Over the next few weeks, Yuri encountered many changes in his life, the first of which being that he had been asked to permanently take over the junior ballet class for which he'd once substitute-taught. The next change, coming within the hour of the first, was that his hours at the rink had been cut. The excuse Victor had given for the decision was that with Yuri's new ballet class, the hours at the rink became unnecessary, and, in hopes of avoiding an argument (an unnecessary fear, really, for there was no hope of rekindling Yuri's old flame), Victor said that Yuri would retain two on-ice classes a week, though rudimentary level ones.

Though the rationale behind Victor's decision did, in theory, make sense, Yuri suspected that his motivation for the change came from a less logical place in him than his brain.

Yuuri and Victor were worried, that was clear as day. What they were worried about, Yuri could not say for certain; maybe it was his continuing as usual under changed circumstances, maybe his continued disinterest in his pregnancy, maybe even his hollow, uninterested demeanor, but it was certain that he was the object of their concern.

While it was likely that a mixture of the three mentioned reasons and doubtlessly more cemented the couple's anxiety on his behalf, Yuri hypothesized that maybe the second reason took the spotlight for them. It would, he figured: when Victor and Yuuri had had their first child, Luci, they had been ecstatic; absolutely over the moon about every stage of her existence, -- even the godforsaken morning sickness that had plagued Yuuri -- so, of course, Yuri's noticeable lack of jubilation would surprise and concern them.

Acting most-likely with the intention of (in their minds) helping Yuri come to grips with his reality, the couple had been highly vocal about his pregnancy, though Yuri did ask them to try to refrain from mentioning it in the studio should his pupils overhear. Of course, this only invited concerned glances and questions as to why he didn't want people to know; wasn't this a good thing? After brushing off their inquiries with vague mutterings about privacy, Yuri made his escape from the conversation topic. With all his years with Victor and Yuuri, though, he should have known that it was better just to be straight with them and effectively bar any follow-up circumstances. He really should have.

But he didn't. Which was why he found himself there, at their house, going over a maternity scrapbook with Luci sitting behind him and Elliot (her little brother, only seven months old) on his knee. He had been invited under the pretext of dinner, and while he'd done his best to decline, Victor's stubbornness on the matter had become exhausting and, half an hour later, his hair was being played with by a five-year-old.

"Oh," Yuuri laughed in a slightly pained way, pointing at a photo in the book, "I remember when this was taken: I had just tried on half of what I owned and nothing fit," he shook his head ruefully, "I was so annoyed-- I ended up having to go shopping that day just to find something I could comfortably wear." He paused a second, looking thoughtful, "You're reaching that stage about now, aren't you? I remember it happened when I was around the five-month mark."

Yuri looked up, having been lost in thought, and needing to mentally replay the comment before he could reply. "Not yet, no."

"Really?" Victor raised a surprised and incredulous eyebrow; he glanced at Yuri's midriff, but his view was impeded by little Elliot, playing with the fingers of Yuri's right hand, having snatched them up immediately. "I thought you looked rather--"

"Victor," Yuuri spoke up, shooting his husband a glance that could either be interpreted as sickly sweet or downright dangerous. "Why don't you check on dinner?"

Victor looked ruffled but nodded before getting up and leaving the room, shooting the two Yuris a questioning glance over his shoulder.

"Sorry," Yuuri turned to the younger, "that was a bit... brusque, even for him; you know he didn't mean it offensively." Yuri nodded, shrugging. "So," Yuuri continued, prompting in Yuri's silence. "How are you?"

"Fine."

Yuuri scrutinized him, his gaze almost painfully understanding, "You know," he began, "you can always talk to us-- to me, if it's easier; I know Victor can be a bit... excitable, sometimes," the look with which he regarded Yuri could almost be called beseeching. "We're always here for you."

Yuri nodded, his gaze firmly on little Elliot as he sucked joyfully upon Yuri's fingers.

Yuuri bit his lip, looking like he wanted to say more, but was interrupted: Victor popped his head through the kitchen door.

"Dinner's ready!" The Yuris nodded together.

Handing Elliot back to Yuuri and detaching his fingers from the baby's mouth, Yuri moved to stand, only to find himself pulled into a backbend, tiny hands holding him in place; he'd forgotten that Luci was playing with his hair.

"Luci, let him up!" Yuuri called, shaking his head with an amused smile on his face as he noticed Yuri's predicament. Luci giggled and let go, trotting up to her father's side and passing through to the dining room. Yuri followed, though as he walked by the hall mirror, he paused, taking in his appearance. Luci had braided his hair.

Yuuri, standing in the doorway, noticed Yuri's pause. "Yuri?"

Yuri barely heard him. His hair was braided.

Braids had been Otabek's specialty.*

Whether it had been an elegant updo with dozens of interlocking strands that crisscrossed so intricately it was dizzying to look upon, or a simple, three-strand plait down his back, Otabek had been the master of braiding Yuri's hair, and had done so time and time again to perfection. If they had had time, Otabek would style Yuri's hair for competitions, and every day, without fail, braid it for him before bed.

Yuri would never forget the feeling of nimble fingers running through his hair: massaging his scalp, gently detangling the spun-gold strands, and delicately weaving that three-prong pattern with them, always culminating in that same, gentle kiss.

He could never forget it, no matter how hard he may try.

"Don't you like the braid?" Yuri snapped back to reality, turning from his reflection to Yuuri's questioning eyes. "I know it's kind of messy, but for a five-year-old, it's pretty good."

Yuri's voice was quiet and reserved when he spoke, eyes downcast. "I don't wear braids." And, slowly, his hands came up and began unweaving the blond locks, pulling out the plait until his hair hung limply down his back once more.

***

As Yuri left the Katsuki-Nikiforov residence that night, he tried to decline Victor's offer to drive him home; for the second time that day, Victor's persistence became so exhausting, Yuri gave in. Yuri normally wouldn't have been in a position to be offered a ride home, to begin with, but he'd been kidnapped straight from the studio, and, it having been a nice day, he'd walked there. Now, though, he found himself sitting in the passenger seat of Victor's car, staring vacantly out the window at the scenery speeding by.

"Yuri?" He looked up, "I'm sorry about earlier," Victor began, biting his lip and looking guiltily ahead, "I wasn't trying to be rude when I said your clothes didn't fit: I just assumed that by now you'd be showing, but Yuuri said that it was offensive, and I apologize: I didn't mean it to be."

Yuri's eyes didn't stray from the window. "It's fine."

And it was fine: by now, Yuri was accustomed to Victor's lack of thought before speech; the issue was, though, that he had been right: Yuri was showing.

At a scant 18 weeks pregnant, Yuri had thought that he wouldn't start looking noticeably, distinguishably pregnant for another few months yet. But, according to his doctor, due to his slim, natural build and continuous athleticism, he should have started showing at month three-- the only thing that had kept him from doing so was the fact that he had been so underweight, and now, with that fixed, he was far rounder than he would have expected.

It was a difficult thing to deal with, -- made especially so since Yuri's opinion toward his future child was apathetic and detached at best -- that he now had a constant reminder that this was very real, and very much happening. There was really no denying it: he had reached a point where even his baggiest, most oversized sweaters couldn't entirely hide his growing abdomen.

Which was what he found a few days later, as he stood in his bedroom, trying futilely to coerce a pair of jeans to buttoning. With a final tug, Yuri gave up, slumping down onto his bed; he sighed quietly as he regarded the garment: the zipper only went a few millimeters up and the fabric stretched up in a V, immovably a good few inches apart where it was supposed to be together and secured.

Yuri sighed again, abandoning the article, and instead pulling on a pair of leggings; the waistband dug uncomfortably into his distended abdomen.

At least it fit though.

Only leggings and stretch pants were left to him now -- literally nothing else would come up above his hips, and even those things were quickly becoming too tight.

There was nothing he could do at this point, he supposed; Victor had been right: he had to buy new clothes.

***

Yuri scanned the racks around him, honestly mystified that there were so many options, and feeling more than a little lost. While his stomach was noticeably large, -- and he felt it to be even more so -- all of the options that he could see would be far too big for him. Just as he was about to turn around and go home, resolved to try again another day, a cheerful voice and bouncy ponytail came into view. "Can I help you?"

Yuri turned, watching as a salesgirl approached; he blinked, "Yes," he said after a moment, "I'm looking for pants?"

"Okay," the girl said with a smile, and Yuri read her name tag to be Julie, "come with me." They walked to the other side of the store, Julie's pace slow, -- Yuri wondered idly if all of the sales associates were instructed to move slowly so as not to outpace a pregnant waddle (Yuri hadn't yet reached that stage: he still moved normally, and of that, he was quite glad) -- and as they came to the opposite wall, Yuri was confronted by pairs upon pairs of pants. Turning to him, Julie offered an open smile. "What size are you?" She asked.

"Extra small, normally," was Yuri's way of saying he had no clue how maternity sizing worked.

The girl lead him over to a few racks in front of them, "I don't know what style of pants you're looking for; exercise, jeans, formalwear, or anything else, but we have it all, and everything we sell here has a built-in pregnancy panel, so it can adjust as your belly grows." The girl paused and Yuri realized that she was probably waiting for him to say something.

"I was looking for jeans and leggings mostly." he said and she nodded, taking that as an acceptable response.

"Okay, we have some jeans over here -- they're a bit trickier because the legs often swell a bit during pregnancy and you have to find the right fit -- and beside them is a range of leggings and sweatpants. Do you mind my asking about your job?"

"I'm a dance teacher." Yuri wondered why that was relevant.

"Okay," Julie said, turning to grab a few things off of the rack, "I have a few options here that would work well for that. The leggings are stretchy, of course," she smiled, "and again have the tummy panel." She smiled again and went on. She was so cheerful, Yuri couldn't help but think. "They're fairly lightweight so they should work well in a studio, especially during the summer months, and they come in a range of colors and styles, all of which extremely durable and washer/dryer friendly." Yuri nodded again and allowed the girl to hand him a few pairs of leggings and sweatpants before looking over him with a critical eye and adding a set of jeans to the pile. "We have a fitting room for you to try those on," she said, "but first do you need any tops?" Yuri honestly hadn't thought that far into it. "It can never hurt to be prepared." She gave a happy, little shrug.

"Sure." Yuri didn't know what to say, but the girl nodded and guided him to another set of racks a few paces over.

"Here we have some of our more athletic options: tank tops, t-shirts, thin sweaters and the like," she said, "if you're a dance teacher I recommend looking at them."

Under Julie's watchful eye, helpful suggestions, and tidbits of information, Yuri left the store with several shirts and pairs of pants-- one of them even being jeans.

The latter item had been a major surprise to Yuri: he'd tried them on in the changing room, as she'd suggested, and found that they fit perfectly. It was after he'd taken them off, however, that he was truly shocked: they were a size medium.

Medium? He'd gone up three sizes seemingly overnight? What was even more surprising, though, was the fact that they had molded to his body perfectly: his legs and ass fit snugly into the denim and it seemed as though the jeans had been made just for him. He'd known that the legs and other appendages swelled during pregnancy, but he had never thought that they would swell enough for him to go up three whole sizes.

He let it go, though, and just thanked the fact that he now had clothes he could fit into. One downside to maternity clothing, though, as he later found, was that it was made to advertise his stomach, highlighting it and throwing it into sharp relief against the rest of his slim form. With the new clothes, it was only a matter of time until he would be asked the dreaded question, and, resigned to the fact that they would have to know sooner or later, Yuri went into the studio that day, prepared to make the announcement to his students.

Yuri sighed as he entered his studio for his last class of the day; his head was pounding and he was not eager to spend another hour and a half teaching, even if it was his Senior Pointe class.

The class, as a rule, was a fairly easy one to deal with: no energetic, bouncing-off-the-walls, little kids, and no temper tantrums like the ones he got from his junior ballet class-- those always gave him headaches. No, Senior Pointe was, not more relaxed, for it was a very intense class, but he didn't have to play mediator and behavior management specialist: the students were driven, focused, and, mostly, receptive to his corrections-- eager to improve their craft.

Which was why, he thought, as he glanced at the clock, he was surprised that with five minutes until class began, no one was in the studio warming up. With the idea of reminding his students that were doubtlessly congregated in the locker room from which stemmed the individual boys' and girls' changing rooms, that it was nearly time to start, Yuri left his studio, making his way down the hall.

Yuri was about to poke his head into the locker room and deliver his message when he stopped, hearing his name spoken aloud from the inside.

"I heard his husband left him." A voice said,

"Really?" Inquired another,

"Yeah," it was the former voice, "a few weeks ago, I overheard Mr. Katsuki and Mr. Nikiforov saying that they were separated."

"Is that true?" A third, female, voice broke in. "It doesn't sound like it; why would they separate? They were great together."

"I don't know," voice number one again, and Yuri could almost hear the shrug its words were doubtlessly accompanied by. "He's gotten kinda fat lately; maybe that's it."

"That's ridiculous," the third voice -- Yuri thought it might be Ekaterina -- said scornfully, "couples don't separate just because someone gains a little weight-- and I don't think he has; Yuri's always been incredibly thin and really muscular; since he stopped skating it would make sense if he lost a bit of that, now he's not bound by those psycho diets and training routines."

"It's more than that though:" it was voice number one again, "he's really gotten fat-- have you seen him? Even under those bulky sweaters he wears, you can tell he's gained a lot of weight."

"Alexei, will you stop with that?" Ekaterina sounded annoyed, "Just leave him alone, will you? Even if he is a little rounder than before, who cares? It's his business and it's not like it interferes with him being able to do his job-- just let it be."

"Okay, okay," Alexei said, "I'm just saying: if I was Otabek, I wouldn't want to be stuck with someone who let themself go like that either-- it's so unattractive."

Yuri could hear Ekaterina begin to say something, sounding angry, but chose that moment to interrupt her, stepping into the locker room.

Sure enough, all of his students were in there, some of them seated in stretches, others on their phones or standing, but all froze when he appeared; looking up at him, wide-eyed and fearful, the common thought was obvious: how much did he hear?

"Two minutes until class starts." Yuri's voice was, in its custom, devoid of emotion (or any sign of human life, Victor had once teased in a pitiful attempt at levity, before getting a sharp glare from Yuuri and mumbling an apology), but, going by the fear in the dancers' eyes, one would think that Yuri was livid. Perhaps his previous, spit-fire personality had conditioned them to fear him.

As he re-entered his studio, Yuri paused a moment, glancing at himself in the mirror. The signature oversized sweater was in place, and beneath it, he knew, was a set of the new exercise clothing he'd acquired not too long ago.

Regarding his reflection, and what he planned to do in just a few minutes, Yuri removed the sweater, placing it on the floor next to his phone and the speaker at the front of the room, before the mirrored wall.

Slowly, timid students began to file in, eyes downcast and looking mortified-- Alexei at the very back of the procession. They moved to their places and began to stretch, waiting for Yuri to turn on the music that played in the background while they warmed up. Instead, Yuri spoke.

"I have an announcement to make," he said at length, and immediately twelve heads shot up to look at him, every face anxious. "I tell you this only because it will doubtlessly affect the course of our lessons, and because you're bound to notice eventually," he continued and made eye contact with Alexei, stretching from his spot in the front line. The boy looked terrified. "I'm pregnant."

The room was deathly still for a moment: no one moved, and Yuri watched as guilt flashed across Alexei's face.

"That's wonderful!" Ekaterina broke the silence, smiling widely, her eyes sparkling. "You must be thrilled!"

"How far along are you?" Another girl asked, smiling too.

"Nineteen weeks." Was Yuri's reply.

"Oh, that's so exciting!" She squealed, and Yuri pressed his lips into a firm line, forcing a small nod.

"Do you know if it's a girl or a boy yet?" Ekaterina asked, "They can normally find out at sixteen weeks, right?" She got a few odd looks from other classmates at the information, "My sister's three," she said by way of explanation, shrugging, "I remember a lot of it."

A few people nodded, before turning to Yuri, every eye on him, waiting for an answer.

"It's a girl."

There was a collective cry of celebration, coupled with a few eye-rolls from the males of the class, and Yuri's stomach tightened as he was bombarded with congratulations and joyful comments.

"Yes, well, we need to start stretching," he said, effectively putting an abrupt end to the merrymaking. Why they were so excited, he had no idea. "We have a lot of work to do today," Yuri continued, "today will be a technical class focusing on flexibility."

There was a collective groan; the subject was dropped; music was put on, and the class continued stretching.

***

"Straighten that knee-- good, now hold that for a count of three... okay, bring it down." Ekaterina released her Scorpion hold gracefully, bringing her right leg down in a controlled arch, even though Yuri knew it had to be burning from how long it had been held aloft.

At the tail end of their flexibility intensive, the Senior Pointe class was working on their -- one of the most demanding turn positions in ballet and one Yuri had originally learned as the in skating.

Yuri had noticed that during the class's recent routines, many of the students' techniques had been lacking, and he could see the glaringly obvious strain in the faces of his dancers whenever they had encountered the more flexibility-oriented aspects of their numbers. As he walked around the room now, Yuri was pleased to see that most of his students were hitting the move with little difficulty, his only comment to them being that they need to relax their shoulders or shift the weight on their supporting foot; as his eyes landed on Alexei, though, he was met with a very different sight.

Alexei had never been very flexible-- an odd hindrance of a trait for a ballet dancer to have. He worked hard though, and often what he lacked in flexibility he made up for in power and determination. Yuri had found him to be much like Otabek in that way, especially with (until a few hours ago) his constant courtesy and kindness. In the past, Yuri had regarded him as Otabek's mini-me, thinking them similar in both their physical limitations and achievements, and in their kind, genuinely good dispositions. Now, he wasn't so sure.

"Alexei," the boy flinched, releasing his pose and turning to Yuri, biting his lip. Before today, Yuri might've found the red flush on his face -- so like Otabek's while stretching -- endearing, but now he found it hard to believe that the boy had much in common with Otabek after all, his words from this morning so vastly different than anything Otabek would ever say. "Your foot was barely parallel to your head-- with that pose, you could be in one of my novice classes. Let me see it again, and this time keep your core tight and your back closed; your leg needs to be able to come all the way up-- you can't just fake it with your back twisted into a pretzel." The boy nodded, face flaring red at the remonstrance, and swept his leg back through first position in a tendu, before intercepting it with his hand and pulling it up into the pose. His face was red with effort, and, "Breathe," Yuri reminded him, before stepping up to him to push lightly on his stomach -- reminding him to engage his core -- and putting a hand under the knee of his free leg, urging it up.

Stepping back from him, Yuri watched as Alexei held the pose for another three counts, before falling quickly (clumsily) out of it. Yuri pursed his lips: "If you want to get onto the Bolshoi Ballet, as I know you do, you'll need to improve on that; stretch and practice the sweep through first up to your head twice a day for the next week and we'll see how you do next Tuesday. In the meantime... Ekaterina! Come over here and demonstrate the proper Scorpion position and its dismount."

Ekaterina looked up, surprised, but nodded, leaving her place in the center of the room working on Scorpion turns (a task Yuri had assigned his most advanced dancers), and made her way over to the barre at which Yuri and Alexei stood. At a nod from Yuri, she slowly swept her right foot back, catching it and -- excruciatingly slowly, poor girl -- raising it over her head until it was straight and her back arched enough that her nose was in danger of brushing the back of her knee.

"See how tight her core is?" Yuri asked Alexei, who nodded, biting the inside of his cheek and looking as if he was making an effort so as not to look annoyed at being demonstrated to-- normally, he was the one demonstrating. "You can release it now," Yuri told Ekaterina, and she delicately relieved her leg and brought it down, pointed, straight, and purposely slowly. "Good," Yuri told her, "go work on cool down." She nodded and was gone.

After having Alexei run the pose a few more times, Yuri dismissed him and the rest of the class; he was about to leave too, two signatures away from being done with his day's paperwork at the front desk, when Victor approached him.

"You told your class today," he stated it as a fact, for it was, but there was a questioning air to it.

Yuri nodded, "They were bound to notice eventually."

Victor hesitated, looking as if he wanted to say something else but didn't quite know how to word it; Yuri's pen flashed across the page and he set the paper aside: he was done.

"Why didn't you tell us that it's a girl?" Victor's voice was carefully measured, no accusation and no hurt to it, but as hard as he tried, the concern slipped through.

Yuri shrugged. "It didn't come up." He stood, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

Victor bit his lip, "Yuri," he began, again in that urgent, yet unsure manor, "you can always talk to us -- Yuuri and I --; we're always here for you." Yuri nodded, eyes on the pocket of his bag, within which his hand searched for his keys. "You know that, right? You're family; we want to help you-- in any way you need." Yuri nodded again, finally locating his keys and moving to leave. "Yuri--"

"I know," Yuri said it quietly, his eyes not on Victor's but straight ahead. He took a breath, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Victor bit his lip, but nodded, watching him go. "Bye."

***Asterisks***

(Links that provide a better understanding of the text to those who don't skate, dance, or read every single comment chain on Chapter One.)

* The braid thing was the brilliant idea of @elloimfinest_ttd, who is also amazing enough to be making me a cover! They suggested the idea of the braid thing in the comments of Chapter One and were gracious enough to let me incorporate it into the story. Thanks again @elloimfinest_ttd (who is also a great writer -- go check their stories out!)! Did you like what I did with it (though it admittedly wasn't much, lol)?

** Scorpion hold: youtube.com/watch?v=3jEicZ0F2L0

*** Biellmann Spin: youtube.com/watch?v=w2XcvbBPhmY&feature=youtu.be

(Yes, I checked the links; I'm 99% sure they work!)