Sometimes Yuri wonders if Viktor knows. All of the clues are just ambiguous enough, just this side of "what are you talking about? It's just an endearing term". Viktor calls him Yurileh and he is afraid.

Viktor is a man without boundaries. He invites himself into Yuri's home, with little notice. And Yuri is his mother's son.

Where Grandpa is stubborn, Mother was hard. She prioritized survival, success and secrets. No one could know. She would not allow it. In December, Mother and Grandpa tell different stories. Grandpa tells the story of the Maccabees, of triumph over tyranny, of miracles that last. Mother tells the story of hiding, the bravery in biding one's time.

Now that she's gone, Grandpa upholds her wishes. When Yuri calls him Zaida, the mix of love, admonishment, guilt and longing is clear on his face. He does not put the hannukiah in the window. He calls him Yurotchka in public. He keeps their secret. Grandpa remembers being on a list, it is not something he will ever forget.

So when Viktor drives him home from the rink and tries to come inside, Yuri slams the door in his face. He runs around the house, hiding the tchotchkes. He takes down the enormous cross-stitched scene of Moses coming down the mountain with the commandments. He takes the Tanakhs and the Haggadahs and the Mahzors and hides them under his bed, beside his box of comicbooks.

And only then does he open the door again. Except Viktor took the hint and is gone.

Yuri ignores the disappointment bubbling in his gut, the need for someone to know him is fierce. But how could he understand?

There is very little to be read about Viktor's life before skating, so Yuri doesn't know where he comes from, but he doubts that the older man can relate to his own journey. Yuri's family was very poor. The only reason he can skate at all is pure chance. A program, a scholarship for low-income children. One sponsor who happened to see him and Grandpa skating at the outdoor rink in the park. Yuri could not afford to lose even once. From that first competition, he had to keep winning prize money or he would never be able to skate again. So he did. Yuri Plisetsky has always done what needed to be done.

So Yuri follows in his mother's footsteps while her father bites his tongue. What he does say is this: "Yurileh, you must be undeniable. They will always say that everything you have is undeserved. Make them see you."

Yuri follows this advice. His Zaida is wise and kind and he has never steered him wrong. If Yuri has his way, no one will ever know what he is. Still, he concentrates on his technical scores instead of presentation. Technical scores aren't subjective. If he can do a quad, no one can take that away from him.

When Viktor gives him shit about his step sequences, he doesn't really think they're stupid. He thinks they're art. But art can be misinterpreted. Art can be marginalized and shoved in a box. Art is something that Russia can ignore.

(Perhaps that's why he admires Yuuri Katsuki so much. He puts everything on the ice, laid bare before an audience. He is entirely himself when he skates.

And maybe that's why he's furious at him. Because when you look up to someone, when your invest yourself in their success and they let you down… Yuuri couldn't put himself on the ice that day, and neither could Yuri.)

Sometimes Yuri dreams of telling the truth and sometimes those dreams take the shape of Viktor coming out as gay.

Viktor had Yakov and medals and sponsorships behind him when he did the Scissor Sisters for his exhibition skate and confirmed it all in a press conference where he told a reporter he'd "settle down when he met the right man."

So maybe Yuri's dreams of that nature are more like nightmares.

But sometimes Yuri dreams of doing a horah on ice to Hava Negilah or dancing and mouthing the words to the sh'ma. The horah is a celebration and the sh'ma is the first and last prayer you ever say.

It's not that he's never met other Jewish skaters. Israel competes. A couple of Canadian and American Jewish figure skaters have shared the podium with him over the years. They're fine. Everything's fine. They're not ashamed. It's just another fun fact. But it's different for them. They don't live in Russia.

Sometimes, he thinks they look at him like they know. Like knows like. He has blonde hair and blue eyes and pale skin. He is his father's son in looks alone. But sometimes he thinks they must know.

Viktors does.

Viktor is in Japan when Yuri's mother's grave and several others in the cemetery are defaced with the slur жид. He should have no way of knowing. Yakov doesn't know. Still, his phone rings and Viktor and Yuuri are on the other end, being sick-making and sweet. Yuri shouts, but Yuri also loves them for it.

Yuri is afraid to be who he is, but he's also afraid to disappear. Everything they were and everything they are is slowly fading away. There are less and less of them. Russian Jewry is shrinking by the year and Yuri's fears are clawing at his throat. He never had a community.

He wonders what his life would be like if his Grandpa's exit papers hadn't been denied—if they hadn't imprisoned a young, frightened couple, looking for safety in a desert far away. But then, he thinks, he might not exist.

Everything that Yuri is, everything that Yuri works for and he cannot carry the legacy of his people.

He promises himself that someday, when he is so undeniable that no one could take it all away, he will tell the world. He will say it like a reminder. "I am a Jew." And he will pretend the way that people spit back those same words, does not hurt him. Someday, he will be old enough, big enough and strong enough not to care. Someday he won't look at the comments on Jason Brown's Instagram and Twitter and feel the secondhand bile ("Just like a Jew, to be chasing gold that doesn't belong to him.")

They're in Moscow again for the Rostelecom cup, during his second senior season. He's staying with Grandpa and he comes home from practice to find Viktor and Katsudon already there. The three older men are all gathered around the television set and to Yuri's horror, he can hear his own voice, cracking and squeaking through his bar mitzvah Haftarah.

"No no no no no NO NO NO!" He shouts and throws himself in front of the screen, hiding his 13-year-old self.

"Noooo~!" Viktor whines and Yuuri joins him in ridiculous matching pouts. "Yura, you were so cute!"

"And he davens so well," Grandpa adds with pride.

"It was very nice," Yuuri agrees, politely.

"Yura, yura! Your grandpa taught me a new word!" Viktor can be more excitable than his dog, it's so annoying. "Na-" and then he makes a choking noise.

"Naches," Grandpa corrects, kindly and softly. He looks at Viktor and Yuuri, then at Yuri. "I'm glad that he has you to look after him." He wonders if they know the weight of what he is saying. He hopes they don't. They may be his family, but he doesn't want it to go to their heads.

"Of course," Yuuri bows. It makes Grandpa uncomfortable, but he smiles through it. "He's very special."

Yuri's face is burning. He didn't want this. This is too personal. This is too real.

"Yurileh," says Grandpa. And that is all. A world and history of meaning is packed into the diminutive of his name. Safety, love and warmth. Yuri relaxes. It's over now, they know. They've always known, he supposes. They don't see him differently. They love him.

"Fast forward to the good part. My parashat is a really bloody one, it's sick."

Yuri יצחק Plisetzky is proud of what he is. Maybe he doesn't have to be afraid. Maybe, the way Viktor had Yakov, gold and sponsorships behind him, all Yuri needs is his family.

a/n: This was pretty personal for me. Someone was being shitty and antisemitic so I channelled that into a self-indulgent drabble. Most of these things are googleable or you can probably get the gist of what's being said through context.

- Tanahk, Haggadah, Mahzor: Hebrew Bible/Various prayer books

- Traditionally, you put a Hannukiah in the window. Hannukah is a story about fighting assimilation and having to hide one's Judaism, so in celebration, we show pride.

- 'Leh' and 'Lah' are kind of like endearing yiddish suffixes.

- Zaida: Grandfather

- Naches: Family, sort of. But like, the pride and joy that family (Specifically kids) brings.