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Otabek Altin was thirteen years old when he met his soulmate. Or at least, he'd thought he had. The thing was, the boy in question hadn't noticed him back.
His parents had always described the sensation of first laying eyes upon each other as a pull—an unmistakable tug that was drawing them towards their destiny. He'd heard the same from several other sources as well. It was a common schoolyard game for kids to tie skipping ropes around their waists and pull themselves towards each other, simulating what they imagined the feel of the pull to be like. Otabek had taken part in that game, once or twice, but what he experienced when he first laid eyes on a certain blond haired boy felt nothing like a skipping rope at all.
The boy had eyes like a soldier, and his expression and movement showed a grace and determination far beyond his years. He must have been one of the youngest there, too, unlike Otabek who was still feeling a little shame in the placement that had been decided for him. At thirteen, he should have been training with the other junior-level skaters. However, his stocky and inflexible body had proved no match for his peers, landing him a place in the novice class instead.
By rights, he shouldn't have been there. And perhaps that was the problem entirely. But if it was to meet his soulmate, then maybe there was some truth to what his mother said about fate working in mysterious ways.
By the end of the day, he'd find out that the boy's name was Yuri Plisetsky. Otabek would spend the week watching him in any moment that he could spare around the gruelling training regimen, and the barre exercises that his body would not contort to follow, no matter how hard he tried.
But despite the way that he felt pulled towards Yuri Plisetsky—subtly at most times, and painfully sharp whenever he watched the boy move—Yuri never seemed to make eye contact with him, or even notice his presence at all. All of which meant that by as the end of the training camp, Otabek wasn't sure if he'd truly met his soulmate at all.
He was more sure of the fact that this ballet-centric training regimen was unsuitable for him. He would have to find another path forward, and a new way to learn if he wanted to truly be competitive, and use the skills he did have to his best advantage. And though it would likely mean leaving the highly sought-after opportunity to train with Yakov Feltsman behind, it would give him the chance to seek out new opportunities and meet new people. Perhaps he'd feel a pull even stronger with one of them, and understand how it truly felt to meet one's soulmate.
He could only hope for the best, after all.
California was more well-known for its gymnastics than its figure skating, but to Otabek, that was part of the appeal. The way that gymnasts moved made far more sense to him, and their way of finding beauty in strength, rather than strength in beauty, suited his body well.
It took a while to get used to attending school and training in English, and to the new schedule and regime he was on, but it felt good—like he was coming a little more into his own. If there was any problem, it was his rinkmates: they were a little too loud, a little too forward, a little too into Hollywood and glitz and glamour. They were nice at least, and very personable, but there was no-one who he'd consider himself close with. And no-one who gave him the sort of pull that he remembered at the training camp the year before.
So perhaps California was not Otabek's final destination after all. But at least it was one step closer to being the kind of skater that he himself could be proud of.
It was one of the other coaches in his skate club that recommended Otabek try training with the Leroys. Apparently they enjoyed working with unique skaters, and making their talents shine. Their son, who Otabek had competed against a few times in competition, was testament enough to that.
To be fair, the Leroys were very fair in their training, not at all favouring J.J. over Otabek or any of their other rink mates. And also to be fair, he learned a lot in their tutelage, and further developed his style as his body pushed its way through puberty. Even having J.J. nearby was useful sometimes—though Otabek's bodily transition from teenage boy to young man felt far more gradual in comparison to J.J.'s growth spurts, having a point of comparison helped him make sense of everything going on.
Still, there was certainly no pull in J.J.'s direction, nor in anyone else's. And the idea of staying around him for his entire senior career was… less than ideal. Besides, he was feeling homesick. And being heralded as the Hero of Kazakhstan, as the media had started to do when he'd managed to place in the Junior Grand Prix Finals, felt weird when he'd barely been home for most of his teenage years.
It wasn't like he'd felt any sort of pull at competitions either; no spark indicating that his soulmate laid anywhere on the ice. Certainly nothing to compare to when he was thirteen, let alone anything stronger. He still had dreams about Yuri Plisetsky, about running to him and making Yuri see him, and feeling the pull so strong that there was nothing to do except hug and cry in relief at being known and being loved as only a soulmate could. But with every passing day and season, he felt more sure that the dreams were just that, and that there must be something more waiting ahead. And if it laid not in the skating world, then there was no reason not to look closer to home.
It would be nice to have his home rink somewhere that actually felt like home in time for his senior debut. And with the training that he had, he knew what to look for in a coach who could make use of his abilities, rather than one who insisted on working within the language of ballet, no matter how successful their protégés might be.
And if his soulmate were someone from his past, perhaps from the next school over and now going to dance clubs every weekend or working in one of Almaty's busy coffee shops, then going home would mean he could finally meet them.
So perhaps a homecoming was in his best interest after all.
It seemed that Otabek was right: he could succeed as a skater back in Almaty now that he knew how he needed to skate and what he needed from a coach. His new team were very supportive of his needs, and with their guidance, he'd made his way onto the podium of the World Championships in his debut senior season.
His second senior season was off to a good start as well: having medaled in Skate America and NHK Trophy, he was off to his first senior Grand Prix Final. And that, it seemed, was the opportunity that fate was waiting for.
There was a pull from the moment he stepped into the hotel. It was weak, like a song heard from another room, but beautiful and indescribable and wonderfully, incredibly right.
His soulmate was there for the competition, whether as a competitor or a spectator, or working some aspect, which limited the prospects to a few thousand, rather than the millions and millions of people in the cities that he'd lived so far.
(Yuri Plisetsky was there, something inside of him reminded, having watched the boy compete in Skate Canada and the Rostledom Cup via online streams.)
Perhaps, over the weekend, he'd find his soulmate once and for all. Or perhaps he would leave a little bit more confused about the nature of fate, just like when he was thirteen. Either way, he needed to channel the emotions into his routine and not let them overwhelm him, lest it all turn to failure in the end.
The pull felt stronger the next morning, as he was heading out of the hotel to get a bite to eat. But the lobby was teeming with people; skating professionals and fans of all sorts, and even as he tried to figure out where the pull was leading, it seemed the tightest in the knot of people most populated, so much that he was sure going there and asking would only lead to an exercise in frustration.
Apparently J.J. found him even still. He'd been posting all over social media how he'd found his soulmate, and indeed, the woman was standing by his side at the event. (She was pretty, at least. And seemed to have an attitude that matched his own, for better or for worse.) He was interested in hanging out, and probably bragging about how wonderful his soulmate was, while she praised him just as highly. But honestly, Otabek just wanted some time alone. After all, if he couldn't be with his own soulmate, it seemed preferable just to get a bite to eat and wander the city a while to clear his head.
It was just as he was turning away, refusing J.J.'s invitations, that his eyes caught those of another: a certain blond skater who looked incredibly annoyed as he dealt with the legions of fans surrounding him.
And in that moment, Yuri Plistetsky looked back at him, and the pull felt stronger than ever. Yuri yelled something, and Lilia Baranovskaya rebuked him and the fans swarmed closer once again, and Otabek found himself wandering out, both more sure and unsure about the nature of his soulmate than ever.
Yuri had met his eyes, that time, and in that moment, Otabek had known that he was indeed the one. And yet, he wasn't sure if the spark had been returned. Perhaps it was simply a matter of too much overwhelming him, or perhaps the soulmate situation was one-sided. He'd heard stories of as much before.
For now, perhaps the only way to tell would be to get him alone, somehow, and talk to him then. And for that, he would just have to wait for the right opportunity to arise.
There was talk around town of a Yuri's Angels meetup. Judging by everything that Otabek knew about the boy in question, he was fairly certain that Yuri Plisetsky would not want to make an appearance. And that was how the rescue mission was born.
He followed the tug of his soul to a back alley, and the look on Yuri's face was one of relief and understanding as he got onboard.
As it turned out, Yuri Plisetsky didn't remember Otabek at the training camp at all. He had made the decision to keep his eyes straight ahead at all times, focussing only on improving his skills until he'd proven himself worthy of being a top-level skater, and only then letting himself worry about such paltry things as friends and soulmates. Perhaps it was that determination that had made Otabek see him as having the eyes of a soldier.
In this moment, though, his eyes were softer. The hard determination was still there; Otabek knew it was part of Yuri's very being, but at the moment there were other things shining through: confusion, relief, and perhaps even something like fascination or love.
"So you've felt it all this time?" Yuri asked, and it was all that Otabek could do to nod, and to tell his side of the story: How he'd thought he'd known right away, except that Yuri had never even spared him a glance. How he'd travelled to better himself and hope that it was just a case of knowing that his soulmate was a skater, before fate had thrown them together once again, five years later.
And perhaps it was best this way. After all, if they had acknowledged their connection sooner, then Yuri's concentration would have been split, and Otabek would have needed to make a tough choice between choosing a path for which he was unsuited, or leaving his destined partner behind. So perhaps fate had had a plan for them to meet this way, all along.
At the end of it all, he extended a hand, making sure to lock eyes with Yuri and let the pull wash over him, warm and beautiful and perfect.
"So, are we soulmates, or what?"
And as Yuri took his hand in his own, and moved in to hug him, there was no doubt that every feeling in that moment was mutual.
Otabek Altin was thirteen years old when he met his soulmate. And he was eighteen when his soulmate met him. And perhaps that made their story unusual, but it also made it theirs.
And in that moment, overlooking Barcelona with Yuri Plisetsky at his side, Otabek wouldn't have changed a thing.