With You In Mind - Ch. 1
Summary: Yuri has a new show, now dedicated to his grandpa who has passed away.
The rest can be read here
"At age 19, representing Russia, skating to Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto, Yuri Plisetsky.” The stands became silent. Yuri moved into position, delicate hands covering his face, eyes closed, face set in a soft frown. Even with the song shortened, he would tell this story through to the end with his body and soul. “It is said that he had picked this song shortly after his grandfather's tragic death.”
Shut up, you stupid fucking announcer. You know nothing of my grandfather. Nothing. Yuri thought in spite as he went through his skating routine. Going into his first jump, he could feel his grandpa's hands lifting him into the air.
“Higher papa!!” Yuri would yell on the swing, giggling and kicking his legs toward the trees ahead of his swing-set.
“Of course, my dear Yurochka, you'll touch the sky one day.” He pressed his rough old hands into Yuri's coat-covered back, pushing him on the swing to get him higher.
He zoned out at some point during his performance apparently, nearing the end of his free skate program. He knows he landed all of his quads, he can just feel it. The last move in his program is combination spin, making him extremely nervous. The move wasn't hard whatsoever. Just the music. The music would pierce through his heart and break him down.
“Yuri! My boy! How was school today?”
“Grampa, I made you a birthday card today!” He handed the small gluey card to his grandfather.
“Oh, Yurochka. This is absolutely beautiful. Thank you. You are blessing on this wretched earth. One day everyone will see. I love you.” Nikolai stopped, reaching down to pick up his young grandson and hug him tight.
“I love you too, Papa!! You're squishing me!!”
With both hands in the air, back bent almost at a ninety degree angle, breathing hard, hot tears ran from his eyes at the very end, the song fading out. The screams and cheers were overwhelming and Yuri just slowly straightened, wanting so badly to run away. He stood there for a moment before quickly skating off the ice. He wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as possible. As he came closer to the exit, he realized he was going much too fast to get off safely. His eyes widened as he tried to stop himself, somewhat rolling his ankle and launching himself off the ice, his right hip catching on the corner of the low wall as his green eyes suddenly closed and he braced for impact. Shit.
Otabek Altin was waiting to enter onto the ice, eyes just as wide as Yuri's had previously been when he saw what was about to unfold. He dove quickly, attempting to catch the blond along with the boy's coach, Yakov. He shoves his hand in front of that small feminine face, attempting to block it from the ground, which he does, just in time, the skin on his knuckles peeling up against the rough floor. Yakov catches Yuri's body, the three of them frozen there, a dead silence falling over them. The crowd follows suit, silence laying it's thick blanket over everyone who saw. Yuri shakes, slowly picking himself up and looking at Otabek.
“I-...get the hell out of my way!” He turns quickly, rushing to the kiss-and-cry. He sits down roughly, hands shaking hard. What the fuck was that? Why did he catch me like that? He looked toward the man, noticing his hand was bloodied. His coach was wrapping it. Nothing serious. Now Yuri just felt like an ass. Yakov quickly came to sit with him, but ended up just standing there in anticipation. Yuri doesn't hear the score, he just suddenly feels a slap on his back and hears the loud laughter of Yakov.
“Well done, my boy! Truly exquisite job!” He just gets up and leaves the man to celebrate. This was one of his worst performance. The score was amazing. The memories? Absolutely horrible.
He removed his costume in the locker room, putting on his warm-up jacket and sweats. He looked himself over in the mirror, sighing softly. He lifted his jacket and lowered his pants just a bit, looking at his right hip. “Shit.” A deep blue bruise was forming over his pointy hip bone, the soft pale skin a little more than scraped up. He slowly sat down on the bench by the mirror after pulling his pants back up, shifting his jacket down a bit.
“You are so smart. You have the best marks in school, the best I have ever seen in my life.” Nikolai smiled wildly, patting his grandson's head.
“Papa. I have a low mark in mathematics.” The young pre-teen boy was frowning, sitting at the kitchen table. “I suck at math.”
“No, Yuri, my dear boy. You just need practice. Practice makes you better, you are already perfect.”
Yuri felt himself crying again, hands coming up over his face. His fragile fingers shook over his damp cheeks, his chest quaking with each sob. “Papa...please just come back...”
“Yuri, promise you will do your best for me?”
“Papa, you can't leave yet, you can't leave me now! I need you at the exhibition! I need you at my show, Papa, please...you can't leave...” Yuri held onto his grandfather's hand, gripping tighter light it would ground him to his life for longer.
“Promise me, Yura...” Nikolai brought his grandson in close. “Shh...”
“I promise...I promise you...I will win gold at the Grand Prix Final, Grandpa. I will win with you in mind.”
Yuri later found himself standing with a gold medal in front of two other men, both older than him. He grinned finally, holding up his medal with a victorious fist. He holds himself high and proud, the lump coming back to his throat, but not enough to make him cry once more. He looked among the audience, painting a faint image of his papa sitting in the stands, smiling down on him as he stood there.
He eventually looked down to the silver and bronze before skating back off the rink, much slower this time. As he stepped off the rink, he was hugged by Viktor and Yuuri of course, both of them fussing over him getting hurt earlier, and then stating how proud they are. Can't anyone see that he just wants space? He just wants space. He hugs to Yuuri anyways, laying his head against that soft chest. This was ok. This was good enough.
“I'm going back to my room.” He peels his head away from Yuuri's chest, looking to Viktor. “I'll walk myself this time. I don't need help, I'm not a kid.” If he was being honest, he just didn't want to cry in front of anyone today. He made his way to the door, stepping out and hugging his skates to his chest as he trudged back to the hotel. It wasn't far, and the weather wasn't as biting as it had been when he walked for practice. He held his gold medal tightly in his hand, looking down at it and tearing up. “I did it...I did my best, just like I promised.” He spoke softly, his voice broken.
Gold again. With you in mind, Grandfather, gold again.