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. )