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When the Fly meets the Web

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Yuri hates the rain. Hates rainy days that make everything gloomy, that turns the earth into sludge that clings to the soles of his ridiculously expensive shoes. Mostly, Yuri hates the reason why he's wearing expensive shoes in the rain.

He watches the small crowd around the alcove, black umbrellas under the thin rain that hasn't stopped pouring since Yuri'd left his loft. They all wear black, black suits, black ties, black expensive shoes, black dresses and black coats. Yuri frowns, closing his lips around the edge of his cigarette and watching the bright flame that forms at the end of the stick, parting his lips to blow smoke away. His new bodyguard, Francis or Frank, Yuri didn't know, furrowed his lips and turned his face away. On his first day of work he'd told Yuri his mother died of lung cancer due to her habit of smoking. He'd said it as though he expected it to incite an epiphany, or even a bout of camaraderie out of Yuri that would prevent him from smoking in his presence. Needless to say, Yuri didn't give a shit.

He needed a break from all of that. A break from standing under the rain, surrounded by those idiots that were unable to tell him anything other than how sorry they were for his loss. Even more so when a sleek black car pulled over to reveal Otabek, in his smooth black suit, climbing out of the driver's seat to offer his hand to his pretty new wife. Yuri had never wanted so much to hit someone. Only now the memory of it, the sight of their perfectly straightened backs as they watched the ceremony, black umbrella to keep them away from the rain, was enough to make him grit his teeth, tightening his hold on his cigarette until it'd lost all form and Yuri had to stomp on it.

"Would you kill someone if I asked you to, Francis?" Yuri asks, not taking his eyes away from Otabek, who is watching the ceremony with his perfect, serious, straight face. How dare him? How fucking dare him? To bring her here, in Yuri's presence. On this moment of Yuri's life when he needed someone so badly.

"Frank," the man corrects, sending Yuri a small, irritated glance. "And no, Mr Plisetsky, I'm not allowed to kill other bosses," he crosses his hands in front of his lap, in a kind of solemn pose, "but I know some who would be glad to take the job," he smirks tightly.

Yuri doubts Frank wouldn't if he asked him. Frank hated Otabek.

The woman, Otabek's wife, a pretty young thing with a weird accent, looks over her shoulder at Yuri. She doesn't pull a face, doesn't make her hatred for him visible. Yuri hates her all the more for it, for making up this fake, innocent, flowery persona, batting her eyelashes at Otabek to tell him his weird friend was glaring at her again. As though she didn't know. As though no one knew Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin had an affair.

She turns her face back to the priest when Otabek circles her waist with an arm. Yuri takes another cigarette out of his pocket, lights it. Frank watches him but says nothing.

"We should go back," his bodyguard says.

"I'm not finished," Yuri glances at him, half-way into his smoke. As though no one attending didn't already realize Yuri'd left because Otabek brought his wife.

"They will lower the coffin soon," Frank says, and in fact, Yuri can hear the priest saying his last words over the sound of the rain.

"Let them," Yuri tilts his chin up defiantly. He doesn't know if he wants to be present for that anyway.

Frank gives a put-upon sigh. He hates Yuri too.

A moment goes by and then a figure breaks from the crowd. Otabek. He walks down the pathway to the chapel towards them, under the rain. His wife looks over her shoulder at his retreating back, pathetically holding her umbrella. Her eyes find Yuri's for a second and she turns sharply away, lips shaking.

Yuri almost feels like winking back at her. He is a little shit.

Otabek clears the sole of his shoes on one of the stone steps, approaching Yuri carefully. His eyes look dark, and so sad. "Yura," he murmurs, and stops in front of him. Frank fidgets, glaring at Otabek and sending Yuri a careful glance.

"You needn't have come if you were going to bring that bitch," is how Yuri greets him, unapologetically dragging more of his cigarette.

"Yuri," Otabek drops the pet name, giving him a serious look.

Yuri snorts, "What? Protecting her honour already? Sorry the funeral spoiled your honeymoon."

Otabek purses his lips, nostrils flaring in irritation as he pockets his hands. They spend a moment in heavy silence. Otabek doesn't look at Yuri, is staring instead at his neck, where he'd promised to always leave a mark on. Yuri's neck, despite his promise, is still spotless, result of the days he'd spent without his lover, who was too busy in his honeymoon in fucking Greece.

Otabek's family is an old ally of his. Not as powerful as them, but his roots run as deep as Yuri's. They'd known each other since children, and Yuri still dreams of summer nights spent in his grandfather's old study, fifteen and stubborn as all hell, being gently fucked by an eighteen year old Otabek, whose cock filled him in a way that made Yuri want to cry.

Yuri had spent all summer provoking him. He'd always found the Altin's older son to be sinfully attractive, dark and sombre, quiet in his own way, always sticking to his father, always polite. He was the perfect son to follow in his father's footsteps. Not at all like Yuri, who wore skirts just to get his grandfather mad, whose vocabulary already consisted of a good deal of curse words at the tender age of twelve. Yuri, because Otabek had played him right into his hand, thought they would marry one day. Now the thought of it makes his eyes sting more than his grandfather's dead body does.

"Black doesn't suit you," Otabek points out.

Yuri doesn't need to look down to know what he's talking about. He is, by Victor's insistence and Katsuki's tearful cajoling, wearing the nicest pair of suit he owns. Yuri smirks. "Funny," he tilts his chin to the side, "you seemed to love me in my black lingerie."

Frank chokes at his side. Oh, yes, the reason why he hates Otabek? Because if it weren't for him Frank wouldn't be made to listen to them fucking. And Yuri loves to fuck very loudly.

Otabek shuts his eyes as though asking for divine patience. "Yura-" he begins.

"If you need reacquainting I'm still free every Thursday."

"Yura, I'm so sorry," Otabek speaks over him. Yuri's smirk falls off. "For Nikolai. Yuri, I'm sorry."

Yuri's bottom lip trembles. He hates Otabek so much. He wants to claw his eyes out, wants to dig his hands into his chest, wants to destroy him. Why can't he have him? He was the only thing Yuri truly ever wanted. But Yuri took it for granted and now he was left with nothing.

Yuri tweaks his cigarette aside. He hates this kind of talk. "Beka," he says, and his voice comes out hoarse. He turns his face away in a knee-jerk reaction, "Frank, leave," he commands, and Frank walks away with a nod.

Otabek reaches out to squeeze Yuri's waist comfortingly. Yuri can feel a headache coming and his eyes brim with tears. He hadn't felt like crying before. Yuri is not sentimental. That's why he smokes in front of Frank, uncaring of his dead mother, that's why he and Otabek fuck even though he's married, that's why Yuri is who he is. But in that moment he feels something odd, something cold and heavy, something terrible that drags a sob out of him. The memory of his grandfather is so vivid in his head that Yuri doesn't know how he can go on without him. He wasn't the nicest man Yuri'd ever known. In fact, Yuri came to hate him when he'd made he and Otabek separate. But he was family. He'd already lost Beka, and now this too.

Otabek brings him up to his chest wordlessly, letting Yuri's tears moisten his suit. Yuri misses the feel of his bare skin against his own and digs his nails into Otabek's shoulder blades. Otabek cards his fingers through his hair soothingly, supporting his chin on Yuri's head and kissing the crown of it. "It's all right, Yura. You'll be fine."

"No, Beka, no, he's gone," Yuri smudges his face against the seam of Otabek's impeccable suit. "I- I promised him. Before he died. But now he's gone."

Otabek makes to pull away, but Yuri drags him closer. "Yura, Yuri, don't- Nikolai has always wanted what was best for us," he tilts Yuri's chin up with his knuckles and stares at him. The metal of his wedding ring feels cold against Yuri's skin, but Yuri loves those eyes. He loves everything about Otabek. "Don't confuse things."

"Beka," Yuri babbles, "divorce her." Otabek is already shaking his head. "Please, Beka," Yuri clings to Otabek's collar, "you don't love her. You don't."

"That's not about love, Yuri," Otabek pulls away, "my family-"

"Ugh! Your family, Beka?! Is it so fucking important to you?" Yuri exclaims. Otabek stares back at him impassively. "Let me tell you something," Yuri points an accusing finger at him, "people already know. People already talk about us and if you're living under the illusion that your little perfect wife doesn't know how you shove your cock in me under her nose you're sorely mistaken," Yuri hisses. "Do as you must then if your family name is so important. But I've done as my family abided and look at me. My family is gone."

Yuri feels so furious that he leaves. Otabek calls him, weakly, Victor and Katsuki turn their heads when he leaves without watching the rest of the ceremony, but Yuri doesn't give a fuck. He can't stand being in their presence. Afterwards he'll regret pushing Otabek away, he'll regret not listening to him and not doing as he'd told him to. But Yuri doesn't know how far his own brain can trick him into blaming himself for being the sole reason why Otabek isn't always beside him. Yuri had done nothing wrong. Circumstances were shit. Maybe his grandfather had always been right. Maybe all Yuri and the Altin boy needed was distance.