( 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. )
no subject
( 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. )