Author's Note: Okay, um, hi. I haven't been on FFN in like...three or four years? I'm on AO3 and Tumblr now (same URL at both places) but someone said some people are still on here so...hi. This fic is totally self-indulgent as I started writing it when I needed ACL surgery back in April and just, yeah.

This an Otayuri fic, couldn't figure out how to tag here. Just a heads up.

Please review, like, whatever you do on this site because I don't remember anymore. Thanks all! 3

The first time Yuri had stepped onto the ice, he was four years old. Grandpa had taken him to a rink for public skating hours in Moscow and paid to rent a pair of skates for the hour, thinking it would be a simple and fun way to pass the afternoon. But as soon as Yuri glided out onto the smooth surface, his little face lit up brighter than the Christmas tree that they had yet to take down in their living over a month past the actual holiday. Something about the ice was calling to him, and within minutes he was gliding around the rink like he had been doing it for years. He giggled and waved his arms, yelling "Grandpa, look!" until he finally crashed into the barrier on the side of the rink because he wasn't watching where he was going. But rather than cry like most children his age, he shook it off and jumped right back up.

The next big mistake had been when Nikolai Plisetsky saw that familiar mischievous look on his grandson's face when he got an idea that he knew was bad but was going to do it anyway. The young boy had watched an older skater do a double toe loop and immediately wanted to try it too. He of course fell flat on his ass but got up again.

Nikolai sighed as he watched little Yuri giggle, glide, and fall repeatedly until their rented hour was up and they had to go. That was when Yuri finally cried, because he had to get off the ice and wanted to keep going. If only Nikolai had known then that he had single-handedly given birth to a passion so strong in his grandson that it would come to define his entire being. Of course, Yuri insisted on spending every Saturday afternoon at the rink from then on, and it was quickly very apparent that the young boy had a rare gift for the sport of figure skating. And so Nikolai and his daughter began scraping together every spare ruble they had to send their little prodigy to skating lessons, and ultimately move him to St. Petersburg where he could train under Yakov full time.

Not a single day went by the Yuri wasn't eternally grateful for the sacrifices his grandfather and mother had to make to get him to this point, although he would never admit it out loud. Still, the ice was where he felt most at home, the only time the endless buzzing in his head was quiet while he threw all of his focus and energy into the sport he loved more than life itself. In a way, it helped him understand what was probably going on in Katsuki's ever-anxious mind. The way his blades glided against the ice, the raw power of throwing his body into a quad, or the artistry and finesse that went into each spin—it went beyond simply enjoying himself when he was skating. Skating was the only time that he felt completely at ease and that absolutely everything around him just made sense.

So the day that he fell after he botched the landing of a quad Salchow, a jump he had perfected at fifteen damn it, all Yuri could do was lie on the ice and let the self-loathing take over as he spewed so many profanities that Viktor even had to raise his eyebrows as he and Yuuri rushed to their friend's side. This pain was far and away the worst thing he had ever felt in his short twenty years of life, and that was including the time he had sliced his hand open when he caught his toe pick during a spin and ended up having to get four stitches.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Yuri screamed while clutching his right knee. "It fucking hurts like a bitch!"

Katsuki tried to make soothing noises to his younger friend in an attempt to keep him calm while Viktor was doing his best to check the knee without getting fileted by one of Yuri's skates. Mila was hovering nearby asking if she should call an ambulance, but Viktor shook his head, saying that if they could get Yuri in the car, they could just take him to the hospital themselves. Whatever he had done to himself was clearly serious, but not life threatening.

And so many hours later, after being shuffled through triage and sent through a series of tests, Yuri was simultaneously trying to hold back tears and not punch the doctor in the face while he was showing him the results of the MRI they had taken of the injured knee.

"The good news is that you didn't break anything. Bad news is that you definitely tore your ACL and we'll need to get you into surgery as soon as possible, but we also need to wait for the swelling to go down first."

The look Yuri fixed this doctor with was acidic enough to melt stone.

"How long before I can skate again?"

The doctor sighed and shook his head at the blonde. "About six months. Maybe longer depending on how the ligament heals post-op. Until then you can't do any kind of jumping, running, spinning, or anything else that could put strain on the ligament and re-tear it. You'll of course need physical therapy once the surgery is done."

If it were possible for his stomach to fall out of his body and crash through the floor, it would have done so right then. Six months off meant that the season was over for Yuri, and it was barely the beginning of November. He hadn't even had a chance to qualify for the Grand Prix Final yet. He was so overrun with emotions that he couldn't decide whether he wanted to scream, cry, or laugh. Or a combination of all three. One thing Yuri was not good at was processing emotions, and the wave that had come crashing down on him was not something he was in any way equipped to deal with.

Once he was discharged and hobbled out into the waiting room on crutches where Viktor and Yuuri were waiting for him, he repeated what the doctor had told him and promptly burst into tears, the fact that he was in public be damned.

Yuuri of course pulled his friend into a gentle embrace, whispering that everything was going to be okay and that he would get back on the ice before he knew it. Viktor placed a comforting hand on Yuri's blonde head and told him that they would help him out in any way they could, starting with he was staying at their place for at least the next few nights while he figured out how to go about his everyday life with only one good leg.

Tearfully, Yuri nodded and allowed himself to be steered back out to the car. He had no fucking clue how this was going to work out for him.

Being the social media addict he was, Yuri of course took tons of pictures of his leg in its brace, elevated on a pillow with an ice pack on his knee and immediately uploaded them to Snapchat, Twitter, and Facebook. He followed up with a post on Instagram of the photo, with the hashtags #seasonisover #nogpf #fuckmylife #yesithurtslikehell.

The notifications began pouring in instantaneously. The Yuri's Angels were of course devastated that their Yurachka was not going to be competing for the rest of the season, Chris made a lewd comment about how Yuri had gotten the injury, Mila gave some sappy supportive message, and JJ's reply was infuriating: "Get better soon, tiny broken human!"

At least he didn't call me Princess like he usually does Yuri mentally sighed at that comment before replying with a middle finger emoji.

Yuri would never admit it but the show of support actually left him feeling just the tiniest bit better about the situation. He already knew he was going to be hit with a pretty bad wave of depression in the coming weeks, but somehow it was comforting to know that despite his outward asshole personality, people actually did care about him.

Realizing how late it was, Yuri decided maybe he should finally let himself sleep. He was settled into the guest bedroom at Viktor and Katsuki's apartment and surrounded by a mountain of Egyptian cotton and endless pillows on a queen sized bed, because Viktor extra-fucking-Nikiforov had of course chosen the decorations for this room. He reached over to take one of the painkillers the doctor had prescribed him before he left the hospital and was prepared to pass out for the next twelve or so hours. Of course this was when his phone started buzzing on the nightstand next to him, and the name that flashed across his phone screen made his heart stop for a minute.

Shit, I completely forgot to tell Otabek what happened.

Hitting the 'answer' button, Yuri picked up the phone and awkwardly answered with an already sleep-addled, "Hey Beka-"

"Yura!" The other man's voice cut Yuri off and somehow sounded both worried and relieved. "Are you okay? JJ said something happened and then I saw the pictures on Instagram and Snapchat…God, I'm so sorry. What the hell happened?"

For the second time that day, Yuri was unable to stop the wave of tears that burst forth. He hated crying, especially in the presence of other people, but Otabek had been his best friend for so long that he just really needed him right now. "Beka—Beka the season is over for me. I fucked up real bad. Torn ACL and I'm getting surgery for it next week and I can't skate for six months. Six months, Beka! How the fuck am I going to make it six months without skating?"

At this point, Yuri just broke down into a blubbering mess of sobs and hiccups. Beka let out a frustrated sigh since he couldn't do anything for Yuri over the phone other than tell him it would all be okay, this was only temporary and he was going to come back next season stronger than ever. Katsuki heard the sobbing and poked his head in at one point to check on him, but nodded when Yuri waved him away and pointed to the phone pressed against his ear.

"Yura, do you want me to come stay with you? I can talk to my coach, and he'll probably let me do it given the circumstances. If you think Viktor would be okay with coaching me I can probably come out for a couple of weeks or so."

Yuri nodded before realized Otabek couldn't see him, so instead he just let out the most pathetic cry of "Fuck yes, come to St. Petersburg. I could really use a friend right now, Beka."

"Of course, Yura." And with that, they began making plans. It was weird and felt rushed as Otabek searched for flights while they talked, but in its own way it made Yuri feel better and temporarily forget everything that had happened earlier. Eventually, he realized that he had finally stopped crying and was laughing at something Otabek had said.

The loud yawn coming from Otabek made Yuri realize how late it had gotten. And since Almaty was three hours ahead of St. Petersburg, he felt a slight stab of guilt for keeping his friend up so late.

"Fuck, I'm sorry! I forgot about the time difference and didn't realize how late it is," Yuri apologized.

"Don't worry about it, Yura. I'm the one that called you. But I'm glad you're feeling a little better," God, Yuri swore that soft smile of Otabek's was audible. "Besides, you've always been absolute shit at remembering time differences."

"Bekaaaaa," Yuri groaned, but couldn't help but laugh at that.

"Goodnight, Yura. I'll see you in a few days."

"Goodnight, Beka."

At least Yuri was able to fall asleep feeling slightly less depressed than he had since he left the hospital.

The next morning Yuri woke up in even more pain than he had been in the previous day. His leg was even more swollen than it was before, and he had somehow contorted his body in the strangest pretzel position overnight thanks to the horrendous leg brace that he was required to wear at all times until the doctor told him otherwise, so his back was just as sore as his injured leg. He rolled over very carefully and tried to use his arms to hoist his weight out of bed, but ended up falling gracelessly on his ass. Swearing, he reached for his crutches that he had left leaned against the bedside table, and finally managed to get himself off the mattress and moving.

Although he had nowhere to be today, his body was not about to let him break his habit of waking up early for morning practice, and he figured he may as well move into the living room so that he could at least watch TV while the gross old couple was at the rink.

The smell of bacon and eggs greeted Yuri and he felt his stomach grumble loudly, belatedly realizing that he hadn't eaten anything since before practice yesterday. So without asking, he hobbled over to where Katuski was getting ready to serve the food and grabbed the spoon from the older man's hands in order to give himself an extra helping. Yuuri shrugged and let him do it, although Viktor clucked his tongue as Yuri took his seat and gave him a death glare.

"Now, now, Yurio, best be careful about your diet. You won't be doing much exercise for the coming months and you wouldn't want to gain weight."

The look Yuri shot Viktor could have melted the Polar ice caps. And so with all the vitriol he could muster, the blonde shoved an entire handful of bacon in his mouth and flipped Viktor off while he deliberately chewed with his mouth open.

"Very classy," Viktor laughed as Yuuri handed him his own plate and placed a soft kiss to his temple.

"Be nice, Viktor. I'm sure Yuri is upset that his season is over," Yuuri chastised his husband.

"'uck u bofth," Yuri mumbled around his mouthful of pork fat.

Viktor just cackled and Yuuri's face turned an alarming shade of purple as he tried to hold back his laughter knowing that it would only infuriate Yuri.

After a flurry of conversation that involved Yuri insisting that he'll be fine to fend for himself while the other two were at the rink all day, and oh by the way, Otabek would be coming to visit the day after tomorrow so they have to coach him while he's in town, Viktor just grinned like a fool and promised that of course he'd coach Otabek if he would keep his favorite son's spirits up! Yuri screamed that he was not their son and made sure to throw a fork at Viktor's head as the married couple left through the front door.

Somewhere in the span of two days, Yuri felt as though he had lost all motivation to get up in the morning. He was still in that strange phase where when he'd first wake up in the morning, his sleep-addled brain convinced him that everything was still normal and that he was about to get up and head to the rink like any other day. But then the pain and stiffness in his leg would bring him crashing back down to Earth, and he'd have to remind himself that he wouldn't be seeing the ice for quite some time. His heart would constrict and he'd roll over in a melodramatic flourish, burying his head in his pillow to muffle his frustrated screams and not wake up Yuuri and Viktor in the other room. Yuri somehow felt suffocated and anxious all at the same time, and this was merely aggravated by his long bouts of isolation during the day while his temporary roommates had to go about their own lives—the lives he was only recently very much still an active part of.

Eventually, he'd shuffle his way into the bathroom for a long shower that lasted until the hot water ran out and Yuri was standing with his forehead pressed to the wall while awkwardly balancing all of his weight on his good leg. Once the water was too cold of him to bear anymore, he dressed and dragged himself into the living room to set up his nest of pillows, blankets, and TV remotes while Katsuki and Viktor fussed and told him to call them if he needed them. He waved them off like the petulant child he knew he still was deep down, and glared at the TV while they left him for the day to go to his sacred place—the rink.

And so Yuri spent those two days mostly moping around Viktor and Yuuri's apartment while the two were at practice, silently resenting them for continuing to skate while he was stuck on the couch watching daytime soap operas that made him gag on their melodrama and awful story lines. He was obviously someone who was typically very physically active, and so Yuri was shocked to realize that while being laid up with an injury, it wasn't just the lack of exercise that was driving him insane, but also the fact that he felt useless, bitter, and isolated from his usual world and group of friends. Grandpa had passed away several years before, as had Makkachin, so unless the gross old couple was around to entertain him, Yuri was otherwise reduced to mind numbing boredom throughout the day. He felt every bit like the Fairy of Russia's wings had been plucked from his body and he was left to writhe uselessly on the ground.

Or maybe it felt more like the lion from that old fable that had gotten a thorn stuck in his paw and had laid trapped until the mouse came to help him.

He decided to go with that analogy since, of course, lions were more badass than fairies. It didn't matter that he was twenty years old, Yuri still hated being called a fairy and kept referring to himself as the Ice Tiger of Russia everywhere on social media just to get his point across. Although to be honest, he blamed the Nishigori brats for continuing the trend of calling him the Fairy because for every bit of talent Yuri had at trolling, the triplets were just as skilled in their responses.

So when someone was knocking hesitantly at the front door, Yuri's heart just about jumped out of his chest. He yelled out, "It's open!" since he still wasn't very good at moving around the apartment and waited from his spot on the couch as the knob turned and a familiar dark head of hair poked its way through the entrance.

"Beka!" Yuri cried out while trying to hoist himself up from the couch. Normally he'd have launched himself at his best friend and tackled him in a flying hug, but that was clearly not happening at this moment. All he managed to do was awkwardly hop a few feet away from the couch before letting out a sharp gasp of pain and swearing while he clutched at his injured knee.

Taking pity on his friend, Otabek covered the distance between them in two long strides and wrapped the slightly smaller boy in his arms, murmuring a soft, "Yura."

Yuri felt the all-too familiar sting of tears building up again, and simply buried his face in his best friend's shoulder, sniffling slightly. He'd made it through the last couple of days without crying or fixating too much on his situation, but now that Otabek was here, he just felt so overwhelmed that the tears were spilling out, no matter how much he tried to hold them back.

When Otabek's voice softly whispered, "It's okay, Yura, you can cry. I won't tell anyone," the dam finally broke and Yuri let the sobs he'd been choking on for days escape in a loud, snotty mess.

Otabek had lifted the blonde man up at some point, taking care not to jostle his injured leg, and walked them over to the couch in the living room, where Yuri continued to cry into the older man's shoulder. For his part, Otabek remained silent, stroking Yuri's hair and letting him release all of the emotions he had clearly been holding in for a while. Despite his tough exterior, Otabek knew his best friend felt so much more deeply than anybody else he had ever known, so when he bottled everything up, it inevitably came out like a pipe bursting in an old house.

By the time Yuri finally stopped crying, Otabek's hoodie was soaked but he assured Yuri it was nothing to be embarrassed about. The younger man settled into Otabek's lap and curled into his chest, trying to focus on the happiness that came with having his best friend with him during an otherwise shitty time. In the back of his mind, he knew he should be letting Otabek get his bags into the apartment and dragged into his room, but he just couldn't bring himself to let go of the comfort that was currently being in Otabek's lap with his arms wrapped protectively around him.

"When is your surgery?" Otabek broke the silence when it was clear Yuri had calmed down enough to form coherent sentences.

"Monday," Yuri grumbled.

"Hm," Otabek hummed in that way that somehow Yuri always knew what he was saying without ever actually saying any real words. In this case he was saying, "Okay. That's just a few days away. It's one step closer to recovery and getting back on the ice."

Yuri wanted to ask if Otabek would be coming with him to the hospital, but the question died in his throat. It was still several days away, and given that his best friend had already flown all the way to St. Petersburg from Almaty just to keep him company for a couple of weeks while he healed, he didn't want to come off as overly clingy. (Which he realized was ridiculous considering the man had just flown to another country to be with him, but Yuri wasn't exactly about to try to poke holes in the logic of his anxiety).

A nudge at his shoulder indicated that Otabek was ready to get up. Suddenly embarrassed that he had barely even let his friend walk in the door before mauling him, Yuri sheepishly jumped up and mumbled a half-assed apology about how he couldn't help Otabek drag his luggage in with his bad knee. Otabek just gave him that soft smile and disappeared to bring his things down the hall to the spare bedroom while Yuri collapsed on the couch in an embarrassed heap.

"So what do you want to do today, Yura?" Otabek's voice broke through Yuri's thoughts as he felt the weight of the other man settling into the other side of the couch, being careful with the blonde's bad leg and settling it in his lap while Yuri shrugged.

Suddenly feeling emotionally drained, Yuri said that he just wanted to watch Netflix since he couldn't really do much at the moment besides limp between the couch and his bed. He also had yet to master the art of using crutches, so that in and of itself was a painfully slow process, lest he accidentally fall and injure himself even further. He may be a professional athlete that could throw his body into the air without a moment's hesitation, but somehow the concept of using these things to bear all of his weight was not one his brain was willing to wrap itself around.

And so that was how Viktor and Yuuri found the two younger skaters when they returned home later that evening. Otabek had passed out about twenty minutes into the movie, mumbling about being jetlagged, but still softly rubbing Yuri's injured leg. Yuri had fallen asleep not long after, realizing how exhausted he was after crying more in the last three days than he had in the last three years.

"Yuuri! Look at how cute they are together!" Viktor cried, reaching for his husband and shaking him unnecessarily while pointing vehemently at the two young men passed out on their couch.

"Yes, Viktor, I see them," Yuuri sighed before disentangling himself from Viktor and walking over to click the TV off since it had long ago paused on the screen where Netflix had the audacity to ask the viewer if they were still watching after only one or two episodes.

"We should wake them up and get dinner started," Viktor mused while Yuuri found a blanket and gently tossed it over their sleeping friends.

The Japanese man shook his head and motioned that his husband should follow him into the kitchen. "Let them sleep. We'll make dinner and wake them up when it's ready."

Viktor's mouth took on its trademark heart shape as he gushed over the response. "I'm so lucky to have married the sweetest man ever!"

Yuuri rolled his eyes and tossed an apron at the Russian's head. "Start chopping the onions and brown the meat. I'm going to make Yuri his grandpa's pirozshki. Poor guy has had a rough few days so I think some comfort food will do him a world of good."

From the living room, Yuri cracked an eye open but didn't dare move a muscle to let anyone know that he was awake. Otabek was still sound asleep beside him and while Yuri was aware that maybe he should feel slightly guilty about pretending to still be asleep, he had to admit that it felt kind of nice to have other people fussing over him for once in his life. It was the closest he had felt to being part of family since he had lost Grandpa several years ago.

Burrowing further under the blanket, Yuri rolled over and decided to do his damndest to fall asleep again until dinner was ready.