The previous schedule for the charity skate had basically been tossed out the window after everything was delayed following Yuri's injury, and this left Yuri constantly reloading the charity's website in an effort to see what the new schedule was, and primarily so as to know when to target as much of his bitterness as possible at the world whenever he was supposed to skate Welcome to the Madness with Otabek and now couldn't. Instead the most he and Otabek could do together was the man helping Yuri hop from the bed to the bathroom whenever he was too lazy to get his crutches.

Victor, Hikaru, and Christophe were scheduled to begin skating any moment, and so Yuri and Otabek, who had agreed to stay with him whenever he was not skating, were holed up in the hotel with the television on a medium volume so as to watch the skaters. Yuri's grandfather was out, as he had been fussing over his grandson all day and Yuri had eventually told him to take some time for himself. His heart still felt as if it hammered out of rhythm whenever he thought of what had happened, but there was no sense in him worrying his elderly grandfather any more at someone intentionally trying to hurt him.

He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders at the thought and hoped Otabek did not notice.

While Hikaru skated to something harsh and fast on the television, Yuri turned his attention back to his laptop. Yachov had begrudgingly allowed him back into his social media accounts, and the reactions were almost too much for him to process. Twitter blew up with hashtags everywhere from #YuriPlisetskyInjury to #YuriPlisetskyBreaksNeck and he shook his head in exasperation. Most everything people were commenting about him were positive, particularly on the Yuri's Angels pages. Comments such as "Get well soon" and "we love you Yuri" and "wishing you a speedy recovery" littered his feed. For each one he read, he felt his lips twitching slightly more, and the ebbing pain of his ankle hurt a little less. He still jumped slightly at every too-loud crash from the hall or the floor above them, but seeing just how much his fans cared about him meant a lot.

But for every twenty positive comments there were a few that rubbed him the wrong way. Some preteen skater girl who Yuri had never heard of (he stalked her Instagram after seeing her comment) wrote, "Served him right. He was too successful too young. It wasn't fair!" Or worse yet was from a woman who looked to be in her early forties and based on her diy crafts page on pinterest who had a bit too much free time on her hands, "He was always a jerk. Never smiled for pictures with my daughter. Never let her hug him. Rude! Got what he had coming."

That was not all, however, and with every bitter comment, the kind ones hit Yuri less and less.

"Yeah that's cause there's this thing called consent, you dumbass," Otabek growled from over Yuri's shoulder, and he turned to see the man had perched himself nearby to look through the comments too. "Thinks you deserve this because you won't hug her daughter. What the hell."

All Yuri could do was rake a hand through his hair, because if he allowed himself too much time to think about such a statement, he would get worried. He knew there were weird fans out there, people who thought he would adore them and be their best friend just because they were obsessed with him. But it was easier said than done. There was a thin line he had to walk between appeasing his fans and keeping himself safe and comfortable; it was one of the few things about skating which he was uncertain about.

Vaguely he was aware of Hikaru finishing his routine on the television screen before Christophe began his own routine. The charity showcase, however, was the least of his concerns.

Then he saw another nasty comment and his eyes narrowed as he read this one aloud. "He's probably never had to work for a single thing his entire life, money can buy the best teachers—you fucker!" He did not even bother clicking on this person's profile, instead he was seeing red and he leaned forward harshly as if he could claw at the people writing these comments so safely from the other side of a screen. The motion jostled his leg which was perched atop a pillow at the end of his bed and he winced, biting down on his lip as he did so. "Never had to work for anything," he muttered mockingly, and then he began typing a reply furiously, speaking his words as he wrote them. "I've been providing for my family since I started skating. Almost all of my competition money went to pay for our house and our food. My mother doesn't do shit, but drug addiction can take away your ability to parent, my father left when I was little, all I have is my dedushka and it's not his fault he's too old to work-"

"Yura!" Otabek grabbed at his wrists and held down the backspace key before he could send the reply. Yuri did not give a damn if he sounded like a child in that moment, he whined and reeled towards Otabek with a scowl. "Do not engage them," Otabek replied. "Remember what Yachov said. We have to be very careful what we post." Finally releasing Yuri's wrists he pulled out his phone upon hearing it buzz in his pocket. While he began looking at whatever had grabbed his attention, Yuri was meanwhile taking pleasure in mentally crafting the worst, snarkiest, most fucking extra replies he could think of to everyone who was bashing him online.

Otabek than began muttering obscenities under his breath. "Hikaru posted on Twitter. Glad you only hurt your leg and not your brain, Yuri Two. Wishing you a speedy recovery—your ankle, sadly not much can be done for the rest of you. Less competition, you know?"

"What the hell? I hardly even know the bastard!" Yuri roared, nearly lunging out of bed again and only stopping himself because his ankle screamed in protest once more. He angrily continued scrolling, until his phone buzzed with a text to his number, and he picked it up before frowning and the message caused him to shiver. "Uh—Beka, do you know this number?" He read it off, only for Otabek to frown and shake his head.

"Why, what did they say?"

The more Yuri read, the tighter he curled the blanket over his shoulders. "I definitely wouldn't be leaving my things in the locker rooms at events any more. The doors must be so easy to lock pick if someone got to your skates in there. Good thing the hotel rooms use electronic keys, those are much harder to break into. What? Oh, sorry, too far of a joke?" As if on cue, there was a loud crash of a door slamming shut in the hall, causing Yuri to jump and out of reflex grab his empty water bottle and lift it as if preparing to throw it at any intruder. He let out a round of muttered curses before his throat could tighten. "This—that's just someone screwing with me, right? Right?" His nerves caused his voice to crack, and he looked over to see Otabek with a mask of an expression on.

"Don't respond."

"But-"

"No, Yuri! They likely want to rile you up, whether that is whoever is responsible or someone who just got your number off of some website or something. Don't engage them." Without waiting for permission he plucked Yuri's phone out of his hands, turned it off, and stuffed it in his own pocket before settling the water bottle turned projectile back onto the nightstand as well. For a moment Yuri forgot about the pounding of his heart in his chest in favor of pouting.

"But how did they get my number?" He asked after many moments of silence.

For the first time since Yuri's injury, he saw Otabek look doubtful. "That I don't know, but all the more reason for me to keep your phone. I don't want them contacting you at all, no matter who that was, that message did not sound as if the sender had good intentions. I know it's nearly impossible for you to go through all of the social media posts to see if anything similar pops up, but keep an eye out, okay? People can get weird. But we'll get to the bottom of this, alright? I swear. We'll figure out who did this."

While this by no means quelled all of Yuri's anxieties, he did force himself to take in a long breath and let it out slowly as Otabek reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. Yuri forced himself to close his laptop, quite done with social media for the day. "Yeah, I know we will."

A/N: Hey, I'm alive. Sorry for the long wait, all. Other projects and school distracted me, but I finally laid out the remaining chapters and hope to finish this soonish (so long as I can stay productive) since I don't like leaving projects unfinished if I can help it. Hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think! Anyone think they know who damaged Yuri's skates?