It's a strange thing to describe misery. Especially so when misery isn't really what you're feeling. Numbness, detachment, the sense of being a ghost-- those would be better terms for how Yuri lived.

It wasn't that he was depressed, it wasn't even that he was simply angry at his current situation -- no matter how inclined to the emotion he had been in the past -- it was more that he was, well, he was just there.

There was no adjective, there was no explanation or fancily worded term, Yuri just floated through life on autopilot; not taking in his surroundings nor taking the time to process specific moments, he just drifted aimlessly through his days, unfeeling as they passed him by.

He lived in a blur, in a bleak, misty shadow that seemed to follow him around and engulf his every motion. He used to mind that shadow-- he'd hated it in his youth, done everything he could to drive it back and keep it at bay. Now, however, he had no feelings about it, hell, he wasn't entirely convinced the shadow was even there, simply functioning through it.

He was fine, and that was just what he told everyone else.

He moved through his days with routine, a practiced normalcy guiding his limbs through their tasks and directing his mind to speak only when his students still couldn't land that one jump because they kept turning their knee out and pulling themselves off-center, or when the barista messed up his -- decaf-- coffee order for the fifteenth time in a row.

While these flaws, these marginally irritating, persistent mistakes used to drive him up the wall -- so much so that he would inevitably snap at his student and demonstrate the damn move himself, or growl at the barista that he was there every damn day and how could she not know by now? he didn't get angry anymore.

Which wasn't to say that he was patient, for he wasn't, in any regard, nor would he ever be, but he didn't explode anymore -- couldn't seem to find that fiery, if sometimes destructive, passion inside of him whenever it used to burst out at a moment's notice.

Now, he calmly, if blankly, took the student's offending, turned-out knee and pushed it resolutely in, giving them an exercise band or brace or something to keep it in place, and placated the inevitably pissed-off pupil with half-hearted praise once the jump was finally landed.

Yuri's days passed with rhythm, predictable in their bland, unassuming nature and occupation of time. Yuri didn't much mind them; he did what he was supposed to, earned his pay, and stayed alive. He did it all though, with that same vacancy, and, eventually, people started to notice.

It was Victor and Yuuri first, because, of course it was, stopping him in the hall and asking him worriedly if he was okay, if he needed someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on. And Yuri had thanked them for their concern, but reasserted that he was, in fact, fine, and just tired that day.

Except it was every day.

Soon, his students started to take notice that their usually obnoxious, prone-to-yelling teacher was no longer either obnoxious or a yelled.

The question came one day while he was lecturing Ekaterina about her Firebird Leap during his Senior Pointe class, explaining resignedly the importance of the plie take-off to her otherwise-occupied ears.

"Yuri," She interrupted him halfway through his description of momentum and why it was gained from a correct grande plie. "Are you okay?" Yuri stopped, not having expected the question.

"Yes." He replied, "Of course; why do you ask?"

The girl shrugged, "You're just different now, that's all," she murmured, digging the toe of her pointe shoe into the crack between the wall and its white edging. "You never get mad anymore, it's like you don't care."

"I'm fine," Yuri replied, and when the girl looked up at him with widened, concerned eyes, he turned away, glancing at the floor and trying not to remember how he had once forced Otabek into a ballet lesson in this very studio, and how hard they had laughed when he had failed to even get his elbows on the floor while doing a straddle. "Let's get back to work," Yuri returned to reality, firmly rooting his head to his shoulders and out of the clouds, "Show me your Firebird again." The girl did as she was told, and the day progressed.

That day when Yuri got home, it was to a quiet, empty house, and he dropped his bag by the door as Potya ran up to greet him. She sniffed at the closed door behind him hopefully, but Yuri picked her up, cradling her in his arms as he walked away, knowing full well who the cat was waiting for and not wanting to upset her further.

It had to be hard for her -- Otabek moving out. Animals formed bonds with humans and Potya had accepted Otabek on sight, happily trotting up to him and delicately clawing her way up his pant leg and onto his shoulder. Needless to say, they were very close.

Without him, though, Potya was obviously discontent with only Yuri for company, and missed the other man's presence. It couldn't help either how finely-tuned cats were to emotions and their shifting, for Potya was far more reserved these days, sitting tamely in Yuri's lap and not requiring any extraneous petting -- simply being there (for him, it almost seemed).

As Yuri set Potya delicately down on the kitchen counter, he turned and glanced toward the fridge, finding himself uninterested in its contents. Changing his mind on his anticipated meal, Yuri grabbed a banana and a handful of nuts, letting them serve as his dinner as he scooped his cat up once more and climbed the stairs for bed.

While Yuri did mentally chastise himself at the light meal, he found himself grateful for it when morning came and his daily routine recommenced.

Yuri wrenched himself out of bed at 5:30, like clockwork, and emptied his stomach's meager contents into the toilet, slumping down and leaning his head against the cool basin once he had finished.

It was another minute or two before he stood again, rinsing his mouth out with water and skipping brushing his teeth for the moment -- knowing from repeated experience that toothpaste was not appealing to a freshly emptied stomach first thing in the morning, and opting to get in the shower instead.

Yuri tilted his head back as the jets of water hit him, drenching his hair and trickling in long rivulets down his back, collecting in the hollow in the small of it before he shifted again, and it dissipated. It was in moments like these, early in the morning just after being sick, that Yuri truly took notice of how his body was changing, for, as time passed, so did his pregnancy.

He moved a hand to cup the small swell of his abdomen -- not at all noticeable if he wore anything at all, but hardened to the touch. Instead of the abs that had previously occupied the space, Yuri's stomach was flat, save for the minuscule, barely-there roundness resting low upon it. Less like belly fat and more like a protective shell, Yuri observed, letting his fingers play over the pale skin in the soft light drifting in through the window.

As Yuri tipped his head up and let the water cascade down his face and body, he thought it was one of the only real effects of his pregnancy that he had yet dealt with. He hadn't told many people yet: his classes were too keen to pry into his personal life after his attitude change in recent months as it was, and Victor and Yuuri already knew -- and in them the only true people of consequence were aware.

That was to say, the only remaining ones.

Otabek already knew and had been meeting Yuri at the coffee shop on biweekly Sundays to discuss arrangements to be made, and his grandfather had died only seven months prior to the Worlds Banquet.

Lilia and Yakov didn't know yet, Yuri conceded to himself, but he had plenty of time to tell them. Lilia, he was sure, would have figured it out before a syllable passed his lips, it being that she saw him every alternate Thursday when she swapped teaching his adult ballet class with her friend, but Yuri rarely saw Yakov anymore, and would have to ask Lilia to relay the message.

He wasn't sure how they would react. The circumstances were far from ideal, sure, but he hoped they wouldn't take it as such a bad thing, for, as hard as he tried to have an opinion on the matter, he was neither excited nor upset about his impending child, he just accepted it and moved along with his day.

Probably not a healthy headspace to be in, Yuri knew deep down, but couldn't find it in himself to particularly care.

Stepping slowly out of the shower and leaning down to grab his towel from the slightly damp floor, Yuri shut his eyes briefly, feeling every minute of his day so far and reluctantly raising his gaze to the mirror, towel in hand.

The glass was misted and foggy from the steam of his shower, though he hadn't registered it as a particularly hot one, and he took his hand and swiped lightly across it, leaving water droplets behind in the freshly cleared, eye-level space. Yuri gazed into his reflection, his normally vivid green eyes dulled slightly in the early morning stupor, and was recalled into a memory of an early morning similar to this one from not too long ago.

Yuri groaned as he stared blearily into the mirror just above the sink, his eyelids drooping as he held a toothbrush suspended halfway to his mouth in a motionless hand.

Early morning practices were the worst.

Then, slowly, another hand snaked up Yuri's immobile one and gently guided it up to his mouth, where Yuri grudgingly allowed the toothbrush entrance. As he started scrubbing away at the gunk that had accumulated in his mouth overnight, a tan, dark-haired head slowly popped into view behind him. Yuri couldn't help the endeared grin that formed on his face as he watched his husband wrap his arms around him in the misty mirror.

It was August and one of the few times that Saint Petersburg was actually really fucking hot, and, needless to say, Yuri couldn't wait for December, deciding, as he did every summer, that he was most definitely a winter person. As if his profession didn't already suggest it.

"Good morning," Otabek murmured, pressing a kiss behind Yuri's ear as the blond ran his toothbrush under the water to clean it off.

"Good morning," Yuri replied after spitting the toothpaste into the sink, turning in his husband's arms to face him. Otabek smiled that warm, loving, just-for-Yuri smile that Yuri loved more than anything in the world, and wrapped his arms more securely around him, pulling him closer.

The bathroom was warm, it being mid-August -- even though it was barely 5:00 am -- and Otabek was someone whose occupation in life doubled as a living furnace. At any other time, with any other person, Yuri would've squirmed away from the touch, not needing any extra body heat on the already humid day. It was Otabek though, and Yuri snuggled closer, smiling softly as a kiss was pressed to the top of his bedhead, still a bit wet from the shower, and, suddenly, he didn't as much mind getting up at 4:30 am.

Yuri gazed into the mirror, seeing that hazy summer day in its fog, staring at the picture of himself and his husband, wrapped in each other's arms. And then the steam from the mirror had dissipated, and the image was gone, replaced by Yuri alone, his eyes dim in the cheerful morning sunlight.

Yuri looked away.

***

That morning was a particularly difficult one, it transpired, and Yuri held himself just about immobile on the stool at the kitchen island, head pounding and unwilling to take anything to rid himself of the sensation. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Yuri sighed softly: he needed to be gone in less than an hour and had yet to make a motion in the way of procuring food for himself.

Potya curled around his legs, already having inhaled her breakfast and coming over for some attention. Yuri watched as his cat jumped gracefully onto the island and padded over to where Yuri sat with his elbows resting on the marble, fingers pressing into his temples and trying to soothe the pounding in his head. Gently, as if she knew he was in pain, Potya rubbed her chin against his wrist.

Resigning himself to a tension headache for the rest of the day, Yuri abandoned his attempts and lowered Potya's chosen hand to stroke the cat, and she purred under the slow pets against her smooth fur. He ran his fingers through it, scratching halfheartedly behind the feline's ears before standing up and making his way over to the fridge.

Opening it, Yuri scanned the meager contents; he didn't feel at all hungry, and normally he would let himself slide on breakfast on days like today. With the knowledge that he'd just about skipped dinner the night before, though, he selected a small container of yogurt and blackberries, eating them uninterestedly-- the taste like that of sand as he chewed.

With the passable breakfast stomached, Yuri set the dirty dishes in the sink, intending to clean them later, and gave Potya one last pet before walking out the door.

It was a bright May morning when Yuri stepped outside, the light blinding him momentarily before he managed to shield his eyes and lock the door. This morning would be a memorable one, Yuri thought, if what he'd been told was anything to go by: everyone said that your first doctor's appointment was a miraculous experience, that, even though it was often too early for an ultrasound, you felt more connected to your baby than ever before.

Secretly, Yuri hoped that that last part was true; he didn't feel much of a connection with anything at all, at the moment, and was really rather neutral in emotions where most expectant parents were bursting with joy.

Then again, there was only one of him, so maybe that explained some of his lack-of-enthusiasm: he'd always fed off of the excitement of others -- it was what had made him a great performer -- so maybe without that, it was just harder for him to conjure it on his own.

Yuri was still pondering this when he found himself pulling into the parking lot of the maternity clinic, and was surprised to find that he had managed to make the trip entirely on autopilot after having been there only once before. But he had always had a good sense of direction, he supposed as he got out of the car; even when he and Otabek had gone to New York for a week on their honeymoon four years back, he had been unafraid of the infamous Manhattan traffic. If anything, it was Otabek who got lost easily; he had been downright terrified when Yuri had left the car parked on some street or other in pursuit of the Broadway show for which they were very nearly late, with claims of "I'll find my way back!" and had been absolutely astonished when Yuri had, in fact, found their way back on his first try.

The memory of the utterly flabbergasted look Otabek had worn that day still made Yuri laugh, and as he looked around himself on the pavement before the prenatal office, he made a concentrated effort to push it from his mind: no need to dwell on things that he wouldn't get.

In an attempt to ground himself from his fantasies -- for that's what they were: fantasies --, Yuri scanned the complex he stood at the center of, taking in the maternity clothing store, Babies-R-Us, daycare, baby cafe, and maternal health clinic; whoever designed this complex must've had a one-track mind, he thought, before feeding the parking meter and walking into the clinic.

The waiting room was a bright, cheery place painted in a pale yellow with soft pinks and baby blues common around the space, and as Yuri sent a cursory glance around, he found several posters of smiling families and pregnant women littering the walls. The pictures were pleasant, sure, but as Yuri made his way over to the check-in with the receptionist, he couldn't help but think that the smiles looked forced -- insincere at best.

After marking his name down on the list, Yuri found himself directed to wait in one of the rows of chairs along the wall, in front of a small, friendly-looking play place, (the practice doubled as a pediatrician's office, Yuri then learned) and as he sat down, watched as a little girl's head poked out of the playhouse.

With a shriek of laughter, the girl disappeared back into her sanctuary as a man (presumably her father) stalked up to her. The man wore an exaggeratedly-mean look on his face and lowered himself to
his hands and knees before the opening in the small house.

"Daddy, come find me!" The little girl's voice rang out from the inside, choked with giggles. The man smiled softly, his villain persona breaking for a second before he got back into character, lunging forward and thrusting one hand into the house with an almighty roar. "Daddy!" The little girl cried again, screaming and laughing as she reappeared to the room at large, being tugged gently out by her ankle in her father's grasp.

"Gotcha!" The man cried and grabbed his daughter, tickling her mercilessly while she shrieked with glee, tiny, ineffectual fists raining down on him as she tried to free herself from the tickle-torture.

From the small, cushioned booth running along the short wall dividing the normal (presumably maternity) waiting room from the pediatric play place, a laugh rang out. Yuri turned and his gaze landed on a brunette woman, heavily pregnant, and watching completely enraptured by the scene before her.

"Get him, Sarah!" She called to the little girl who displayed absolutely no sign of having heard her, writhing and thrashing around in her father's arms, giggling hysterically. The mother didn't seem to mind not having been noticed, though, and continued to look on at her family, a soft, content smile on her face. Gently, as if unconsciously, her hand drifted down to her abdomen, lying across it -- almost like she could picture its inhabitant a part of the crazy family shenanigans already.

"Petrov?" A blonde nurse called from the doorway to an exam room, and the woman looked up, her husband glancing around as well from his position still play-fighting with their daughter.

"That's us," the mother responded before turning on her husband, laughing, "Paul, let Sarah up-- she's turning blue!" The man looked down and chuckled at the sight of his little girl trying to hold her breath to stop the giggles from coming out.

"Yes, my dear!" He called over his shoulder before turning and giving -- Sarah, apparently -- one last poke in the belly, and receiving one last screech of mirth before pulling her into his arms and standing up. Setting his daughter on her feet again, Paul made his way over to his wife, slinking an arm around her waist and helping her to her feet.

She blushed slightly, shaking her head through a smile at her husband's antics. "I could've done it myself," she murmured, accepting his hug,

"Of course you could've," her husband returned, smiling warmly, "Which was what made it all the more fun helping you. I get to pretend like I'm a big strong man and you're my damsel in distress, you see."

The woman laughed, "Ah, I do." Before turning to their daughter-- calling her towards her.

Together, the family made their way over to the nurse who had called their name, now smiling at them as they approached.

Watching them disappear behind the exam room door, Yuri felt a strange swirl of emotions within him.

I wonder if Otabek will play with our child like that.

Of course, he will: he'll be a great dad.

And all of a sudden, before he could stop himself, he saw what their family would look like. It was really just a mental video of the other family, only with Yuri's and Otabek's faces superimposed over theirs, but he could see clearly the way Otabek played with their little girl, the way he tickled her and held her close-- always ever so gently. And then he could see himself, see him smiling and laughing, see Otabek coming over to him with their daughter at his heel, see him helping Yuri stand with his abdomen the size of a melon for the second time in his life, see him hug him gently, give him a soft kiss--

"Plisetsky?" Yuri snapped back to reality, refocusing himself on the nurse who stood in a doorway calling his name. Yuri stood, making his way over to her. She smiled kindly, "Are we waiting for anyone else to get here before we start?"

Yuri hesitated: if he called, Otabek would come, he knew he would.

Yuri sucked in a breath, "No," he replied evenly, "No: I'm alone."

"Alright," the nurse smiled at him again. "Come with me please,"

And he went, leaving his delusional little fantasies behind.

***

"Yuri," Yuri stopped midstep, freezing on the polished wooden floor. "Stay back a minute, I have something I wish to discuss with you," Yuri let out a soft breath before turning back to Lilia; he'd known all along that she would figure it out on her own, and now was as good a time as any to tell her, he supposed.

"Yes?"

The woman looked him over with a keen, critical eye, her gaze incisive, seeming, as ever, to draw the truth from him. She seemed to land on what she wanted to say as she watched him, and, ever the straight-forward person she was, saw no reason to beat around the bush. "How far along are you?" The question was delivered with a completely straight face-- no hint of emotion, disapproval nor glee, evident in her features.

"About four months," Yuri said simply, tonelessly. "I had my first appointment this morning."

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised,

"You're supposed to go in far before then," she chastised him, as plainly as if she were still his coach and was telling him for the umpteenth time that his arabesque should be higher.

"It took me a while to realize," Yuri replied flatly, the words of the doctor floating through his head, "...Underweight, almost dangerously so. Any more and it'll affect the baby,"

Lilia gave him a long, penetrating look, before at last giving a brief nod. "You'll keep it?" It was Yuri's turn to nod. With another searching glance at his emotionless face, she asked, "Does he know?" They both knew who she was talking about: there was only one option, and Yuri repeated his previous gesture. "I see," She clipped, "I suppose you'll be dropping out of class, then?" Yuri nodded a third time and Lilia sighed, "I'll make sure Yakov is notified."

"Thank you." Yuri finally spoke.

Watching him with no unconcerned eye, Lilia began, her tone sharp as ever, though not unkind, "Yuri--"

"I have a student," Yuri interrupted her, voice and face still perfectly even, "She's very promising; I'd like you to see her dance,"

Lilia regarded him for a moment, "I'll sit in on her class," No matter that she was officially retired.

"Thank you." Yuri said again, before turning, scooping up his bag, and walking out of the studio.

***

The rest of the week passed as ever: Yuri worked at the studio, served his hours at the rink, and even filled in for Yuuri in the junior ballet class he usually taught. It was the Sunday after he had spoken with Lilia that he found himself turning onto the corner of Birchwood and Oak, making his way back to the coffee shop where it had all begun.

Yuri stepped into the small, brightly-lit cafe at exactly 9:02 am and was met, as always, by the sight of Otabek at the small table he seemed to have claimed as their own. With the sixth sense he appeared to have gained since the aftermath of Worlds, Otabek turned the second Yuri stepped into the shop, smiling tentatively at him as he approached the table.

"Good morning." Otabek said with that small, cautious, braced-for-rejection smile.

"Good morning." Yuri replied, face flat, before glancing down at the table before him and looking up to Otabek for explanation.

"I ordered you a crepe," Otabek said quickly, looking nervous, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

Yuri hadn't expected that: though it was true that Otabek was always at the cafe before him, he had thought that it was only a minute or two so before he arrived; the fact that Otabek had not only beat him to the shop but had had enough time to order and for the food to arrive before Yuri met him, made him wonder just how early he'd been getting there.

While contemplating this, Yuri hadn't said anything, and, misreading Yuri's silence as annoyance or wanting for further explanation, Otabek continued, "It's lemon and peach with ground ginger," Otabek said, with every appearance of a child afraid of being scolded. "Ginger's supposed to help the nausea, and lemon and peach are good too. I know around now the morning sickness really kicks in, and you never seem to eat, so I thought..." He trailed off, apprehension written in every line of his face.

Yuri paused, not having expected this but not really all that surprised; it was such an Otabek thing to do, after all, and there was truth to his words, and yet...

"I already ate."

That was a blatant lie.

"...Gain weight... too thin... unsafe." The doctor's words whispered in his head, but, try as he might (though he knew deep down that he had given up a long time ago), he just simply wasn't hungry.

"Oh," Otabek looked crestfallen, deflating and doing his best to remain unconcerned though it was obvious to Yuri that he wasn't. "Of course, I'm sorry, I'll just, uh, I'll get rid of it then." He looked so disappointed. Yuri looked at the tablecloth.

The intervening minutes were awkward: Otabek flagged down a waitress and Yuri, knowing that he hadn't eaten anything at all that day, ordered a glass of water. Otabek, feigning indifference to Yuri's rejection in the form of a crepe, took a sip of his coffee, only to promptly burn his tongue, and he hissed slightly as his face grew red.

As Otabek attempted to ignore a scalded tongue, Yuri couldn't help but remember when they had gone to the Christmas parade in Saint Petersburg a few months back. It had been the only time they'd been able to go-- the Grand Prix always either falling on or so close to Christmas that they were often countries away from home when the parade took place, but by stroke of luck, it had been scheduled oddly late that year, leaving Yuri and Otabek in town for the celebrations.

It had been Otabek's first parade, the aforementioned conflicts keeping him from seeing Petersburg in all of its wintery glory, but Yuri had been to the parade tons of times with his grandfather as a child, and had taken great pleasure in showing Otabek everything he deemed important.

It had been fucking freezing, it being winter in Russia and all, and standing just about immobile in the wind and snow hadn't helped any. Seeking a solution to the human-icicle inducing temperatures, Otabek had bought them both large mugs of hot chocolate and they'd conveniently forgotten that the beverage was absolutely not in their diet plans.

Immediately after purchasing the drinks, and delivering Yuri his, Otabek had taken a sip of his own-- doing so without having noticed the sign on the vendor's cart that warned about high product temperatures and recommended a three-minute wait before ingesting the beverage. Yuri, having made the mistake too many times to either make it again or feel too much sympathy for Otabek, proceeded to laugh and record it when his husband promptly turned red, and watched unhelpfully as -- and this he swore to -- steam came out of his ears.

It had taken a good ten minutes, and several handfuls of snow, to bring some relief to poor Otabek, and Yuri had just shaken his head, smiling amusedly as his husband sported a kicked-puppy look all the way home, thinking with affection that this was the idiot he'd decided to marry, and, with a slight smile at Otabek, that he was his idiot.

Yuri re-emerged from the memory with a snap, glancing up from the water glass he'd been staring vacantly into as Otabek tried, inconspicuously, to order a singular ice cube.

If the scene had happened only a few months before it did, Yuri would have laughed affectionately at the dumbass he called his husband. Now, though, he looked away, trying his best not to remember. To remember brought on illusions of contented domesticity-- as if he and Otabek had been together forever, and would be together forever, a nice idea but wholeheartedly unrealistic in Yuri's eyes.

Being with Otabek had been a brief taste of commitment, attachment that lasted, but it had been just that: a taste. Yuri would never get that kind of steady, stable love in his life. Otabek had been the closest he would ever get to it: the man had been with him for eleven years, and it took a special kind of person to tolerate him for that long the way Otabek had. But Yuri had been too much, and had driven him away, just like he did everyone-- so it really wasn't all that surprising that lovely, patient Otabek had eventually reached even his limit and sought an escape.

Yes, Otabek was the type of kind, amazing person who could deal with, and, maybe for a short time, even love, Yuri. But that time was up, Yuri reminded himself again. Yuri wasn't going to get forever; he'd made his peace with that, so there was no use dreaming of what he could never have.

Wrenching himself from his mind and finding Otabek regarding him with a concerned gaze, Yuri struck about for a distraction and found it in bringing up the reason they were there in the first place: the separation. Details were discussed and rough copies of contracts and legal papers were fleshed out, and by the time the question came, Yuri was so engrossed in reading over a lawyer's statement that he almost had to do a double-take.

"So," Otabek began, looking awkward, like he knew he shouldn't be asking but just couldn't help it, "How are you?"

"Fine."

"How's Potya?" He tried again.

"She's fine," Yuri's words were clipped, hollow. "I've been getting Victor to do her litter boxes."

Otabek nodded, searching his brain for something that could bring animation to the blonde. Normally, Potya was a surefire way to get a conversation going-- Yuri always being keen and excited to talk about his cat's antics. Now: nothing.

"That's good," Otabek replied, relieved at least of the fact that Yuri hadn't been trying to deal with Potya's litter when it was so dangerous while he was pregnant. "How are things at the studio?"

"Fine," Yuri said again, impassive and reserved as ever.

Okay, conversation was not going to be easy.

In a last-ditch attempt at small talk, and feeling himself die a little on the inside that this was what his relationship with Yuri had been reduced to, Otabek asked, borderline desperately, "How far along are you, again?"

"Sixteen weeks." Yuri answered, as indifferently as if he was giving the traffic report.

"Sixteen?" Otabek echoed, suddenly surprised and concerned. And, before thinking, "Aren't you supposed to go in to get checked out before then?" He knew full well that you were: eight weeks was late for a first appointment-- sixteen was unheard of.

"I did," Yuri's voice was clipped, "I had an appointment a few days ago."

"You already went to the doctor?" Otabek's voice betrayed his hurt, and his chocolate brown eyes were suddenly very sad. Yuri nodded and Otabek pressed his mouth firm, looking down at his hands, twisted together in his lap, before schooling his face back to its trademark stoicism. "I thought that you would have mentioned it," his voice was carefully controlled, but after so long with him, Yuri could see right through the charade. "Would've let me know."

"You had a meeting," Yuri responded, hearing exactly what Otabek wanted to, but didn't, say. "A contract with the label; it was still on the calendar."

The shared calendar with the cat pictures on it that hung in their kitchen.

"Oh," Otabek's voice was hollow and he looked like he was struggling to maintain his neutral mask, but it flickered despite his attempts, his eyes clearly pained. "I could've missed it," he looked toward
Yuri, expression both guarded and searching. "I had hoped to be there."

"It was mostly tests: you didn't miss much," Yuri said after a beat, "But," he reached into his wallet and withdrew a slip of paper. "Here; they gave me copies,"

"Is this--" Otabek's nonchalant facade shattered, eyes wide and fixed on the copy of the ultrasound.

Yuri gave a stiff nod, eyes on the tablecloth.

Otabek didn't speak for several minutes after that, gazing enraptured at the tiny photo, and, if Yuri had looked closer, he might have seen the intermingled joy and despair in his eyes.

When Otabek finally broke from his trance, he moved to hand the picture back, looking unwilling even as he held it out for Yuri to take.

"Keep it," Yuri returned, "I have copies."

Otabek nodded, swallowing slightly, and moved to tuck the paper into his pocket with the utmost care before saying, hesitantly, "I would really like to come to the next appointment."

The question was in his voice.

A moment passed before Yuri nodded slightly, "I'm scheduled to go back in June," he replied, and Otabek took a small breath before nodding as well, "I'll give you the address."

Otabek nodded again, and, sensing their imminent departure, a waitress came over, leaving the bill on the table. "I'll get it." Otabek said immediately and reached for it but Yuri shook his head.

"I can pay for myself."

"Let me at least get the crepe-- you didn't even order it," Otabek tried, his tone not dissimilar to a plea.

"I can pay." There was something in Yuri's voice that was hard and sharp-- something going far beyond matters of crepes.

"Okay," Otabek replied softly as Yuri paid for what he'd gotten, uncaring that he hadn't even eaten it.

Yuri waited just long enough for the waitress to return with his receipt before getting up; he offered a short nod to Otabek before walking out of the cafe. Otabek watched him go, a sadness in his eyes.