[ otabek rolls over onto his side in his room and falls asleep with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, amused and vaguely disgusted and shooting off a single text,
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: ]
no subject
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.