Yurij reads the message once, hesitates while his gaze loses focus, but after a few moments he taps at his screen, watching the message disappear like magic.
Next to him, a small wheezing ball of fur moves, breathing fast in its sleep.
Kotik. Yuri was never good with coming up with names, and lately caring for that stuff got harder. Much, much harder.
His phone's light turns off after a while, leaving him to curl up on his bed, in a room with such a dim light that his eyes struggle to make out the form of anything. It's barely enough light to look at his pale fingers move slowly and grasp at his sheets.
Only a few weeks ago, Otabek would have been there. Quietly playing with his hair, without needing any kind of idle chatter to make his presence known. He's not there now, his fingers aren't playing through Yurij's long, sickly pale hair.
He's not there, because he's in an average sized wooden box, already being attacked by ground worms while his cold body lies still, as if frozen, until it'll be turned into nothing but bones. And it happened because of such a stupid mishap too. It wasn't his fault, it wasn't Yurij's fault either, but he saw Otabek's body fall and then once it slammed against the cold mountain ice, it stopped moving altogether, just like that.
He always saw people screaming as they lost someone. Going down on their knees, crying really loudly, hitting things. He expected that would be him too.
His throat only constricted. His fists only balled up and tightened until his knuckles hurt. His eyes watered, yes, but only a bit. The center of his chest stopped, and so did his breathing. But his behavior didn't change much. He only cooped up in his room more. He only spent more time in bed thinking of how he could have avoided the mountain accident. Maybe he could have paid more attention to where Otabek was stepping. Maybe he could have joked and laughed less.
Maybe he could have fallen instead.
He knows what Otabek would say, but Otabek is not there. Otabek would have found himself in a relatively better situation now. Otabek had friends, Otabek didn't push people away, Otabek was just better at dealing with others.
Yurij only senses cold, and the room he's in becoming larger, so much larger and emptier. A big cold rink without barriers or an audience to cheer him on.
The only sounds come from the outside, from a city he used to sit atop of, as the newest Grand Prix winner. Now he's just another has-been, too old to compete with the new athletes, and annoyingly enough he's walking along Viktor's steps, trying to win the way he used to, before being stolen by Yuuri. He's the one young skaters look up to, but the attention only irritates him.
He doesn't need them. He never needed them. He never asked for a bunch of strangers to yell his name on the street.
He only ever needed himself. Himself, grandpa, and Otabek. And those two are gone.
And then, it turned out he got a sick feeling every time he heard himself talk too. His voice echoed in his flat and nobody hit back.
The cat helped. He found it wobbling and limping and squeaking miserably as it dragged itself in the rain - a small dirty ball of wet fur - and Yurij walked past it with nothing but a sting in his heart, but then he scoffed and sighed stopping with the sound of the rain hitting his umbrella, until eventually and with a certain annoyance he got back and scooped the kitten up.
He took it home. That kitten was probably limping and looking so pathetic because of how stupid it was, anyway. It didn't seem to be able to eat on its own, or maybe it didn't want to - what kind of animal doesn't eat when it's obviously skinny as shit?!
And it cried a lot - all the time actually. Yurij considered just dropping it at a shelter, but every time he entertained the idea... that kitten would just meow and sound so miserable that Yurij's heart could do nothing but clench.
And then somehow it happened - Yurij tolerated the cat's invasive presence in his flat, wobbled and crashed against everything, sometimes even made Yurij laugh with its stupid little chirps and weirdly incoordinated limbs. And then he grew used to the cat's soft weigh on his chest while sleeping together at night, with the bare minimum light coming from the window to notice how nobody else was there.
Yuuri and Viktor still clearly like pretending they're his parents, but they didn't see the one person who was willing to stick with them - falling to their death. They are not alone, they understand each other. Yuuri specifically tried to talk to Yuri, but that would be pointless. Yuuri was never as isolated from anyone else as Yurij always was. Yuuri would probably tell him to look for someone new, or something. Maybe not, but that's not the point. Yuuri has others. Viktor has Yuuri, which according to him means he's got everyone he needs.
Yurij had those people that meant everything. They are both gone.
All he has now is this stupid, crippled cat. But while looking at it sleep, he stretches his arms, carefully wrapping it around Kotik's slightly healthier little body now, and holds it to his chest. Kotik wriggles a little, but eventually nestles against his chest.
Yurij's hands relax, moving softer around the cat's warm fur.
At least it's not destroyed with messy mats sticking to it along with mud anymore. It doesn't look like a healthy coat yet, but it's getting better.
Yurij's drooping eyes focus on the shape barely distinguishable in the dark, and his ears on the gentle rumbling purr coming from the kitten, before throwing his heavy duvet on top of both of them. It's a nice feeling.
They went a long way together, honestly. Kotik grew a little, and got in shape. Now, he eats and does so enthusiastically. So much that it makes Yurij hungry every time, so now they have a little rite. Eating together on the bed or on the sofa, and then sometimes Kotik gets the leftovers when Yurij really cannot handle more food. Or doesn't feel like it. But he's eating. He's sleeping. He's covering himself up when it's cold. He's taking showers when even Kotik runs from the smell.
He can't really say it yet, but sometimes he looks at this tiny pathetic ball of life and sees some energy he definitely didn't have before. Kotik got better, and to think in the beginning he could barely walk.
Yurij moves his fingertips up and down the kitten's back, eliciting some more purrs and that's when a tiny smile appears on his lips.
Maybe not tomorrow, but eventually he just might finally text that pig back. Only to make him stop being a bother, of course.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}