[ both accusations draw another slant of his mouth, part smile, part appreciation. there's an understanding between them that keeps otabek at ease, not quite reading between yuri's words but looking past them altogether. he chooses his friends carefully, always swaying toward that mutual understanding, that rare click of connection. anything else is pointlessly shallow.
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. ]
no subject
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.