV

As the plane flies, I alternate between two tracks of thought; my grandfather, and Otabek. I can't turn my mind off, the worry never ceases. No matter how fast this plane goes it isn't fast enough, it can't get me there when I need to be, which, ideally, would be yesterday before any of this happened. 

My leg bounces up and down a mile a minute, and, as strange as it sounds, I've grown so accustomed to the motion when I force myself to stop it feels like I'm unfreezing. 

The coldness of the window permeates the cabin, leaching my body heat and leaving me frosted to the seat. Thoughts swirl through my head in rapid succession, each one worse than the next. 

Is it his back? Or could he be sick and just not have told me? No, he definitely wouldn't have told me either way, he doesn't like to worry me, idiot that he is. Why can't he understand there are things worth worrying for! Can't he see that by not telling me anything's wrong and letting me find out over the phone from a random doctor is worse than anything he could've done? If he could've just let me know, one call, one email, one letter- anything! Anything besides this, besides me having a fucking heart attack miles away from him unable to get any answers. 

I hate this. I hate the uncertainty of not knowing and the paralyzing fear it brings with it, the helplessness that can't be fought. I hate that the one person who could even begin to comfort me isn't here, and that it's my fault he isn't. If I could've just said something, said anything, but no, I had to act like a six-year-old and run away. God, how am I so stupid! What's so difficult for me? It's not like I love him so why did I get so scared? Him feeling like that, it doesn't change how things work with me, it doesn't affect how I feel, and therefore can't hurt me, so why does it matter? 

It matters because-

No. Stop. I don't.

The little voice in my head whispers this to me, there at the worst of times. I have to actively shut it off and find myself envisioning Victor as its source. 

But you do...

It starts again and I give the little Victor in my head the finger, cutting him off. 

After that, the plane ride passes without any more unwanted input from unwanted sources. I'm able to silence any intrusive thoughts by directing my worry back to where it belongs: my grandfather. 

This makes me want to scream and I stare out the window to stop myself from doing so, willing my destination to be closer. I swear, if sheer power of mind could move literal mountains opposed to those useless metaphorical ones people are always droning on about, I'd be in Moscow right now instead of inside this damned plane! 

Clouds drift past the glass obscuring my vision and I lean my head back against the headrest, letting my eyes close and retreating into my brain. 

I wake to someone shaking my shoulder gently, and after looking up I realize we've landed. A kind-looking old woman sits next to me and she withdraws her hand, looking good-naturedly down at me.

"Thank you," I say without my usual hostility, both unwilling and unable to summon it, although it's not like it's called for in the present situation anyway. She smiles at me,

"Are you from Moscow?" She asks, glancing down the aisle to see that, as we're in the back, we won't be getting up for some time.

"Originally," I reply, "I live in Saint Petersburg now, you?" She shakes her head,

"No, I'm just visiting my granddaughter, my body couldn't take the climate," She laughs and I join in halfheartedly. "What brings you here?"

"I-" I stop, vehemently not wanting to talk about it and inevitably garner sympathy from this woman. "A competition," I lie, "The Russian Nationals," This is incorrect on so many levels it's astounding I can bring myself to say it. The Nationals are actually in December, barely after the Grand Prix Final, and, as it's May, it's safe to say there's no competition of any kind taking place for quite a while.

"Nationals?" She inquires, looking interested, "For what?"

"Skating," I say, then, thinking I should probably expand on that I add, "I'm a figure skater,"

"Really?" She looks excited, "My granddaughter loves figure skating! We watch lots of competitions together- have I heard of you?" I doubt it. She seems well-meaning but if she believes that there's actually a skating tournament in May she knows nothing about the sport.

"Maybe," I shrug, "I'm Yuri Plisetsky," The woman's eyes widen and she looks amazed,

"I have," She says and offers a hand, which I shake, "You're very good," I force a smile, barely able to keep my mind on the conversation, "My granddaughter and I are huge fans,"

"Thank you," I follow her previous glance up the aisle and see the line has moved a bit, still not enough to allow us to get up though. 

"She'd be so excited if she knew I met you," She smiles at me and looks a bit hesitant, "Is there any way you could sign something so I could give it to her? She'll hate that she missed this," This request brings forth a genuine, and uniquely not mean, smile from me.

"Sure," I reply and take the pen and sheet of paper she hands me. I wince slightly at my terrible handwriting as I return it to her but she doesn't seem to mind, tucking it away in her purse.

"Is the competition broadcast?" She asks me, looking kindly eager, "I'm sure we can watch it," I shake my head, stuck now and aware of it. All big events are able to be viewed by the public in some way, so there's no getting out of this.

"Actually-" I stop, glancing down and out the window, "I'm not here for a competition, it's," I pause again, feeling guilty although this woman is a complete stranger to whom I owe nothing. "It's a family thing,"

The woman nods and looks sympathetic, putting a hand on my shoulder. I jump slightly at the contact, not used to physical affection from anyone besides my boyfriend and occasionally Yakov, but only to correct my technique. "I'm sorry to hear that," She says and withdraws the hand, a gesture I sincerely appreciate. "I hope everything's alright," I nod,

"Me too."