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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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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. )