Happy birthday, my dear Surka! I hope this day is even half as lovely as you! ♥

~~~

Sometimes, when they took breaks together, if they were especially busy, Beka brought out some of his own bakery business paperwork while Yuri worked on his for the company. On one such occasion, Yuri had a revelation. A big revelation.

It's brought about by nothing particularly special. Yuri was typing away on his laptop, placed on the side of the table farthest from where their drinks sat; Beka was reading and signing some physical papers about something or other for The Otabakery; all was well. It was peaceful, as their time together so often was. Then, Beka sighed.

"What is it?" Yuri looked up, and raised his eyebrows as Otabek let his head rest on the tabletop, not as dramatically as Yuri occasionally did, the descent slowed in anticipation of the pain of the impact (wimp), but in an emphatic gesture out of character for Beka to perform. Yuri wasn't sure whether to be inquisitive about what had caused Beka to do such a thing, or concerned that his friend had malfunctioned.

"Nothing," Beka sighed as he sat back up, running a weary hand over his face. "I just realized that I screwed up the profit margin spreadsheets for this month. It'll take forever to fix."

Yuri hummed sympathetically, "Did you already send them out?"

A nod.

Yuri winced.

Beka flopped back onto the table.

Yuri laughed, leaning over their work to push at his shoulder until he reemerged, and then laughed again at the look of mild irritation on his face.

"I was trying to die," he said, flatly, "rude of you to interrupt me. Can't a man die a peaceful death without being summoned from beyond the grave?"

"Not in this country," Yuri chirped, and Beka joined in his laughter, shaking his head in some, muddled version of agreement.

"What did you do?" Yuri asked, after a moment, pulling the printed spreadsheets towards him, across the table. "Maybe it won't be a big fix--" He stopped, having found the mistake. It was right there, in the top line, something so glaringly obvious that Yuri both wasn't sure how Beka could've possibly missed it, and yet knew exactly how it had happened.

"Oh, Beka," Yuri said, looking at him with sad eyes. "You misspelled your own name."

He blinked. Eyebrows furrowed. The papers were pulled back across the table to be reexamined. "Um, no?" He asked, very much confused. "My name's fine."

"No it's not," Yuri replied, pointing, upside down, at the offending word. "You wrote 'Otabek,' like, 'Otabakery.'"

"And that's wrong because...?"

"Because your name is Beka?"

"My name is Otabek. Beka is a nickname," a pause, "you didn't know that?"

"How was I supposed to?" Yuri asked, flabbergasted, "Your name tag says Beka, and it's not like people call you anything else?"

Otabek shrugged, "I just figured you knew. It never even occurred to me that you might not have heard it. Leo calls me that all the time."

Yuri stared blankly at him, before crossing his arms and reclining in his chair with a huff.

"What?" Otabek asked, sounding vaguely amused.

"Nothing," Yuri replied, "I just thought that, after we've been friends for a month, I'd be important enough to know your real name." He sniffed, offended, and Otabek laughed. By God, did Yuri love that sound.

"My apologies, Yuri. However can I repair this horrible slight?"

Yuri, nose still in the air, glanced haughty at him, "You can't," he said, "it's too grievous an error to come back from; our friendship is over."

"Damn," Otabek replied, going as far as to snap his fingers and swing his arm. "Ah, well, we had a good run."

Yuri deigned not to respond, insulted as he was, but instead took a bite of the dessert that sat in front of him, as one always did when he was at the bakery. Slowly, though, something dawned on him. "Beka," he asked, looking inquiringly at hisexfriend. "If your name is Otabek, how the hell did you name this place The Otabakery?"

Otabek looked up, very slowly, from the spreadsheets he'd returned to. "Certainly not," he said, "because I wrote my name wrong when I went to the sign place."

Yuri blinked.

Otabek blinked.

Yuri burst out laughing.

Otabek watched with a fond smile, and a sparkle in his eye.

***

It was strange, coming into the bakery with Mila, again. It wasn't like they'd stopped going together after the classes, but over the last few weeks Mila had had to go home directly after class (she'd pretty much given up on Beka, at this point-- instead dating another dancer from the company and dropping several pointed remarks about Beka liking someone else which Yuri still couldn't figure out) and Yuri had been coming in on his own, too, making entering the small, cozy store a weird, deja vu-like experience for him.

He'd also seen a lot of Beka on his trips to his shop, and their friendship had grown significantly since Mila had last been present for their barely-there contact. This, apparently, was something Mila enjoyed teasing Yuri about. As he realized, a fraction of a second too late to stop the train of what was going to happen from crashing, that day.

"I'm so fucking tired," Mila groaned from where she'd slumped down at the table by the window, not the corner. "Lilia is apparently a woman scorned or something, because the way she ran us today can only be attributed to sadism or failure in her love life."

"And you're counting sadism out because...?" Yuri asked, taking a sip of his coffee idly.

"It's a way for me to pay her back for the damage she's inflicted on my feet," Mila said darkly. Then, spotting something over Yuri's shoulder, grinned as her eyes widened. "Plus, love life is more fun!"

A chill shot Yuri's spine.

Oh no.

That tone never boded well.

"Beka?" Mila called out, waving at someone behind Yuri, "what's up?"

Yuri turned, and, to his horror and sympathy for Otabek, found him frozen a few meters away from where Yuri sat, a salad and reusable water bottle in his hand. It was evident that he'd seen Yuri come in and had started to take his 15 (more like 30, let's be honest) before he'd notice Mila, and, backing away, had been caught before he'd been able to make his escape.

"Sorry," he said, far more stiffly than he normally was-- with Yuri, at least. "I was just going to talk to Yuri, but you're busy. Don't let me interrupt you."

"No, please!" Mila said, making a big, sweeping gesture toward the third, empty chair at their table, a dangerous sparkle in her eye. Yuri knew, from far too much experience, to fear that sparkle. And yet, he couldn't communicate that to Otabek who, after glancing uncertainly between Mila and Yuri, sat down in the proffered chair. If Yuri had the power to beam either apologetic messages or fervent profanities to another human being, he'd be using it, right about now.

"Don't let me interrupt," Otabek said, waving his hand in the air to indicate picking back up where they left off. "Keep going."

"Okay," Mila replied, "I was just complaining about my drill sergeant of a director-- she tried to kill me today, I swear."

"Which led to her theorizing that a failed love had prompted Lilia to take it out on her and the rest of the company." Yuri finished for her, waving his hand vaguely.

He might not have wanted to have this conversation, but he wasn't going to make Otabek feel left out, goddammit.

Otabek hummed. "You're a dancer?" He asked Mila.

"I am!" She brightened. "Yuri, too, before he proved himself irresistible," she reached out to ruffle his hair which he dodged deftly, "and the prince implanted his seed in him--"

"Ew, baba, what the fuck--"

"And promptly fucked off, leaving the Blond, Very-Awake Beauty to himself."

"Was there possibly a creepier way to have explained that?" Yuri huffed, his cheeks inexplicably burning. He took another bite of his latest dessert, and let his hair fall to cover his face on Otabek's side. He swallowed before he continued, "You're alluding to something and I don't appreciate it... whatever it is."

"Sleeping Beauty-- the original story, not the Disney film." Otabek spoke up.

"That's right!" Mila beamed, before turning to antagonize Yuri, once again. "See? He's cool."

"Thank you for that assessment," Yuri deadpanned, and Mila sniggered, taking a dainty bite of her fruit, the action so at odds with the sound that had just come out of her mouth.

Otabek, for his part, glanced between them, evidently decided not to engage, and took a bite of his salad.

***

Yuri wouldn't have guessed it, but, strangely and a little alarmingly for him, that day and that Sleeping Beauty connection were the start of a beautiful friendship. Or, at least, beautiful for Mila and Otabek. For Yuri? Frankly, it was the worst-case scenario. And then some.

"Yura!" Mila squawked one day as they watched Otabek pull out the chair that had become his at the table of three they only ever occupied after yoga class, when Mila was there.

Yuri glanced up from his slice of strawberry shortcake, eyebrows raised.

"Must you always get dessert?" She asked, "Why don't you try something less... unhealthy, for a change?" She, demonstratively, held out her spoonful of the same fruit salad she'd been getting for over two months.

Yuri wrinkled his nose. "Ew, no, baba. You're just bitter that you have to eat that crap and I don't."

"Hey!" Otabek interjected, but it lacked fire.

Yuri waved him away. "You know what I mean." Otabek, shrugging, nodded, and returned to his late lunch/early dinner thingy (it was four pm; Yuri was afraid that, if he asked what the meal was, he would be told that it actually was dinner, and that he would have befriended a senior citizen), stabbing his fork into what looked like a piece of kale.

"Otabek, back me up here," Mila said, nudging his arm as if to forcibly insert him into the conversation. "You're healthy; never once have I seen you eating something that had nothing green in it--

"Jolly ranchers don't count--" Yuri protested. He was ignored.

"Talk some sense into him," Mila made big, imploring eyes at him--

"I'd prefer to stay out of it, thanks." Which had no effect whatsoever. Yuri cackled with glee, and, just to be a shit, took a large bite of strawberries and whipped cream.

Mila let out a sigh of exasperation. "See?" She pointed wildly from the cake to Yuri, exuberance radiating from her like toxic gas. "This is what I'm talking about! What would Lilia say?"

"She'd probably ban me from stepping foot in her studio until I go vegan," Yuri replied, immediately, and earned a low chuckle from Otabek.

"She may have a point there," Mila replied, before, at Yuri's scandalized look, "no, sorry, that was too low a blow." Yuri's 'thank you' was cut off by her continued, "But still, Yuri, I think you should stop with the cake."

"You make it! Help me!" Yuri demanded, exasperated, of Otabek. He smiled, wryly.

"I do make them," he agreed, "so I know exactly how much fat and sugar goes in there." Mila nodded fervently, in a preachy way that pissed Yuri off.

Yuri frowned, lowering his gaze and shrugging harshly. "Well, I'm already fat, so who cares?"

Instantly, the mood changed. Yuri could practically feel the look shot between Otabek and Mila over his bent head, his eyes on his swollen stomach.

It was true, lately he'd been feeling especially big. When he'd first started coming to the bakery over two months ago, he had been able to hide his abdomen easily in baggy clothes, and, until recently, the same had remained true. Halfway through his seventh month, though, Yuri looked undeniably as though he'd swallowed a watermelon, and couldn't say he was enjoying the effects his newfound roundness had on his gait (the fucking waddle--), his feet (constantly sore), and his balance (he didn't want to dwell on that one; there was nothing so humbling as going from a prima ballerina to a waddling penguin who couldn't see his feet).

Even now, one arm rested over his abdomen, bloated and clearly visible even with his chunkiest sweater on; Yuri moved to stroke it gently, and received a smattering of light kicks against his palm in return.

"Yuri--" Otabek began,

"You're not fat," Mila continued, but Yuri waved them away.

"Can we not talk about it?"

"Sure," Mila said immediately, "I have leads on the Lilia love thing! Have you seen the chemistry between her and that one administrator, Yakov? I just know--"

"Wait," Otabek cut her off, studying Yuri's face. He arranged it into a suitably sullen expression. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

Delicately, Yuri took another bite of cake.

***

Being friends with the owner of the bakery he spent so much time at (Mila was beginning to make insinuations; Yuri didn't like to think about their validity) had perks, Yuri was beginning to discover.
For one matter, he got company while in said bakery, as Otabek had taken to simply bringing his office work with him and sitting next to Yuri to do it. Another was that he had privileges that other customers did not, such as being able to occupy a table for longer than the policy dictated, even if he continued to buy things throughout his stay. But, as Yuri became aware, the ultimate advantage revealed itself in Otabek's attentive memory.

Ever since the episode in which Yuri had taken a bite of an apple twist and promptly puked in the bathroom, informing Otabek that he was pregnant, along the way, every time Yuri had expressed distaste for something bakery-made, Otabek had proven able to hold that in his mind without having been asked, steering clear of that thing whenever with Yuri. This, apparently, even extended to strategically seating people who had ordered pastries that had made Yuri ill away from his little table in the corner.

This was becoming especially handy, for, as Yuri found with none too hidden dismay, during the third trimester, the pesky nausea that had plagued him from the first came back. Funnily enough, when Yuri came in one day, fresh from too long hunched over the toilet, at home, Otabek noticed this new development immediately.

"Hey," Yuri muttered as he sat down with his tea, across the corner table from Otabek and feeling every bit the zombie he probably looked.

"Hey," Otabek replied, watching as Yuri tried to fold one leg over the other, failed, and sighed, weary, taking a sip from his tea. "Feeling okay?"

"It's that obvious?" Yuri asked, raising one eyebrow and huffing slightly when Otabek simply nodded. "Apparently we've developed a distaste for pears," Yuri explained, rubbing one hand over his abdomen, "and I wasn't informed until this morning."

Otabek grimaced sympathetically and Yuri tilted his head in thanks.

"It wouldn't be so bad," Yuri continued, "if I didn't keep missing the memos. I'm fine around things, and then, suddenly, I'm just not."

"Must suck," Otabek replied, nodding, "especially because I just got a new recipe for apple fritters, which you can't try." Yuri glared at him as he smirked, eyeing the slice of cake in front of Yuri. "It must get so boring eating the same things over and over again."

"Mock if you want, but I'm taking what I can get." Yuri raised his nose into the air, regal, "and I'll also be right back." And he stood, walking in the direction of the bathroom and dodging a woman sitting down at the next table, as he went.

When he returned, several minutes later, he rejoined Otabek, making some silly comment about how he must have missed him, since he hadn't gotten any of his paperwork done, while he'd been gone.

Otabek shrugged, saying something about stepping in as a waiter. Yuri nodded, and noticed not too long after that the woman who had sat down next to their table had been relocated to the other side of the shop, and, as he stared over at her, that she had something that looked suspiciously like an apple fritter on the table next to her.

Yuri turned his questioning look on Otabek. Had he...?

"What?" Otabek asked, glancing up.

"Nothing," Yuri muttered after a moment, shaking his head. Still, though, he couldn't shake that inexplicable feeling of pleasure in his gut.

**A/N**

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