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“What the fuck?”
Yuri stops dead in his tracks, staring from the doorway as Otabek takes a sip of his coffee. There is a newspaper in his hands and seriously, who the hell even reads newspapers anymore, but right now he doesn’t mean that. There are other things, things that are far more interesting in this picture, and when Beka looks up at him, his stomach does a flip at the sight.
He marches up to stand in front of him at the kitchen table and Otabek is a bit confused as he follows Yuri’s eyes and looks down at himself.
“What the fuck what?” he asks and Yuri scoffs. He doesn’t even know where to start but after careful consideration he chooses the most obvious one and points a finger at his face.
“That, Altin. What the actual fuck is that.”
Otabek has the audacity to tilt his head like a goddamn puppy as he lowers the newspaper.
“You mean my glasses?”
“Yes, the glasses, you idiot,” he rolls his eyes and feels his cheeks heat up when he gets too close and Otabek blinks at him from behind the frames and holy shit, it should be illegal to look like that because it’s really messing with Yuri’s sanity right now.
So yes, the glasses are one thing. But there is also Otabek’s hair.
Otabek’s hair, that he probably washed in the morning. It smells like blueberries which makes Yuri question his life choices, since he was the one who offered his own shampoo for Otabek to use while he’s visiting. He didn’t think it would make him want to press his entire body against Beka’s and bury his nose in his hair. No more than usual anyway.
But that’s not all, no. It also looks like Otabek got into a fight with the hairbrush because the longer strands are sticking up on his head everywhere, ending in small, soft curls that are literally begging for Yuri to rake his hand through them. At this point he seriously considers banning him from washing his hair for the next two weeks while he’s still there just to maintain whatever dignity he has left.
“You don’t like it?” Otabek is frowning, eyebrows drawn together just over the black frames, lower lip turning down slightly and Yuri is about fifty shades of done.
See, he is used to seeing his best friend in all black, with the leather jacket, the motorcycle boots and the fingerless gloves, and don’t get him wrong, that’s incredibly hot too, but Yuri’s immune system has already developed a certain level of resistance against that. This however, the glasses with the thick, black frame, the curly hair and that ridiculous wool cardigan he was wearing all added up to the kind of art student aesthetic he was defenseless against.
It was like seeing Superman change into his Clark Kent-outfit and realizing that somehow he’s become even sexier.
“No, I don’t,” he says, “you look fucking stupid.”
Yuri expects Otabek to be hurt by that, but he only lets out a short, rumbling laugh and pulls out the empty chair next to him.
“Okay, what’s going on?” Yuri doesn’t answer and turns his head away, but of course Otabek is Otabek, which means he leans towards him with a small, amused smile, searching for his eyes hidden behind his blonde hair. Yuri isn’t even looking at him but he still knows that it’s fucking adorable and it’s pissing him off. “Yura, come on, sit down.”
The glasses, the hair, the clothes, the face and now his voice. Yuri silently gives up on his life and turns away, going around the table. He pushes himself up on the other end, sitting on the table across from Otabek with his back to him, and no, he’s not being childish, it’s a tactical retreat, thank you very much.
Otabek goes to stand in front of him.
“Yura,” he starts and he is using that tone, that fucking tone when he pretends to be serious but Yuri knows he is going to mess with him. “I’m sorry if my glasses offended you. I’ll put them away in the drawer tonight. That’ll teach them.”
Otabek is very close, very hot and very amused. He uses his index finger to push the glasses back to their place on his nose and Yuri is nothing more than a generator of heat with his entire face wearing a bright, red shade. He doesn’t have enough hair to hide it.
Beka is watching him for a few seconds before his eyes widen with realization and Yuri knows he’s onto him.
“Holy shit,” Otabek says and well, he’s not wrong. Holy shit, indeed. “You do like them, don’t you?”
Yuri doesn’t answer him which is a huge mistake because he is only confirming his suspicions.
“Yura, I’m gonna ask you a question and I want you to know that you can tell me anything, I won’t treat you any differently.” Well, that’s not a promising start. Yuri was kind of hoping Otabek would treat him very differently when this gets out in the open. Like, ‘pushing him down right there on the table and climbing him like a tree’-differently.
Beka crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, but he is still fighting a smile and it’s bugging the hell out of Yuri. “Do you have a thing for glasses?”
“What?!” He is mortified but doesn’t have enough time to protest before Otabek continues to talk. It’s unusual for him to talk that much and he chose the worst time to do it because Yuri would like to interrupt and make it clear that he does not have a thing for glasses.
He has a thing for Otabek’s glasses, maybe, but not glasses, in general.
“Because if you do, I can just take them off…”
“I don’t have a thing for glasses, Beka.”
“Yuri, it’s okay, you don’t have to be ashamed,” he tells him and Yuri is very much ashamed and would like to sink under table and into the ground until he is buried deep enough to shake hands with Satan in hell. “Is this like a kink?”
“Oh my god,” Yuri shakes his head. He is pretty sure Otabek is messing with him but his face is serious so either he is a really good actor or he honestly thinks Yuri has a secret kink for glasses.
“Fine, you don’t have to tell me,” Beka says, “just know that I would never kinkshame you for it.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Beka, shut the fuck up,” Yuri yells at him, “it’s not the glasses, it’s you, you fucking idiot!”
Beka does exactly what he asked and shuts the fuck up, staring at Yuri with wide, confused eyes.
“What about me?” he asks and Yuri closes his eyes, silently praying to every god of every religion he knows to give him more patience before he camelspin-kicks Otabek into outer space.
“I have a thing. For you.” He tries to make sure Otabek understands him this time, because what the hell does it even matter anymore, if he self-destructs he might as well do it properly.
“Oh.” Beka considers his words for a minute then steps closer, putting a hand on Yuri’s knee. “Just to be clear, though. If I take the glasses off, will you still have a thing for me?”
“Probably,” Yuri says, “but you should take everything off, just to make sure.”
And guess what:
Otabek lied to him. He did treat Yuri differently after that.
Very, very differently.