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( continued from here. )
I saw those. [ he's not an unfriendly guy but his social feeds aren't heavy on fellow skaters. he's not really friends with many fellow skaters which is the crucial point, his circle of ties and acquaintances are a mottled bunch, disreputable djs and career models, students and book club enthusiasts. but phichit is impossible not to get along with ( and jean jacques leroy is impossible not to laugh at ) so even otabek had grinned over the flood of pictures from the past few hours, each one increasingly more absurd than the last as the night crept onward.
it had been immediately obvious in the way yuri walked out that he isn't in a terrible mood, maybe a little huffy but far from being as murderous as his initial text had implied. otabek doesn't call him out on it but he does catch himself feeling pleased that his offer hadn't been declined, realizing that he really does appreciate the company once he feels yuri drop his forehead against his back.
there's a few mcdonalds on the way back to the hotel, he'd done a quick search on his phone just to be sure, taking a short detour to the nearest one.
stuck at a red light, golden arches just visible down the street, otabek turns a little to glance at yuri. curiously, not condescendingly: ] You aren't tired?
it had been immediately obvious in the way yuri walked out that he isn't in a terrible mood, maybe a little huffy but far from being as murderous as his initial text had implied. otabek doesn't call him out on it but he does catch himself feeling pleased that his offer hadn't been declined, realizing that he really does appreciate the company once he feels yuri drop his forehead against his back.
there's a few mcdonalds on the way back to the hotel, he'd done a quick search on his phone just to be sure, taking a short detour to the nearest one.
stuck at a red light, golden arches just visible down the street, otabek turns a little to glance at yuri. curiously, not condescendingly: ] You aren't tired?
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( The hand on his thigh triggers a little jolt through Yuri's system. It's not something he's experienced before and he doesn't entirely grasp what it means, but it's good, if a little unnerving. When Otabek's hand doesn't move away Yuri find himself glad for it. He looks back towards him, and has to firmly remind himself not to scoot just a little closer. )
Yeah. I'll tell you.
( A nod. Tentatively, Yuri places his own hand over Otabek's, but the contact is fleeting as a heartbeat. What puzzles him is that he wants to touch him. He's spent his whole life shrugging off Yakov and running from Viktor; hiding from Mila and her freakish strength. The only person he's truly elected to touch on a regular basis is his grandpa, who he loves more than anything.
Having Otabek touch him, though. It makes him feel nice, even when it's just his hand against his leg. )
... What?
( He says after a moment, feeling a little self-conscious under the intensity of his friend's gaze. He touches his hair, wondering if it's being stupid, then brushes it back from his face again. Doubt begins to worm its way into the back of his mind. )
I - if you want to go, you can.
( A moment ago Yuri was relishing Otabek's decision to stay, yet now he can't help but notice how many times he's mentioned leaving. )
I don't want to keep you stuck here if you want to go to bed.
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yuri flusters easily, fidgeting slightly under his gaze even as otabek mentally backtracks and glances away briefly to the laptop screen as if to remember just where they're at in the movie; he can't remember the last time he was really paying attention. ]
No, I want to stay. [ the movie has to be a little more than half over by now but he can't be sure, selfishly not wanting to leave but not wanting to keep yuri awake longer than he should be, finally feeling the weight of just how tired he is in the droop of his own shoulders.
his hand shifts in place instead of pulling away, palm facing up. ]
I just don't want to keep you up.
[ without skipping a beat: ] Do you want to hold hands?
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( Something slots into place at that question. The tension seems to roll back a little way and give him space to breathe; Yuri looks at his hand, then offers a nod before slipping his hand into Otabek's. )
You're not keeping me up.
( He rolls his eyes, then shifts so that're sitting a little closer together. Thigh to thigh. The pressure is warm and pleasant, and Yuri exhales softly to help center himself as he curls his fingers around Otabek's palm properly. )
Anyway, do you really think I wouldn't just shove you off the bed if I wanted you gone?
( An eyebrow flicks up to his hairline as he shoots a Look up at his friend, and smirks. Now that the crackling uncertainty is mostly gone it's easy to cover himself back up with bravado, and -
It's better this way, right? When he knows where he stands and what he's doing. When he doesn't feel like he might be about to say or do something that might spoil their friendship, or make Otabek think less of him for his inexperience. Lord knows it's difficult to fuck up holding hands ...
But he manages it about fifteen minutes later, when he sags against Otabek's side and drifts off into a light snooze. )
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it's comfortable and he slants a slight, crooked smile at the presented logic. knowing yuri would absolutely order him out and away if he wanted him gone is why he doesn't bother looking at the clock or the door.
his thumb shifts a few times over yuri's hand as if done idly as his attention slowly focuses back on the movie, blinking heavily after awhile.
the slight slump of weight against his side jars him from tiredly concentrating too hard the plot, realizing he'd been on his way to dozing off himself. angling his chin to watch him for a few moments, he goes back to the movie until it's over.
with yuri still asleep, he breathes out evenly and carefully nudges him with his shoulder, leaning his weight towards him. ]
Yuri. Hey. [ pulling his hand from that sleep-loose grip, he pushes some of the hair from yuri's eyes again, shifting to toss the pillow in his lap back to the head of the mattress.
closing the laptop without entirely pulling away from the sleeping timebomb still at his side, he blinks over at the light from the city outside streaming in through the half-open curtains then back down to yuri.
sounding the slightest bit amused as he stifles a yawn: ] You're going to get a neck cramp.
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( Yuri isn't sleeping deeply enough to dream, but he feels - warmth. Safety. Goodness. He's vaguely aware that he's not as physically comfortable as he could be, but contentment keeps him in a pleasant doze until he finds himself being nudged awake again. )
Hm?
( He blinks tiredly, then lifts both hands to press the heels into his eyes. Yeah. He can't hold out much longer. )
It'd be your fault if I did.
( A leonine yawn follows. )
A good friend would have lain me down properly.
( But there's sleepy amusement on his lips, if only because they both know that had Otabek tried to put him to bed he'd have just kicked up a fuss. Yuri stays leaning against his friend for a moment longer before pulling away to deal with the laptop; he slips off the end of the bed, then plugs it in to charge on the chair next to the nightstand. When he straightens up again he puts a hand on his hip, toeing at what appears to be a knotted pair of sweatpants. )
... You should probably go now. The others are gonna be hungover, but we need to be awake enough to kick their asses.
( When he smiles he shows teeth. )
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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.
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( 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. )
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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.
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( Yuri blinks at the text, then lifts his head with his brows ever so slightly furrowed. His expression melts into one of smug satisfaction when he spots Otabek approaching his spot, and he comes down from his stretch with ease and care before rolling out his ankle. Warmth melts into his stomach and spreads out to his extremities, and he throws his phone into his open bag before shoving his hands in his pockets to meet him half-way. )
Hey.
( Less smug, more genuine, now that Otabek is near. Yuri pulls a tie from his pocket and begins gathering his hair into a little ponytail away from his neck. He looks fresh and ready to train despite the fact he only got about four hours sleep; Otabek's presence helps, he thinks, and motivates him to do that bit better. Even when he wants a nap. )
You better still be up for getting dinner tonight. I can pay you back for the McDonald's then, okay?
( He smiles warmly; something only his grandfather has really seen before. Thank god Phichit is paying more attention to his phone than to them, otherwise he suspects he'd give the poor boy some kind of heart attack. Yuri Plisetsky, the Russian punk, smiling for Otabek Altin. )
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it feels good to appreciate something without feeling inadequate.
(but he's still good, he knows it. he's found his own way to touch down between presentation and technique, found the path he needs to be on to grow in the right direction.) ]
Hm. [ nodding his hello as yuri pulls his hair back, he takes a moment to openly glance him over as if checking for any signs of late night apple pie stress, of any strain from their few hours of sleep.
none. otabek mirrors the smile like this is something he always does, his mouth curving up at one corner; more expressive than any single kiss and cry he's sat through. somewhat distantly, he's aware yuri doesn't hand out these kind of smiles, either. if it makes his chest feel strangely tight, he doesn't let on. ]
You can pick where, I'm no good with reading menus. [ which is vague but nevertheless true, more indifferent to whatever they end up eating than disinterested in dinner itself. he's more spartan than picky when it comes to food. another nod confirms that he's not worried about being paid back but agreeable for the sake of it, no point in insisting when yuri is set on making good on the price of a bag of mcdonalds.
he glances over his shoulder at the nearly empty rink then back to yuri, still half smiling. ] I'm looking forward to it.
[ a pause, an amused co-conspirator: ] There really is no one here.
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( Yuri sees Otabek's brief moment of fuss from the corner of his eye. While part of him wants to give him a little kick for being concerned about how tired he may or may not be, he's warmed to the core by the thought of his friend thinking about him in any capacity. It makes him feel soft and melting inside; Otabek smiles and Yuri just looks at him for a few moments before forcing himself to snap out of it with a firm blink. )
... Yeah. Yeah - me too.
( For all the cool air, a little pink settles high on his cheeks. He thinks of Yuuri again - thinks of all the grief he gives him for going goo-goo whenever Viktor walks into a room - but he's beginning to realise that maybe some things just can't be avoided. Of course, he doesn't imagine he's in love with Otabek, no fucking way -
Yuri licks his lips, then rubs a bit of unflavoured chapstick into them with a huffy little swipe. He's on the verge of saying something further when a disgruntled Yakov appears by the rink; they exchange a few cross words, and Yuri pulls on his thin gloves before checking his skates again. )
I'd better go. I swear, that old man gets worse every season.
( He grumbles, rolling out a knot of tension in his shoulder as he flexes his fingers. Should he take Otabek's hand again? Will it be weird to give it a squeeze before they commit to practice properly? In the end settles on playing it safe and keeps his hands to himself, offering Otabek a parting smirk as he moves past him to join Yakov. )
Make me work harder today, okay? Show me how good you are.
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he can smell yakov's coffee and feels a twinge of regret at not taking the time to get his own, no matter how difficult it is to obtain a cup here even slightly close to what he prefers.
yakov is strict, yuri needs strict.
he watches as yuri shifts in place, nodding as he flexes his fingers. otabek imagines pulling him in close by his forearm, a quick embrace, a smile hidden in yuri's hair — but like the night before, wanting to lean in and kiss him, he folds the thought neatly away. ]
I won't go easy on you. [ with a grin to match.
and he doesn't, though he starts off as slow as he'd planned, cutting languid figure eights into the ice to ground himself, to clear his head. start off by letting everything else go, feel free, then let inspiration float back in naturally. focus.
he goes from gliding in a backwards skate, mostly aimless, into the rigorous itinerary for the day, ironing out already perfect toe loops when he pops too many jumps and falls too many times in a row. he pushes himself, recovers, and by the end of the day he's nearly landed as much as he hasn't.
nearly.
it also leaves him very fucking sore. after a quick locker room shower and change, he lingers in the rink a little longer to watch yuri, hair damp under the hood of his sweatshirt. pushing himself still as if there's something to prove to those late to practice today, bleary eyed and more wobbly than usual. ]
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( Yuri still struggles with the concept of freedom on the ice. He's a powerhouse to be sure - he's determined to grind both Viktor and Yuuri into the ice - but his determination is as much a hindrance as it is a help. Moments where his mind does go blank are the best, that's when the beauty of his program can reach its loveliest form, but he never manages to achieve it in practice. He only sometimes reaches it when he's in a competition.
Yuri keeps half an eye on the rest of the competition. As expected, Viktor and Yuuri show up late looking a little worse for wear, and even JJ manages a few turns around the ice before having to duck out to be sick. That gets a satisfied little smirk, as do each and every one of Yuuri's flubbed jumps, although he can't help but be tempted to shout out little pointers that would help the idiot improve.
He keeps his thoughts to himself.
When his eyes slide over to Otabek, Yuri lets himself take his time. He watches his strong, confident movements as he works himself on the ice; he makes good on his word and doesn't go easy, which has Yuri biting back a grin as he pushes himself harder. It makes Yakov's yelling seem like background noise - sloppy left leg, Yura, get your head back on the ice! Do you want gold or not? Again! - but by the end of the session he's punishing himself, his wrapped feet twinging and his chest burning with effort.
It's good. Yuri likes it when it hurts like that; when he can feel his whole body trembling because he's giving it his all. He doesn't notice Otabek has left the ice until he realises he's the only one still out on it, at which point he stops drilling his choreography and skates over to Yakov, who releases him. His thighs are killing him but he feels energized - he always does after a productive practice - and it doesn't take him long to get washed and changed and ready to meet his friend. )
You were good, Beka.
( Yuri approaches him with his hands stuffed into his pockets and his hair pulled up into a small bun. He's damp from the shower but not as pink as he was, and his eyes are still crackling with energy from the rush of the ice. )
My favourite part was when you smashed into the ice three times in a row.
( An eyebrow flicks up, and Yuri nods his head to indicate they should start walking. )