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missmarquin · 5 years

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Magnetic, Ch. 3

In the future, romantic attraction is literal: each person is fitted with an electromagnetic bracelet which will pull you to your soulmate. It’s hard, wondering who’s out there for you. It’s harder yet, when you have to come to understand yourself first.

Read on A03 (proper italics and such!).

Armature

‘In a DC machine, the armature reaction changes the distribution of the magnetic field, which affects the operation of the machine as a whole.’

---

“I’m so fucking exhausted,” Yuri groused, leaning against the headboard of Mila’s bed. He didn’t have many friends this side of Moscow, but he was lucky to know her. For the times that he and Otabek weren’t glued at the hip, she filled in quite nicely. He moved to pull off his shoes, intent on massaging away the day’s practice and--

“Ew, get your nasty feet off of my comforter--”

“Your feet are just as nasty,” Yuri snapped, ignoring her plea. The moment his boots were off, he shook out his foot, trying to stretch the soreness away.

Mila stuck her tongue out at him, plopping down next to him. She removed her shoes as well, pulling a roll of bandages out from her bedside table. “I swear, Madame is cruel to us.”

“I’m pretty sure that she delights in seeing our feet bleed.”

“No pain, no gain,” Mila hummed, rubbing her fingers along the fine bones of her foot.

“I’ll take the fucking pain,” Yuri groused, following suit. His feet were worse than hers, all bunions and crooked toes and purple nails. The look that Mila shot him was laughable, like she couldn’t comprehend such a ridiculous thing.

“Yuri, you hate pain,” she deadpanned.

“Yeah, but it’s a welcome distraction,” he replied, and then he hissed slightly as his fingers ran over a tender area of skin. He opened up a tub of some numbing pain cream, slathering it over the area.

Mila watched for a moment, but when it became clear that he wasn’t going to continue, she said, “Explain.”

Yuri looked up at her, ready to dodge the question, but the moment that he saw her determined expression, he knew that it would be a futile effort. So instead, he sighed heavily, and replied with, “It’s the fucking bracelet.” He shook his wrist for dramatic effect. “It won’t shut the fuck up.”

“What do you mean shut up?”

“The stupid tug. Or whatever it is. You know, the feeling.”

Mila was older, and had her own bracelet. Yuri knew that it was active too, he’d seen the gentle green light as it blipped quietly. Mila had never really seemed to pay attention though; she’d never seemed bothered by it. She lifted her wrist slightly, looking at it.

“I mean… it’s not like I feel nothing,” she finally said, regarding the thin metal links wrapped around her skin. “But it’s not like…”

“Not like what?”

“It’s just there,” she finishes. “It’s a gentle tug, but it’s not going anywhere, you know?”

Yuri just blinked at her, uncomprehending. “Gentle,” he repeated. “What the fuck are you on about? Mine’s practically roaring in my veins.”

It was Mila’s turn to blink, her lips tugging into a slight frown. “Yuri, I don’t think that’s normal--”

“It’s constantly distracting me,” he cut in. He wasn’t looking at her, aggressively wrapping sports tape around his toes, fingers curled tightly around the sticky cotton. “It’s like this searing itch, a burning underneath my skin. My blood is practically on fire, and I’m trying to ignore it, but I just--” He paused, sighing, dragging a hand down his face. “My body wants to go. Wants to follow it, and I just can’t--”

Yuri tied off the tape, flopping onto his stomach, laying there pathetically on the covers. “I have things that I need to focus on,” he finished with. “Primo Ballerino is right fucking there for me, and I can’t be dealing with this shit.”

Mila was quiet a long moment. In fact, the moment was so long, that Yuri was concerned that he broke her, but then-- “Are you sure that this isn’t about Otabek?”

Yuri froze.

Yuri felt the little tendrils of anger flood him slowly. How dare she bring that up, how fucking dare--

Yuri regretted telling Mila about that. It been years ago, but it had been a mistake. Mila rarely mentioned it, knowing how testy it made him, but it was the wrong fucking thing to say at that moment, that was for sure.

She couldn’t hide the sly little smile that tugged at her lips though, like she just knew she’d hit the bull’s eye on the target.

Yuri refused to answer, so she spoke again. “His bracelet never turned on,” she said quietly. “And now yours has, and the pull is so strong that your body just wants. But your head doesn’t, Yuri, because--”

“Don’t,” he snapped.

“Because--”

“I fucking swear to God Mila, if you finish that sentence--”

“You’ll what, kick me out? This is my room.” Yuri practically hissed at her in response, which only caused her to sigh. “You know, tons of people ignore their bracelet,” she continued. “If it bothers you so much, then just take it off.”

It was such a simple solution, really. And Yuri had considered it. But then there was just the question, that entire what if of the entire thing and--

And then there was Beka. His nearest, dearest friend Beka, who he cared more about in the entire world. Who, once upon a time he hoped to have something with. But then there was Amita.

And then there wasn’t Amita.

And then there was nothing, nothing for Otabek. Which was ridiculous because as far as Yuri was concerned, Otabek was fucking perfect.

“It’s not fair,” Yuri finally said.

It was Mila’s turn to sigh, leaning over, moving to run a gentle hand along his back. “It’s alright,” she tried to soothe, moving her hand in comforting circles along the curve of his spine.

But it wasn’t okay.

Otabek didn’t have a bracelet that worked.

Yuri’s tugged him somewhere else, and he just couldn’t follow it because--

It wasn’t okay, because Yuri loved Otabek, and he had for as long as he could remember.

How was that for fucking fair?

…

Yuri never asked the Piggy for advice.

Usually Yuuri just gave it to him, free of charge. Or you know, forced it upon him. Yuri wasn’t the kind to ask for help, so when he did, Yuuri knew that something was very wrong. He immediately met him for coffee, a little bit too eager to lend a hand.

Maybe that was why Yuri fidgeted in his seat, his fingers tapping against the ceramic mug set between them. It was hot to the touch, and he knew that the liquid would burn, but--

“Yurio,” Yuuri started with, causing him immediately sneer.

“Don’t fucking call me that--”

And then Yuuri smiled gently, his eyes practically shining behind his stupid glasses, and Yuri realized that he’d been duped. He’d fallen right into the Pig’s trap, his attempt to gain some normalcy between then.

Yuri was pissed, because it had fucking worked.

Yuuri watched him worry the handle of his mug for a minute, before asking, “Yuri, what is it? Is something the matter?”

“Why did you follow the tug of your bracelet?”

Yuuri blinked at that, and then looked at his wrist. He didn’t wear the gadget anymore, he didn’t need to. Instead there was a gold wedding band on his ring finger, because he’d found his one, and while Yuri would never fucking admit it, he was a smidgeon jealous that he could accept it so carefree and--

“Oh I didn’t,” was Yuuri’s reply.

It wasn’t an answer that Yuri expected, but far more in line with the man’s personality. Yuuri was a nervous ball of anxiety, and somehow, he’d managed to snag fucking Victor Nikiforov, the world’s most eligible ballerino-turned-bachelor.

“Explain,” Yuri demanded.

“I ignored it,” Yuuri said quietly, before sipping at his tea. He would always complain about the quality of the green tea in Russia, but drank it anyway. “I was too busy with school you know,” he continued, swirling his finger along the rim of his mug. “Med school isn’t easy and my eyes were set on becoming a doctor. Besides, the idea that there was someone out there for me-- well, it didn’t sit easily.”

Yuri cocked his head to the side at that. “Why?”

“Yuri, look at me. I’m an anxious, nervous mess. Do you really think that I wanted to introduce someone to that? That they’d like it?”

“But I mean,” Yuri started, but then struggled to find the right words. “Soul mate,” he finally blabbered. Not his most articulate moment.

“What if you crossed the world to find that special someone, only to have him turn out to be like me?” The face of disgust that Yuri pulled was almost immediately, but Yuuri laughed. “Exactly.”

“But Victor--”

“Is an absolute idiot,” Yuuri cut in, but he said it with affection. “And a brilliant example of how you can’t always escape your fate.”

“Explain,” Yuri said for the second time.

Yuuri sighed, warming his fingers on his mug. “I spent so much time ignoring my own bracelet, that I didn’t think of the alternative.”

“Alternative--”

“That the person on the other end might come looking for me instead.”

That effectively shut Yuri up. He worried his lip between his teeth, worried his mug between his hands, worried just about everything on his body, because that was something that he had never even considered.

He might be adamant about forgetting it, but that didn’t mean that the person on the other end wouldn’t. And even if he took off, even if he never wore it again, it didn't matter-- the damned thing was a fucking beacon, and it would remain that way until they met.

Yuuri must have seen the panicked look on Yuri’s face, because he spoke again. “I thought it was the end of the world, at first. Victor is a gorgeous man, and I mean, how the hell could he be my soulmate?”

“Yeah, what the fuck is with that?” Yuri’s ill attempt at humor made the other man crack a smile, at least.

“I know you’re scared,” Yuuri said. “And I know it probably has to do with Ot--”

“Nope, stop right there!” Yuri snapped, his chest suddenly tight. Jesus fucking Christ, was there anyone that apparently didn’t know?

But unlike Mila, Yuuri did as he asked, dropping that particular topic. “It worked out for me,” he said quietly. “I never would have thought it would, but it did. And now I’m happy.”

“But was it worth it?” Yuri asked, a rare moment where the question was genuine, and he wanted the answer to be as well.

“It was worth every fucking moment,” Yuuri said with an uncharacteristic swear, a wide smile crossing his features.

And that’s when Yuri might have thought he saw it-- whatever it was that Victor saw in this man.

The difference was that they were apparently made for each other.

Yuri left the coffee shop with things to think about, but his heart wasn’t quite as heavy as it had been. Maybe there was something to what Yuuri had said-- maybe things would just work out.

And then Yuri laughed bitterly. What a joke.

Things didn’t work out for him, they never did.

They never would.

…

Skype calls were hard.

They were the highlight of Yuri’s day, sure, but they were hard. When Otabek had first moved away all those years ago, they were like a lifeline to him; the only way to see his most precious friend. But as the years wore on, the harder and harder it got because there was just no---

Well, he couldn’t ignore Otabek so easily anymore.

When Amita was still in the picture, it was easier. Otabek was getting married, Otabek loved her. Yuri could look and never touch, and Otabek would be none-the-wiser, because he had this amazing woman by his side. But then Amita left, and things got awkward, they got really awkward.

Otabek would sit there in his sleeping clothes-- loose shirts and soft pants hanging low on his hips-- and suddenly, Yuri didn’t have to keep it so clean anymore. And who was he to blame? He was a young adult, with raging hormones. And those hormones all pointed to dark, brooding and handsome that graced the screen in front of him.

Otabek made it effortless, which pissed part of Yuri off. He went out of his way to seem inviting. Low-necked shirts, sitting across his bed certain ways, laying across his stomach to show off his perfect calves-- but Otabek seemed immune. Yuri wished that were the case for him. It’d save him the headache at least. All it took was one stupid smirk from the other man, and Yuri would be melting into the bed, ready to turn off the camera as soon as possible, so he could rut into his hand until he couldn’t think anymore.

File that under things he’d never fucking tell anyone, ever. Was there anything more embarrassing than furiously masturbating to the thoughts of your best friend? Probably not.

So like always, he distracted himself with something, anything really. Something Mila said earlier had stuck with him, and so Yuri turned to the vast world of the internet to figure it out. Too much information, perhaps, but he prepared to sift through it all.

And then an article stood out to him, as he skimmed it.

“Huh,” he breathed. “Beka, did you know that the bracelet tugs harder, if the two people already love each other?”

He looked to the computer screen. Otabek was laying against his headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. He had his old and dingy, dog-eared copy of Dune in his hands, flipping through it slowly. Glasses perched across his nose, his hair unstyled, curling around his forehead as he looked up. His lips parted just slightly and--

Yuri forced himself to turn away and take a deep breath. “At least, that’s the theory. No one really knows and there’s not a lot of evidence because… well, you know. They can’t prove what the pull feels like for people, I guess.”

He turned back to Otabek, who shook out his wrist slightly, a line furrowed across his brow. The video feed was grainy, but Yuri could tell that he was thinking hard about something.

“Well, in any case, it sounds stupid,” Yuri continued with. “I mean, who believes this shit, right?”

“Hopeless romantics?” Otabek supplied, his tony only a tad bit dry.

“Oh, so people like you,” Yuri joked with good nature. Otabek finally smiled that tiny little smile of his, and it felt genuine, and God above the things it did to Yuri. He shifted slightly on his bed, adjusting his legs.

“Would it be so bad?” Otabek asked him suddenly.

“Eh?”

“Would it be so bad?” Otabek repeated. “For it to be someone that you already know?”

“In a perfect world, maybe,” was Yuri’s reluctant reply. He knew that it was a load of shit though, because there was only one person he loved, and it was clearly unrequited. “Really, I can’t think of anyone that I’d want it to be,” he finished with, trying to maintain a cool tone.

No point in scaring off Otabek with maybes and what-nots.

But to his surprise, Otabek looked… deflated. Yuri could count on one hand, how many times he’d seen that particular expression across the older man’s face-- when they said goodbye at the airport the time he moved away, and when Otabek introduced Amita to him.

Yuri didn’t like it, the subtle downturn of his lips, the furrow in Otabek’s brow. He didn’t like it so much, that he changed the subject.

“Hey, remember that I’ll be offline for the rest of the week.”

“Ah, yes,” Otabek replied, slipping back into his usual ease. Maybe Yuri had seen something that wasn’t actually there but… well, he knew Otabek. “Your big debut solo,” he continued with, a proud smile spreading across his face.

“Ugh, I’m so fucking nervous.”

“Yura, you’re never nervous.”

Well, Otabek was kind of right, he rarely felt the gut-wrenching butterflies that people often complained about. But this was different. “If this goes well, Beka, I have a shot,” he said quietly. “A real shot at Primo Ballerino. Could you imagine?”

“Yes,” Otabek replied easily. “Always. In fact, I don’t imagine it, because it will just be.”

“God, you’re such a sap,” Yuri groused, smacking a hand across his forehead.

“Yeah, but I’m your sap.” Otabek punctuation the sentence with a laugh, but all Yuri heard was the word your and he just about died inside. When he finished, Otabek leaned closer to the camera, setting his book aside. “I wish I could be there for it.” He sounded regretful.

“Yeah, same.”

“You’ll do great though, you always do.”

“Hey Beka,” Yuri said, but then hesitated. “Thank you.”

Otabek raised his eyebrows. “For what?”

Yuri sighed. “I don’t know. Or everything? You’re like… you’re like my person and all that. Friends are great, but you’re just something else.”

Otabek smiled, really smiled. Wide across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It took Yuri’s breath away.

“I know what you mean, Yura,” he said in reply.

They said their goodbyes and Yuri disconnected the call. His heart felt light, like he had gotten something off of his chest. And you know, Otabek’s smile didn’t hurt.

It was something he could go to bed to every single night.

….

Yuri’s feet were fucking killing him.

He was used to pain. He was used to the pain and the aches of being a ballet dancer. He was used to to stress fractures, the cracks and bruises and even his fucked up feet. Of the pulls in his back muscles, of the strains in his legs, of everything.

But the last four days had been, by far, the most brutal workout, he’d ever put himself through. But it was necessary. It was worth it, to see the look of utter satisfaction on Madame Baranovskaya’s face. She never handed out compliments, but she had sent him home early, with a simple request to rest.

That alone was worth a thousand words.

Yuri stumbled into his apartment, broken and weary, but good. He had this in the bag, he’d fucking nail his solo and then--

Well, and then he’d be the prime pick for principal male of the company. And if he did, it’d be the best achievement of his life. Victor Nikiforov had snagged principal at twenty-one, over a decade prior. It was worth his bleeding toes, to see the smug smirk wiped off the idiot’s face when Yuri did the same at twenty.

He dropped his duffel by the kitchen table, collapsing onto the couch. He was too tired, too sore to properly undress at the moment, so he just sat there, sinking into the well worn fabric. He turned on the television, the volume low. He just wanted a quiet distraction, something to play in the background as he closed his eyes and--

There was a knock at the door.

At first, he thought it was part of the television program-- until he heard it again. The second time, the knock was louder, more insistent. Yuri groaned softly, before pulling himself to his feet. The only person who could possibly bother him this late at night, was his neighbor Vera. And as much as he’d like to just leave her hanging in the hallway, she was just too much of a sweet old lady to ignore.

She probably needed help turning on her space heater, because her fingers just didn’t work the way that they used to. Her words, not his.

He pulled open the door, a greeting ready on his lips-- only to freeze immediately.

Because it wasn’t Vera on the other side of that door.

“Ah, Yura,” Otabek said, shifting around the duffel thrown across his shoulder. He was wearing his old leather jacket, the one that was Yuri’s favorite. He’d spent days wrapped in that jacket when it was cold and Otabek was too kind to let him freeze to death--

“Beka,” he breathed, leaning against the doorframe, trying to make it look casual. Not like he was trying to hide the sudden hammering of his heart. “Not that uh, not that I don’t want to see you or anything, but what are you doing here?”

Otabek hesitated, which was something he never fucking did. “I, uh--” Yuri crossed his arms over his chest as he listened, waiting patiently. And then Otabek raised his hand, shoving his wrist out towards him.

Yuri saw the bracelet.

And the bracelet burned a brilliant green, not like the gentle little blipping he was accustomed to seeing. Not dead, like it was supposed to be.

Yuri blinked, as he regarded it. And then he left the doorway, leaving Otabek behind, following him in confusion. Yuri ignored him as he dug through his practice bag, looking for-- there it was. He pulled out the metal circlet, holding it like it might shock him. He had taken it off for practice, and then he’d kept if off at the advice of Mila.

And then Yuuri’s words came back full force. I didn’t think of the alternative.

Otabek paused in the kitchen and Yuri looked back at him, still holding the bracelet.

That the person on the other end might come looking for me instead.

There was no way, Yuri concluded. There was absolutely no fucking way. Otabek didn’t love him like that, Otabek wasn’t even fucking gay. Otabek was his best friend and the only person that meant something to him, but that didn’t mean he had to reciprocate.

Otabek was clearly in the wrong place, and Yuri would prove it. He opened the clasp on the bracelet and slapped it around his wrist and--

The tug was so strong, it felt almost like his heart was being tugged right out of his body. It didn’t just burn anymore, it was like an all-consuming fire. It was like electricity, crackling through his veins, surging through his blood. Yuri stared at his wrist for a long moment, before turning back to Otabek, swallowing thickly.

And Otabek just stood there dumbly, scratching at the back of his head like an idiot. Like he didn’t know what to fucking say.

Which is probably why he settled on, “So uh, I guess we should talk, huh?”

#otayuri #otayurismut #Otabek Altin #otabek and yuri #OtabekAltin/YuriPlisetsky #yuri on ice fanfiction #Yuri on ice #Yuri Plisetsky

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