[ somewhere in the middle of a dramatic hans zimmer swell, otabek twists to reach for a pillow, realizing halfway through the motion that he's sneaking a glance back at yuri. which has the result of making him self conscious all over again, face heating colorlessly. sometimes he forgets just how young yuri is, even between the theatrical huffing, the snark that only thinly veils everything from jealousy to botched attempts at conveying things beyond anger.
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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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.