May 15th, 2025, Week 13

Yuri's POV 1st Person

"And you're sure you're okay with this?"

I roll my eyes, if I didn't want to do this I would have said so, not waited until the day of, but he needs another confirmation I suppose. 

"Yes, Beka. I'm sure," I tell him with a small exasperated smile, and give him a kiss. He looks at me with something close to worship in his eyes and takes the handle of the suitcase that waits by the door. I follow suit and grab my own, but find it prised from my hand almost immediately, "Beka," I groan, "I can pull my own suitcase!" He doesn't relinquish his grip, "I'm not an invalid, please don't treat me like one!" 

"You're not an invalid," He agrees, "You're pregnant, and for now that means you don't carry things." 

"But I'm not even carrying it, I'm pulling it! Besides, it weighs like two and a half pounds so even if I did carry it, it wouldn't make a difference," I tell him stubbornly and he just raises an eyebrow, 

"Twenty actually, and no," He kisses me on the cheek and walks out the door. Annoyed, I follow in his wake, locking the door behind us. After Otabek loads the cases into the back of the taxi, and again I'm not allowed to help, we get in, heading to the airport. We've decided to take a trip, I don't think either of us is entirely sure why, but we're really excited nonetheless. We're visiting Otabek's parents and sister in Kazakhstan, we haven't been there since before the engagement, and over three years before the wedding. Otabek misses his family I can tell and I'm happy to see them again, their lovely people. Allie's seventeen now, going into college next year and it's so weird, I can't think of her in any other way than the bubbly bouncing nine-year-old I met so long ago, or even the mature-ish eleven-year-old I saw last time we were there. 

I glance over at my husband, and he's so obviously happy I almost laugh out loud, he looks like a puppy and it's adorable. My left hand rests loosely in his right, the pair settled on the empty seat between us. He gives it a gentle squeeze and I smile, continuing to watch the passing sights that fly by the window, letting my eyes glaze over and fall into my thoughts. 

When we reach the airport we pay the taxi driver and Otabek unloads the bags, this time allowing me to carry our passports and tickets so we can check in more easily. Wow, I'm allowed to carry paper, what an honor. We check our bags and are left with just the carry-ons, I'm glad about this because since he won't let me help and I don't want Beka carrying too much. God, I sound like such a husband. We head through the doors to the beginning of customs and I groan, not at all willing to wait at the best of times, and this isn't exactly the best of times. Otabek glances at me, checking to see if I'm alright, "I'm too impatient for this," I mutter and he laughs, 

"We'll survive." 

And so we do, the line inches forward, and we wind obediently around the little ropes set up to keep us in order. By the time we get to the metal detectors, my feet are killing me, which doesn't bode well for the rest of the trip. At the sight of the metal detectors through the throngs of people, Beka gets a tight look on his face, and I immediately know what he's thinking. "It's okay," I remind him, "I made sure," And indeed I did, a lot of planning went into this trip. Flight lengths, time allowances, medical information, and radiation waves were all extensively researched along with several other categories of stuff to worry about. Long story short, as a result of my careful preparations I now know way too much about airports, including the fact that it's scientifically proven to be safe to go through the metal detectors, even if you're pregnant. I lace my fingers through Otabek's and give his hand a reassuring squeeze, poor guy, he worries so much about me and there doesn't seem to be anything I can do to ease his mind.

He goes through first and grabs our stuff off the conveyor belt while waiting for me to come through, a crease between his eyebrows. As I step up to the mechanical archway the security guard monitoring it hands me something. It looks like a thick blue smock, probably made to  further protect from radiation or something. It's really bulky and I feel my cheeks burn as I wrap it awkwardly around my midsection. The guard nods his head in approval and lets me pass, the light at the top flashing green as I do. I remove the smock immediately and hand it back through the doorway, my cheeks still on fire. I join Otabek on the other side to see that he has a broad smile on his face, obviously relieved. He gives me a quick kiss and we set off down the hall hand in hand to find the next section of customs.

Two hours, six lines, and at least four miles of airport later we finally reach the gate, with a good 45 minutes left before our flight boards. To my dismay the waiting area is almost full, only one seat left squished between the wall and a table. Otabek dumps the bags next to the table and leans against the wall, waiting for me to sit down. I don't, motioning for him to take the seat and mirroring his position. While my feet are killing me and I am exhausted, Otabek's been carrying all the bags and needs the chair more than I do. He obviously disagrees, 

"Yuri, why don't you sit down?" He asks me, gesturing at the empty seat, "You must be tired, there's been so much walking today,"

"I'm fine," I tell him a bit sharply, feeling I've been talked down to. I hate being patronized and if given the chance, will go above and beyond to prove that person wrong. "I'm sure you're tired too- you take it," 

"I'm not very tired," He says nonchalantly, shrugging, "But you must be, do your feet hurt?" He looks genuinely concerned and for some reason this annoys me further,

"I'm a figure skater Otabek, my feet are fine," They're not. I haven't been to practice in, God three months already? And as a result my body is much weaker than it once was; currently, I feel like I'm about to collapse. However, me being the stubborn asshole I am, am determined to ignore it. I'll sit down when we get on the plane, I reason, Forty-five minutes isn't that long.

It turns out it is. 

After ten minutes of my little mini protest, all the fight goes out of me, and I give; finally sitting down in the damn chair and not being happy about it. I hate it when Otabek's right, it happens much too often for my taste. I look through my Instagram feed to pass the time, finding many questions, comments, and posts from the Yuri's Angels. They've figured out by now that I'm not competing this season and while I haven't made a formal announcement about it, I did contact the ISU about withdrawing from competition and it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Skating was my life for so long, one of the few things I could steadily rely on to bring me joy before I met Otabek. This information aside, as I haven't confirmed the suspicions that I'm sitting this season out I obviously haven't announced my pregnancy either. I'm not sure I could take it, telling the entire world would make it finally real. I am happy about it, incredibly happy. But my life, Otabek's and my life that is, is going to be so different after this. Will I ever be able to compete again? Will Otabek? It seems unlikely with a screaming infant at home, but that's a reality I don't want to face. 

I find a particularly interesting looking post with me tagged and click to further investigate. It's filled with speculations and fan theories about an injury, and why my feed has been empty for so long. And indeed it has, ever since we first found out, I've had a huge amount of spare time which I wasn't used to, as training in some capacity had taken up my every waking hour. In the beginning, I recycled old skating pictures, wanting to keep the Angels off my back, then downgrading to the occasional picture of Potya, and eventually stopping altogether, no longer having the energy to try. The post concludes with a plea reaching out to "Yuri Plisetsky himself" to answer a few questions and let them know what's going on- that they're worried about me. It's sweet really, bringing a tiny smile to my face. While my fans are, for the most part, absolute psychos, they do seem to genuinely care about my wellbeing, and even though they harass me in many aspects of life, I greatly appreciate their support.

"We're up," Otabek says and grabs the bags from the floor as I lift myself from the chair. We've been refraining from waiting in the boarding line until it dwindled some, and now there's only a few people in our group left. It's quickly our turn and we file past, showing them our passports, boarding passes, and continuing through to the plane. The woman's eyes widen slightly as she takes in the names on our tickets, and draws in a small breath, instantly looking us over. We'd taken several precautions to avoid being recognized before customs, but we'd long since abandoned them and now there's no mistaking us for us, especially with our names in print. She nods and gives us a huge smile, telling us she's a fan and to please enjoy our flight. It's at this point I realize exactly how much I'm showing, while only being thirteen weeks along, I was extremely small from skating and that coupled with my string bean physique (Which I can't seem to shake no matter how hard I try) makes the tiny bump extremely noticeable. I'm lucky, however, that I happen to be wearing a loose shirt with an oversized sweater over that, which obscures any telltale signs. Or at least hides the blatantly obvious 'I'm Pregnant!' billboard I sometimes seem to wear. 

When we reach our seats it is with great relief I find that I have the aisle, and Otabek the window. While normally I like to watch the skies as I fly, nowadays I prefer having easier access to the bathroom for the obvious reasons. I shove my backpack under the seat in front of me as Otabek stows his in the overhead bins. I stand to let him pass but sink gratefully into the seat immediately following, glad at the prospect of not having to get up for the next six hours. 

Otabek's POV 1st Person

When at last all the passengers are sitting with their seatbelts buckled the flight attendants begin the usual safety drone you get at the beginning of every flight. We fly so often for competitions Yuri and I could both give these speeches verbatim if asked, but I do make a point to listen anyway, just in case. I look over at Yuri as the plane lifts off and find him looking utterly exhausted, eyelids drooping,  "Go to sleep," I kiss him gently on the head, "You've got plenty of time," And it's a sign of his true desperation for rest, that for once in his life, Yuri does as he's told. He lets himself slump to the side slightly and I put my arm around him so his head rests on my shoulder. He shuts his eyes and as I glance downward I see his arm move over from its previous position on the armrest. His right arm circles loosely around his minuscule stomach, his hand resting protectively on top of it. I can tell he does this automatically, being half asleep and far too prone to embarrassment to openly do something of this nature. My heart flutters at this sight, and I find myself unable to look away for a good amount of time, staring contentedly at the two things I love most in the world. Eventually, I follow Yuri into the land of sleep, images of the future filling my dreams. I can't wait.