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( continued from here. )
I saw those. [ he's not an unfriendly guy but his social feeds aren't heavy on fellow skaters. he's not really friends with many fellow skaters which is the crucial point, his circle of ties and acquaintances are a mottled bunch, disreputable djs and career models, students and book club enthusiasts. but phichit is impossible not to get along with ( and jean jacques leroy is impossible not to laugh at ) so even otabek had grinned over the flood of pictures from the past few hours, each one increasingly more absurd than the last as the night crept onward.
it had been immediately obvious in the way yuri walked out that he isn't in a terrible mood, maybe a little huffy but far from being as murderous as his initial text had implied. otabek doesn't call him out on it but he does catch himself feeling pleased that his offer hadn't been declined, realizing that he really does appreciate the company once he feels yuri drop his forehead against his back.
there's a few mcdonalds on the way back to the hotel, he'd done a quick search on his phone just to be sure, taking a short detour to the nearest one.
stuck at a red light, golden arches just visible down the street, otabek turns a little to glance at yuri. curiously, not condescendingly: ] You aren't tired?
it had been immediately obvious in the way yuri walked out that he isn't in a terrible mood, maybe a little huffy but far from being as murderous as his initial text had implied. otabek doesn't call him out on it but he does catch himself feeling pleased that his offer hadn't been declined, realizing that he really does appreciate the company once he feels yuri drop his forehead against his back.
there's a few mcdonalds on the way back to the hotel, he'd done a quick search on his phone just to be sure, taking a short detour to the nearest one.
stuck at a red light, golden arches just visible down the street, otabek turns a little to glance at yuri. curiously, not condescendingly: ] You aren't tired?
/settles comfortably c:
( Yuri shrugs. )
A little bit, but I can't sleep if I'm hungry.
( It's why his bed is always littered with candy-bar wrappers and packets of chips; he's a huge fan of the midnight snack, and he works hard enough (and his metabolism is fast enough) that he can get away with it. He pulls away from Otabek's back when he feels him move, looking up at him with those wide green eyes.
... Huh. He hadn't accounted for their closeness; he can see a tiny smudge of missed stubble against the line of Otabek's jaw. Yuri blinks once before sitting back properly on his seat, his attention shifting away to fix firmly on their destination. )
How come you weren't asleep, anyway?
( There's defensive strain to his voice now, because for some reason he feels out of his depth again. Young again. The most confusing part is that it doesn't have anything to do with Otabek's question. )
It's late. ( He frowns. ) I didn't think you'd see my text until tomorrow.
yes good
I don't always sleep well. [ which is something that he's accustomed to, fitting in short naps to make up for it when it actually takes a toll on him, which isn't often. there's no discernible reason for it tonight, just a few long hours of rolling over to stare regrettably at the digital face of the hotel clock every fifteen minutes.
check his phone, roll over, stare at the clock.
if otabek notices the change in his tone, he doesn't acknowledge it. ] I didn't mind hearing from you. I was glad, actually.
[ which isn't breezy so much as easily honest, spoken just as he pulls into the mcdonald's parking lot, easing into the mostly empty drive-thru lane. ]
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Tch. You should get a pill if you can't sleep, it'll help you skate better.
( Yuri says bluntly, because he is very good at sleeping. He used to be a morning person - he hopes he will be again, one day - but Yakov has been grumbling about puberty and the detrimental effects it has on his skaters for years. Yuri knows that he's more tired because he's growing. The whole process is painful and embarrassing and he wishes it would just stop. The idea of losing gold to the Piggy because of his stupid body fills him with shivering rage.
He's glad that his ears are hidden beneath his hair and the helmet when the roll into the drive-thru. They always get so fucking hot when Otabek says something offhand and sweet, and Yuri can feel them warming again when he says that he was glad to hear from him. )
Yeah, well. Everyone else was at that dumb bar.
( The implication being that he would have texted Phichit or Chris had they been back at the hotel, even though they both know that's not the case. Yuri doesn't text any of his fellow skaters for chit-chat. Just Otabek.
There's a a heartbeat of silence, but it's quickly broken by a sharp crackle from the the order microphone. )
Shit - !
( Yuri jumps in surprise as the assistant begins rattling off the preamble, then flusters a little. )
Shut up, I know what I want already. ( He growls into the receiver. ) Chicken sandwich with large fries, and - two apple pies.
( He can get a drink back at the hotel; less danger of bike spillage. Otabek is given a little shove. )
You getting something?
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but he appreciates the advice, nonetheless.
otabek shrugs one shoulder at yuri's deflection, knowing they share a limited social scope amongst their peers, knowing yuri wouldn't do anything like text him past midnight simply because there was no one else to text.
you don't have to do that, he doesn't say, his smile obscured by the angle he's at.
turning his head once he's nudged, he stares at the screen like he hasn't once yet considered getting something for himself. after a moment: ]
And a strawberry milkshake.
[ pulling through to the first window, he takes out his credit card to hand off to the woman at the window then leans to ruffle through a pouch on the side of the bike, wielding a detachable cup holder to fix to the space near the handlebars. taking his card back, be eases on ahead to wait for their food.
twisting in place again, still unable to angle himself well enough to look at yuri properly with amusement only half masked: ] I'm warning you in advance, I'm going to try and steal a fry.
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( Yuri flusters again when Otabek hands over his card without so much as a 'by your leave' - not that he really needs permission to pay for everything, but. Yuri has cash. His wallet is tucked into the inner pocket of his jacket. )
Hey! You shouldn't have -
( McDonald's isn't exactly pricey, but he ordered quite a bit. He sighs heavily and gives him another little shove - a friendly one - and lets his hand rest against his back for a moment. )
I'll pay you back when we get to the hotel. And if you steal one of my fries I'll cut your hand off with my skate.
( Blunt and to the point, but laced with Yuri's own special kind of humour. He doesn't say anything else until they're being handed their food; he lets Otabek stash it in another little compartment, not trusting himself to hold on to everything for the rest of the drive. Settling with his forehead between Otabek's shoulders again, Yuri heaves a deep, content sigh. )
C'mon, let's go. I'm cold.
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[ though he's not going to put up a fight if it makes yuri uncomfortable, it's only mcdonalds, he hadn't thought twice about it. but it draws a huff of laughter from him, nothing unkind, only amused by the protest and the additional shove to his back.
he's still going to lift a few fries, that's already in the cards no matter how visceral the threats. ]
Alright. Hang on. [ with the milkshake and bag of food stashed away, otabek checks his phone one more time to make sure of the route back to the hotel before pulling out of the parking lot, suddenly very aware himself of the cold.
he drives a little over the speed limit the rest of the way, unusually comfortable with yuri close behind him, forehead to jacket clad back, constantly aware of every small movement behind him.
it's a quiet drive and he's content with it, just long enough for him to wonder if the side pouch is enough to keep yuri's food warm. pulling into the hotel lot, he parks and gathers up their stuff, helmet tucked under one arm. ] Come on. Let's go get warm.
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( The ride would be even more pleasant, Yuri thinks, if he could just put his arms around Otabek's waist like he's seen people do in the movies. He never feels like he's going to fall but he suspects that his friend would be a comfortable presence in his arms; he smells good, and he's warm, and -
Yuri squeezes his eyes shut, privately embarrassed by his stupid thoughts. When did this happen? At what point did he start daydreaming like the Piggy and Viktor? Only one thing is for certain: he needs to get his shit together before they get off the bike.
By the time they pull into the car-park he's feeling slightly more like himself. Yuri dismounts when they come to a halt, then removes his helmet so that he can rake a hand through his hair a few times. It's messy, but he doesn't really care. Otabek never seems to mind when he looks a bit of a state. )
Your room or mine?
( Yuri gives Otabek and considering look. )
... Actually, mine. It's closer.
( No room for argument. Yuri makes a vague hand gesture and heads towards the lobby, letting a comfortable silence between them as the elevator deposits them up onto the 7th floor. There's no signal in the shaft but by the time they reach his room his phone has reconnected; he checks for more Instagram updates as he swipes his key and lets them into the room.
Hurricane Yuri hit at some point in the last couple of days. The clothes that aren't in messy piles strewn across the floor are hanging out of his suitcase, or draped over chairs, and his pink and black costume is hanging in front of the mirror like a fancy-as-fuck spectre. He shrugs out of his jacket and throws it towards a suitcase before kicking off his shoes, then rummages around to find a pair of comfy black sweatpants. )
Sit, or whatever. I'm going to change.
( .... In the bathroom. Not in front of him. He slips into the en-suite and closes the door behind himself. )
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your room or mine feels like a clumsy question for him to ask, like if he spoke it aloud it wouldn't come out the way he'd prefer it to. when he laughs in response, it's part relief and part amusement at yuri's decision making, bossy and direct and entirely inoffensive. private crisis solved.
he speaks up only to nod and greet a member of the hotel staff rushing by with a wild look and a mop in one hand, glancing after them curiously while yuri checks instagram and unlocks the door in the same motion; some practiced, unconscious move. ]
Is the party still going? [ stepping out of his shoes and shrugging off his jacket, he tucks his helmet by the door while directing the question to the door yuri closed after him, stepping carefully around the mess of clothes and the odd snack wrapper. dropping their mcdonalds spoils on the mostly uncluttered table, he half folds the pair of jeans thrown on one chair and drops it into an open suitcase before sitting down.
popping the lid off his milkshake, he makes good on his threat and snags a fry from inside the bag, dipping it into the strawberry-pink while glancing around the room, gaze catching on the costume hanging in front of the mirror. ]
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Looks like it - idiots.
( Yuri calls back through the wood, changing quickly so he can get back to his guest. He leaves his trousers on the bathroom floor with his socks and pads back through a moment later, comfortable and content now that he's back in familiar territory. It isn't a control thing, per se, it's just - better, when he has a good grasp on his surroundings. If he bothered giving it any thought he'd realise it's partly why he's so good on the ice. )
Here, see.
( He thrusts his phone into Otabek's hands. Instagram is still open; there are new pictures of Yuuri and Viktor making fools of themselves, and Chris buying in another round of tequila slammers. From this distance he can't be cross. Yuri just smirks, then scoops up his fries and sandwich before moving to perch on the end of the bed.
The apple pies will be saved for later, when they're cold and congealed and so fucking good. )
Practice tomorrow should be fun.
( His smirk curls wider, catlike, and he crams a couple of fries into his mouth. One foot moves to tuck up underneath himself; like any skater, his bruised feet are held together with tape and dressings, and he sighs with relish as he stretches out his toes.. )
We should get proper food, after. Not just -
( He gestures to his sandwich. )
Stuff from a bag. If we leave quickly enough the others won't have time to follow.
( There goes the heat in his ears again, but Yuri ignores it. Friends go out for dinner with friends all the time; they go out to dinner together when their schedules permit it. Asking him out isn't unusual. )
Okay?
( More of a demand than a request, really, but. That's Yuri. He doesn't beat around the bush and he likes to get his own way. )
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it looks like fun, just not the kind he'd appreciate. (much like cold fast food apple pies, that's just entirely unacceptable.) ]
They'll all show up, though. [ stating the obvious; which is not at all defensive and just as conspiratorially amused; these are all people who take skating seriously. serious enough to all practice while tremendously hungover. it's going to be A Sight to behold.
with yuri's food out of thieving range, he pushes the top back onto his cup and sits back in the chair, taking a long drag through the wide straw. ]
I was going to ask if you wanted to get dinner with me.
[ which is true. he's always preferred being alone with yuri than getting saddled with a larger group; he's never pretended otherwise. he throws one leg over the other, drops an elbow onto his thigh, leans forward to look at yuri across the hotel room; milkshake resting on one knee, against an open palm. ]
I like being alone with you.
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( Yuri blinks. He hadn't - he hadn't necessarily been expecting Otabek to raise him an actual, proper dinner invite, and his offhand confession has the heat in his ears moving to lightly dust his cheeks. He likes being alone with him. He supposes it isn't entirely surprising - Yuri treasures the time they spend together, just the two of them - but to hear it from Otabek's lips as well ...
It's special. It makes him feel special. Yuri takes a huge bite of his sandwich and chews it ferociously, willing himself to get his shit together for the second time that night. )
... Yeah.
( Answering firmly, Yuri offers a little nod of his head. )
I like it too, so. We should do it.
( There's a peculiar melting sensation somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Yuri exhales softly before setting his food to the side for a moment, determined to do something to dispel the way Otabek's undivided attention makes him feel. He leans over for his laptop and yanks it open, then brings up his movie folder. )
Let's watch something. Come here - and don't spill your milkshake in my bed.
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[ just as decisively, the same bluntness he'd been wielding when he'd held out his hand and said so, are we friends yet?
looking satisfied with dinner confirmed, otabek's attention stays mostly on yuri now, just visibly pink in the face behind his sandwich. that's a satisfying sight, too.
he isn't expecting to stay much longer, it's already late and though the drive and the slight brain freeze of his drink has ensured sleep won't come for quite awhile, he looks from yuri's laptop back over to him and nods, shifting up out of the chair.
lifting another fry as he sits down on the other side of yuri's food, he pops the lid off his milkshake off again and repeats the same strawberry / fry combination, leaning over to look at yuri's movie collection.
pointing at the screen with another stolen fry, his mouth slants into a grin, glancing over at yuri from the corner of one eye: ] Anna Karenina, huh?
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Hey - Beka!
( Yuri isn't really angry, of course, but he has to make a fuss considering how hard he grilled Otabek about stealing his fries. He makes it even worse when he dips it in his milkshake like some kind of sicko, and Yuri pins him with a horrified grimace as he puts his food out of his reach. )
You can't say shit about my movies when you're sitting there putting fries in your milkshake. Freak.
( Still grumbling, Yuri scrolls through their options before finally settling on a few decent suggestions. )
'Batman Begins'?
( Grim but not too horrifying. He likes horror movies best of all, but he's not quite ready to climb into Otabek's lap and punch him periodically when they get too scary for him. They're not that close. )
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[ eyebrows lifting unapolgetically as he drinks from his now askew straw, he shifts up a little more comfortably to cross his legs, masking his mostly silent laughter by devouring a decent portion of his milkshake.
there aren't many movies yuri could suggest that would have otabek protesting; it's late but this is comfortable. there's always something a little exhilarating about yuri wanting to spend time with him and putting off the end of it, a sharp thrill somewhere at the base of his spine, pleased and wanting more.
it's not an entirely familiar sensation, wanting to be around someone like this, so pleased when yuri visibly relaxes and loses himself in some topic or another, more enthusiastic than prickly.
it doesn't leave him off balance, not flustered but more conscious of himself than usual; how close his knee is to yuri's thigh, how amused he'd been with that mortified look to his Entirely Innocent snacking habits.
he nods, reaching down to right the heel of his sock. ] Alright. Just kick me out when you get tired.
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Please - I'll kick you out if you steal any more of my food.
( But it's a playful warning, and Yuri presses 'play' before getting up to swap the overhead light for the bedside lamp. It has an immediate effect on the atmosphere. He hadn't really been thinking that far ahead - he just prefers to watch films in low light in the evening, that's all - but then what had been a room with a bed all of a sudden becomes a bedroom. He exhales softly, licking salt from his lips as he climbs back onto the mattress.
Instead of sitting next to him, Yuri stretches out on his front and rests his head on folded arms. Having finished his sandwich, he only has the rest of the fries to pick at, which he keeps close to use as a distraction when his thoughts start wandering to Otabek again.
Should he be surprised that he's stayed with him? They both know he can leave whenever he wants - he wasn't obliged to come back to his room, after all - but he's still here. He's choosing to be here. Yuri shifts a little, and his hip bumps up against Otabek's knee.
He ignores it.
Eventually, when his fries are all finished, Yuri's eyelids begin to droop. He doesn't want to admit that he's tired; he's enjoying being with Otabek too much to let something like the need for sleep get in the way. He hitches onto his side, stifling a yawn as he looks up to his guest through a messy curtain of hair. )
Any milkshake left? I want some.
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instead of brazen youth, otabek sees him in how much he's accomplished, his strength, dedication and a frankly inspiring devotion to growth, his loyalty to the ice. past the bloated threats of being kicked out and sliced through with the blade of his skates, otabek realizes there's inexperience there, now that he's looking. of course there is.
snagging a pillow finally, he drops it into his lap, wraps one arm around it to hold it against his stomach. when yuri shifts a little, otabek watches him for a few moments longer.
then his attention is back in gotham until yuri stirs again and otabek doesn't think twice before reaching out to push the fall of his hair behind one ear, slicking back one last errant strand.
his free hand lets go of the pillow to lift up what's left of his milkshake, tilting it towards him. ]
It might be warm.
[ a pause, realizing he doesn't actually want to leave: ] If you're tired, I can go.
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( The touch to his hair is a surprise. Yuri stays very still as Otabek gentles his hair away from his face, his heart beat scattering throughout his body to pound in his throat, his stomach, the base of his back. Just when he thinks he might be on the verge of literally fucking shivering -
If you're tired, I can go.
Yuri exhales heavily. He doesn't answer right away. Oblivious to Otabek's scattered thoughts, the boy considers the proffered cup for a moment before leaning in to catch the end of the straw between his lips. He doesn't look up again; some unconscious part of him is vaguely aware that such a gesture would be far too intimate, and he keeps his lashes low as he sucks down the remaining gulp of the shake. )
... Gross. You have shitty taste, Beka.
( Now, he looks up at him. Those jewel-green eyes are perhaps a little softer than Otabek is used to, changed by feelings he doesn't quite understand as he responds to the imperceptible hum between them. There are questions there. Things he doesn't know how to ask. He is inexperienced; when he's at the bar with the others it makes him huffy and sulky, but alone with Otabek ...
It's different.
Yuri shifts up to his knees and sits on his ankles, still looking at his friend. )
I don't want you to go.
( He glances back at the screen. )
Just - stay until it's over, okay?
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he forgets to snort in response to the flimsy insult, forgets to even go through the motions of reacting, caught in yuri's gaze with an almost bewildered look.
he gets caught between should i, shouldn't i as he follows through and sets the empty cup on the ground, straightening back up slowly.
something terrible is happening on the screen, the scarecrow is succeeding in his one trilogy-wide win and knocking batman the fuck out and otabek is thinking i'm going to kiss him
and then yuri looks back at his laptop and his resolve wavers, arm curling back around the hotel pillow. ]
Just tell me when. Hey.
[ resolve.
he reaches over, hand on yuri's thigh. look at me. ]
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( The hand on his thigh triggers a little jolt through Yuri's system. It's not something he's experienced before and he doesn't entirely grasp what it means, but it's good, if a little unnerving. When Otabek's hand doesn't move away Yuri find himself glad for it. He looks back towards him, and has to firmly remind himself not to scoot just a little closer. )
Yeah. I'll tell you.
( A nod. Tentatively, Yuri places his own hand over Otabek's, but the contact is fleeting as a heartbeat. What puzzles him is that he wants to touch him. He's spent his whole life shrugging off Yakov and running from Viktor; hiding from Mila and her freakish strength. The only person he's truly elected to touch on a regular basis is his grandpa, who he loves more than anything.
Having Otabek touch him, though. It makes him feel nice, even when it's just his hand against his leg. )
... What?
( He says after a moment, feeling a little self-conscious under the intensity of his friend's gaze. He touches his hair, wondering if it's being stupid, then brushes it back from his face again. Doubt begins to worm its way into the back of his mind. )
I - if you want to go, you can.
( A moment ago Yuri was relishing Otabek's decision to stay, yet now he can't help but notice how many times he's mentioned leaving. )
I don't want to keep you stuck here if you want to go to bed.
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yuri flusters easily, fidgeting slightly under his gaze even as otabek mentally backtracks and glances away briefly to the laptop screen as if to remember just where they're at in the movie; he can't remember the last time he was really paying attention. ]
No, I want to stay. [ the movie has to be a little more than half over by now but he can't be sure, selfishly not wanting to leave but not wanting to keep yuri awake longer than he should be, finally feeling the weight of just how tired he is in the droop of his own shoulders.
his hand shifts in place instead of pulling away, palm facing up. ]
I just don't want to keep you up.
[ without skipping a beat: ] Do you want to hold hands?
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( Something slots into place at that question. The tension seems to roll back a little way and give him space to breathe; Yuri looks at his hand, then offers a nod before slipping his hand into Otabek's. )
You're not keeping me up.
( He rolls his eyes, then shifts so that're sitting a little closer together. Thigh to thigh. The pressure is warm and pleasant, and Yuri exhales softly to help center himself as he curls his fingers around Otabek's palm properly. )
Anyway, do you really think I wouldn't just shove you off the bed if I wanted you gone?
( An eyebrow flicks up to his hairline as he shoots a Look up at his friend, and smirks. Now that the crackling uncertainty is mostly gone it's easy to cover himself back up with bravado, and -
It's better this way, right? When he knows where he stands and what he's doing. When he doesn't feel like he might be about to say or do something that might spoil their friendship, or make Otabek think less of him for his inexperience. Lord knows it's difficult to fuck up holding hands ...
But he manages it about fifteen minutes later, when he sags against Otabek's side and drifts off into a light snooze. )
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it's comfortable and he slants a slight, crooked smile at the presented logic. knowing yuri would absolutely order him out and away if he wanted him gone is why he doesn't bother looking at the clock or the door.
his thumb shifts a few times over yuri's hand as if done idly as his attention slowly focuses back on the movie, blinking heavily after awhile.
the slight slump of weight against his side jars him from tiredly concentrating too hard the plot, realizing he'd been on his way to dozing off himself. angling his chin to watch him for a few moments, he goes back to the movie until it's over.
with yuri still asleep, he breathes out evenly and carefully nudges him with his shoulder, leaning his weight towards him. ]
Yuri. Hey. [ pulling his hand from that sleep-loose grip, he pushes some of the hair from yuri's eyes again, shifting to toss the pillow in his lap back to the head of the mattress.
closing the laptop without entirely pulling away from the sleeping timebomb still at his side, he blinks over at the light from the city outside streaming in through the half-open curtains then back down to yuri.
sounding the slightest bit amused as he stifles a yawn: ] You're going to get a neck cramp.
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( Yuri isn't sleeping deeply enough to dream, but he feels - warmth. Safety. Goodness. He's vaguely aware that he's not as physically comfortable as he could be, but contentment keeps him in a pleasant doze until he finds himself being nudged awake again. )
Hm?
( He blinks tiredly, then lifts both hands to press the heels into his eyes. Yeah. He can't hold out much longer. )
It'd be your fault if I did.
( A leonine yawn follows. )
A good friend would have lain me down properly.
( But there's sleepy amusement on his lips, if only because they both know that had Otabek tried to put him to bed he'd have just kicked up a fuss. Yuri stays leaning against his friend for a moment longer before pulling away to deal with the laptop; he slips off the end of the bed, then plugs it in to charge on the chair next to the nightstand. When he straightens up again he puts a hand on his hip, toeing at what appears to be a knotted pair of sweatpants. )
... You should probably go now. The others are gonna be hungover, but we need to be awake enough to kick their asses.
( When he smiles he shows teeth. )
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he hasn't checked his phone once since getting back to the hotel and still doesn't now, leaning back on one arm as yuri stirs himself awake enough to move from his side finally.
glancing at the clock, as late as he'd anticipated, he nods and shifts from the mattress, flexing his toes, realizing one leg is slightly asleep, all pins and needles. reaching to grab his empty cup, he tosses it into a bin in the corner and shrugs his jacket back on, incapable of not mirroring that grin yuri gives him; close-mouthed but punctuated with an enthusiastic nod.
walking past him, stepping carefully over thrown clothing, he shoulders the urge to touch yuri one last time — stepping back into his shoes with a wave of his helmet. ]
Sleep well. Throw those apple pies out.
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( Yuri has no such restraint. He reaches for Otabek's free hand as he steps into his shoes, momentarily surprised by his own actions before giving it a quick squeeze and letting go. It's all a little poorly planned, if he's honest, but he couldn't just let Otabek leave without some kind of - of something. Wordless acknowledgement, maybe, that their evening together was slightly different to those that came before. )
I ...
( Yuri sighs heavily, blowing a few strands of pale hair up and away from his face. )
I'm gonna eat them both. And I'll send you pictures so you have to see.
( He says smugly, before opening the door and letting the hall light flood the room. There's a little tug in the pit of his stomach when Otabek walks past him, but he's getting used to ignoring it.
And then he's gone.
As promised, ten minutes later Yuri sends a series of pictures documenting the demolition of one of the pies, and he falls asleep feeling silly and sticky and just a little bit strange. It isn't the junk food, either, and by the next morning the strange squeeze has made its way up from his stomach into his chest. He tries not to think about Otabek or the way he touched him; how gently he brushed back his hair or took his hand.
He stretches, runs to the rink, then stretches some more, and by half past seven he's at the side of the rink in a standing split with Instagram at his fingertips. Yakov went off to get coffee; only Phichit is there so far, having remained mostly sober the night before in the hopes of successfully documenting the ice. )
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ʕ – ▃ – ʔ
before falling asleep. he wakes up to a shower and a begrudging glance at instagram, his feed slowing in this timezone while most of the local peers sleep off hangovers. he flexes the hand that yuri had held the night before while warming up with wake-up stretches, remembering the slight flush across his face in his hotel room, his forehead against his back on the ride from the bar, the absolutely vile final picture of a cold apple pie disappearing into his mouth.
he isn't usually the kind of guy to smile to himself, quickly schooling his features into something more relaxed each time he catches himself. if he didn't catch himself, his coach would. it'd been nice to have yuri fall asleep against him, relaxed and strangely soft in the glow of his laptop screen.
but he's still focused, mentally running through a warmup routine when he makes it to the rink, only the slightest bit breathless from the jog.
yuri isn't difficult to spot, even in the mostly empty rink. he returns a wave to phichit when noticed, adjusting the strap of his duffle bag across his chest. he's halfway to where yuri stands, eyes glued to his phone, when he sends a text: ]
Hey. Look up.
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( Yuri blinks at the text, then lifts his head with his brows ever so slightly furrowed. His expression melts into one of smug satisfaction when he spots Otabek approaching his spot, and he comes down from his stretch with ease and care before rolling out his ankle. Warmth melts into his stomach and spreads out to his extremities, and he throws his phone into his open bag before shoving his hands in his pockets to meet him half-way. )
Hey.
( Less smug, more genuine, now that Otabek is near. Yuri pulls a tie from his pocket and begins gathering his hair into a little ponytail away from his neck. He looks fresh and ready to train despite the fact he only got about four hours sleep; Otabek's presence helps, he thinks, and motivates him to do that bit better. Even when he wants a nap. )
You better still be up for getting dinner tonight. I can pay you back for the McDonald's then, okay?
( He smiles warmly; something only his grandfather has really seen before. Thank god Phichit is paying more attention to his phone than to them, otherwise he suspects he'd give the poor boy some kind of heart attack. Yuri Plisetsky, the Russian punk, smiling for Otabek Altin. )
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it feels good to appreciate something without feeling inadequate.
(but he's still good, he knows it. he's found his own way to touch down between presentation and technique, found the path he needs to be on to grow in the right direction.) ]
Hm. [ nodding his hello as yuri pulls his hair back, he takes a moment to openly glance him over as if checking for any signs of late night apple pie stress, of any strain from their few hours of sleep.
none. otabek mirrors the smile like this is something he always does, his mouth curving up at one corner; more expressive than any single kiss and cry he's sat through. somewhat distantly, he's aware yuri doesn't hand out these kind of smiles, either. if it makes his chest feel strangely tight, he doesn't let on. ]
You can pick where, I'm no good with reading menus. [ which is vague but nevertheless true, more indifferent to whatever they end up eating than disinterested in dinner itself. he's more spartan than picky when it comes to food. another nod confirms that he's not worried about being paid back but agreeable for the sake of it, no point in insisting when yuri is set on making good on the price of a bag of mcdonalds.
he glances over his shoulder at the nearly empty rink then back to yuri, still half smiling. ] I'm looking forward to it.
[ a pause, an amused co-conspirator: ] There really is no one here.
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( Yuri sees Otabek's brief moment of fuss from the corner of his eye. While part of him wants to give him a little kick for being concerned about how tired he may or may not be, he's warmed to the core by the thought of his friend thinking about him in any capacity. It makes him feel soft and melting inside; Otabek smiles and Yuri just looks at him for a few moments before forcing himself to snap out of it with a firm blink. )
... Yeah. Yeah - me too.
( For all the cool air, a little pink settles high on his cheeks. He thinks of Yuuri again - thinks of all the grief he gives him for going goo-goo whenever Viktor walks into a room - but he's beginning to realise that maybe some things just can't be avoided. Of course, he doesn't imagine he's in love with Otabek, no fucking way -
Yuri licks his lips, then rubs a bit of unflavoured chapstick into them with a huffy little swipe. He's on the verge of saying something further when a disgruntled Yakov appears by the rink; they exchange a few cross words, and Yuri pulls on his thin gloves before checking his skates again. )
I'd better go. I swear, that old man gets worse every season.
( He grumbles, rolling out a knot of tension in his shoulder as he flexes his fingers. Should he take Otabek's hand again? Will it be weird to give it a squeeze before they commit to practice properly? In the end settles on playing it safe and keeps his hands to himself, offering Otabek a parting smirk as he moves past him to join Yakov. )
Make me work harder today, okay? Show me how good you are.
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he can smell yakov's coffee and feels a twinge of regret at not taking the time to get his own, no matter how difficult it is to obtain a cup here even slightly close to what he prefers.
yakov is strict, yuri needs strict.
he watches as yuri shifts in place, nodding as he flexes his fingers. otabek imagines pulling him in close by his forearm, a quick embrace, a smile hidden in yuri's hair — but like the night before, wanting to lean in and kiss him, he folds the thought neatly away. ]
I won't go easy on you. [ with a grin to match.
and he doesn't, though he starts off as slow as he'd planned, cutting languid figure eights into the ice to ground himself, to clear his head. start off by letting everything else go, feel free, then let inspiration float back in naturally. focus.
he goes from gliding in a backwards skate, mostly aimless, into the rigorous itinerary for the day, ironing out already perfect toe loops when he pops too many jumps and falls too many times in a row. he pushes himself, recovers, and by the end of the day he's nearly landed as much as he hasn't.
nearly.
it also leaves him very fucking sore. after a quick locker room shower and change, he lingers in the rink a little longer to watch yuri, hair damp under the hood of his sweatshirt. pushing himself still as if there's something to prove to those late to practice today, bleary eyed and more wobbly than usual. ]
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( Yuri still struggles with the concept of freedom on the ice. He's a powerhouse to be sure - he's determined to grind both Viktor and Yuuri into the ice - but his determination is as much a hindrance as it is a help. Moments where his mind does go blank are the best, that's when the beauty of his program can reach its loveliest form, but he never manages to achieve it in practice. He only sometimes reaches it when he's in a competition.
Yuri keeps half an eye on the rest of the competition. As expected, Viktor and Yuuri show up late looking a little worse for wear, and even JJ manages a few turns around the ice before having to duck out to be sick. That gets a satisfied little smirk, as do each and every one of Yuuri's flubbed jumps, although he can't help but be tempted to shout out little pointers that would help the idiot improve.
He keeps his thoughts to himself.
When his eyes slide over to Otabek, Yuri lets himself take his time. He watches his strong, confident movements as he works himself on the ice; he makes good on his word and doesn't go easy, which has Yuri biting back a grin as he pushes himself harder. It makes Yakov's yelling seem like background noise - sloppy left leg, Yura, get your head back on the ice! Do you want gold or not? Again! - but by the end of the session he's punishing himself, his wrapped feet twinging and his chest burning with effort.
It's good. Yuri likes it when it hurts like that; when he can feel his whole body trembling because he's giving it his all. He doesn't notice Otabek has left the ice until he realises he's the only one still out on it, at which point he stops drilling his choreography and skates over to Yakov, who releases him. His thighs are killing him but he feels energized - he always does after a productive practice - and it doesn't take him long to get washed and changed and ready to meet his friend. )
You were good, Beka.
( Yuri approaches him with his hands stuffed into his pockets and his hair pulled up into a small bun. He's damp from the shower but not as pink as he was, and his eyes are still crackling with energy from the rush of the ice. )
My favourite part was when you smashed into the ice three times in a row.
( An eyebrow flicks up, and Yuri nods his head to indicate they should start walking. )