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Yuri would never tell the team this, but privately he’s got to admit that he might have bitten off a little more than he can chew this time. It’s not his fault, really. The guys hadn’t looked that tough, and the first two men had gone down easily enough when he sprang down into their gathering from the neighboring rooftop. Lots of bad guys think Lynx is an easy mark just because he’s young and he’s small, but the bastards all wet themselves and run the moment his claws come out anyway.
Except now he’s dashing down an alley reeking of hot garbage and stagnant water, looking desperately for cover, or maybe another weapon. There are three guys still after him, who may or may not have guns, and he’s beginning to suspect this is what Twister is talking about when he drones on and on about calling for backup before leaping into dangerous situations. Well, it’s too late now.
He springs onto the closed lid of a dumpster, then launches himself upward again to grab the bottom rung of a fire escape ladder. The metal shrieks and clangs in protest at his weight but doesn’t drop down any further, apparently rusted into place. Fine. He swings his legs forward once, twice, and on the third swing he uses the momentum to flip himself up, grabbing for a higher rung. He catches it one-handed, gets his feet onto the ladder beneath him, and scrambles up to the platform as quickly as he can.
He can hear his pursuers clambering onto the lid of the dumpster behind him. Unless one of them is a gymnast, the jumps should slow them down, but he knows by now he can’t count on anything with these guys. He wipes the rust off his hands, leaving dark orange streaks on his light-colored jeans, then dashes up the fire escape.
The roof he finds himself on is totally unfamiliar, as are the other building he can see from here. Shit, he’s well outside of his usual neighborhood now, isn’t he? He jogs toward the other side of the roof, but skids to a stop at the edge. There’s no corresponding fire escape on this side, and the next roof is… a ways. He can hear the clanging of heavy footsteps vibrating the fire escape behind him, which leaves him little time and only two options: try to make the jump to the next roof, or stand his ground here on the ledge and take on all three guys at once.
He takes a few steps back from the ledge, preparing for the running leap he’s going to need to have any hope of making it across. As he prepares to sprint, he feels someone grip his shoulder.
He grabs the hand and spins, feeling the claws extend from his fingertips. The other person ducks beneath his swing, then uses their interlocked arms to yank him in close before he can try again.
Lynx finds himself suddenly flush against an older boy he doesn't recognize, staring up into a pair of deep, dark brown eyes beneath angled brows. “I’m with the JF too,” the stranger growls. As he speaks, his eyes flash yellow, then blue, and Yuri sees the hint of a fanged tooth when his lips move.
Oh, hell yes. Whatever this is, he’s on board. “Follow my lead,” the boy continues, dropping Yuri’s arm and walking away. Lynx hesitates, watching him walk away. That leather jacket is badass. He’s pretty sure he’d remember if anyone in the Justice Friends had a jacket like that.
Leather jacket guy notices that he isn’t being followed and turns back to grab Yuri by the wrist. “Quickly,” he hisses, tugging Yuri along after him. Well, the other options both suck, so he might as well follow the stranger. Lynx can take him down too if he has to. He’s already maybe fighting three guys solo, so what’s one more?
He allows himself to be dragged back behind a small, shed-like structure set to one side of the roof, and follows the other boy’s lead again, pressing himself back flat against the wall. He can feel the rough texture of the bricks catch and pull at the fabric of his hoodie. This better not make his favorite jacket pill. The rusty old fire escape finally goes silent, so all the clumsy old bastards have made it onto the roof at last. Yuri snickers, and the other guy shoots him a dark look. Not the time to be amused, apparently.
The men aren’t exactly trained ninja, and even on the roof he can hear them tripping over each other, trying to figure out where he went. He crouches slightly, feeling his nails start to lengthen to claws again, but the other boy squeezes his wrist tight, compressing the bones. “Let me go,” Yuri hisses. He tries to tug his arm back but can’t break free of the grip.
“Fight smarter, not harder,” the other boy whispers back, dropping his hold on Yuri’s wrist and motioning for him to stay put. He steps carefully, almost tiptoeing along the wall of the shed, toward the fire escape side. The goons seem to still be fumbling around over there.
Yuri waits, not entirely certain what he’s waiting for. Then he hears the distinct sound of someone gasping for breath, the dull impact of flesh on flesh, and he figures that’s his cue. He sprints out on the other side of the shed.
The two remaining guys - remaining, because the third opponent is currently all tied up in a choke hold by Yuri’s new companion - clearly aren’t expecting Lynx to come out of nowhere, even though he’s already done this to them once today. He launches himself right onto the back of the nearest man, then reaches down and neatly slices through his right hamstring. He piggybacks him to the ground, then springs off toward the next guy as soon as his feet touch the roof.
The remaining man takes one look at Lynx running toward him and makes the same risky calculation Yuri had earlier. Before Yuri can get in reach of him, he takes off running for the edge, launching himself for the next roof over. For a moment, it looks like he might make it.
Then he drops like a stone, a few feet from the next ledge. Yuri doesn’t need to look down to see if he made it. It’s a tall building.
“Were you really going to try to jump that?” The mystery man, asking from behind him.
Yuri turns, tossing his flyaway hair from his face, arms crossed and scowling. “I could have made it. Anyway, it was that or face off against three of them on my own. Both the options sucked.” The guy just nods back at the brick shed they’d been hiding behind. There’s a brown metal door visible from this side of the roof. It’s a stairwell. Yuri looks away and quickly finger-combs his hair down over his burning ears.
“Do I actually know you?” Yuri spits, once his face has cooled down. “Or are you just one of those superhero groupies that keeps following me around? Because I’ve told you guys before, I’m fifteen.”
“I’m Otabek,” the guy offers his hand, and Yuri takes the opportunity to give him a real considering look. He’s paired that sweet leather jacket with dark jeans and a white t-shirt. His boots are probably steel toe. It's a pretty simple style, but it says a lot about something that at least looks like confidence. “I’ve been on the Little Friends team for a couple years.”
He’s obviously been spending too much time around Victor if he’s starting to forget people like this. Some of them deserve it, but maybe not this one. Then again, “What kind of code name is Otabek?”
The guy - Otabek - shrugs. “It’s just my name.”
This is the worst thing Yuri’s heard today, and he’s including the sound of that jumper’s body hitting the pavement. For someone who is so committed to a sweet aesthetic, this guy apparently has no style at all. It’s a good thing they met now, so he can fix this stupidity.
The wind whips up around them again, tangling his hair and cutting right through his hoodie. For now, he needs to get the hell out of here. He huffs, pulling his hair back in a half ponytail as he strides off to the stairwell. Otabek can follow or not.
Coming through the door, he stumbles over a couple plastic bags full of junk piled on the landing and almost takes a header down the steps, flailing wildly like the highly-trained gymnast he is until Otabek catches him by the back of his hoodie and pulls him back to safety. As soon as his heels are back on solid ground, Yuri tries to jerk out of his grip, stretching out the collar of his jacket. “I’m fine,” he says, twisting away and quickly readjusting his clothes. “What kind of idiot leaves a bunch of stuff lying on the stairs anyway?”
The other boy stoops to pick up the bags. “I was out getting groceries when I saw you being chased,” he says. Without a word, Yuri starts hopping down the stairs. Why is today so stupid? “Why were they after you anyway?”
Lynx had been sitting on the roof of an apartment building, eating a sandwich and absently kicking his feet against the red brick ledge, when he noticed the men standing below him. There had been five of them and one woman in a leopard print dress, pulling away, her heels almost as high as she was. She’d tried to kick one of the guys, but slipped, and the men had all laughed raucously when she landed right in a puddle of mystery fluid.
Yuri finished his lunch, flipped his hood up to cover his face, and then Lynx had leapt right into the middle of the party. “They were asking for it,” he tells Otabek, the corners of his mouth twisting. He survived. That’s the only important thing. Otabek doesn’t push for more, and they don’t speak again until they reach the bottom of the stairs, pushing open another heavy metal door, back out to the spotty sunlight of a wide city street.
No one on the road gives them a second glance. They’re just two teenagers in ratty clothing coming out of an unremarkable doorway with a few sacks of groceries. Yuri kicks a candy wrapper lying next to his foot, and it scuffles along briefly before the breeze of a passing truck pushes it off down the sidewalk. “Well, enjoy your food or whatever, I guess,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Thanks,” Otabek says, sounding amused. “You know where to find me if you want to team up again sometime.”
Yuri looks off toward the street, shifting on his heels. “Yeah, I guess.” He hears the plastic grocery bags rattle in the breeze as Otabek adjusts them before walking away. His hands ball into fists within his pockets.
“Hey,” he calls down the street at the other boy’s retreating back. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your stupid-ass name. You need a cooler codename if you want to hang out with me!” The only acknowledgement he gets is a thumbs up. Well, that’s fine.
-
Yuri: Did you get a better codename yet?
Otabek: Hi Lynx.
Otabek: No I did not.
Yuri: If we’re going to be on a team you need a better name.
Yuri: Like Lion’s Pride or something.
Yuri: I’m great at this.
Otabek: I don’t think I’m much of a lion. I was thinking wolf.
Yuri: Wolves are ok I guess.
Otabek: Twister says Wolfman is taken.
Yuri: Lone Wolf???
Otabek: I’m on a team.
Yuri: Well keep thinking. I can’t introduce you by your real name at Victor’s party.
Yuri: Oh yeah, come to Victor’s party with me.
Otabek: Cool.
-
Normally, Yuri tries to show up to anything Aura organizes around the time of whenever he damn well pleases, because Aura is not in charge of him except for sometimes when he is. When the event is at Headquarters, attending becomes even more complicated because he has to walk down the stairs, and he has to do it carefully, so that no one realizes that he lives here. He doesn’t need all the others hanging around here, bothering him all the time. He sure as hell doesn’t need them trying to find his bedroom. No, upstairs and downstairs need to remain two different universes.
But tonight he’s invited a guest, and Otabek strikes him as the type of guy who actually shows up to things on time. He can picture him arriving and ringing the bell like an idiot, only to be accosted in the entryway by Victor, who would of course back him up into a wall and start asking questions. He can’t chance that happening, tonight or ever.
He meant to be downstairs already, but he’s stuck with the problem of what to wear. He’s narrowed it down to the black tank with the gold-embossed lion, or the grey and purple tiger-striped v-neck. He throws both options onto the bed and then tosses his hoodie down between them. Potya hops onto the bed and weaves a careful path across the comforter and pauses to sniff delicately at the clothes before flopping down on the v-neck, rolling onto her back for attention and covering it in white fur. Black tank top it is, then.
He checks the clock while he scratches Potya between her ears - five minutes past six. Well, he can be fashionably late while still being earlier than normal. He pulls on the tank top and throws his leopard print hoodie on over it, then dashes for the stairs, sliding down the polished wooden banister to the ground floor, because he can.
He jumps off when he reaches the end of the stairs. He sticks the landing, of course, then looks around quickly to see if anyone noticed, but there’s no one around that might mistakenly think he was just excited to get to the party.
He checks the living room first, but it’s practically empty still. Mila waves to him, lounging on the sofa in her training gear with her feet in Georgi’s lap, but Mila and Georgi don’t even count as party guests since they never seem to leave. He doesn’t wave back. Over by the kitchen, Team Incredible are chatting with Arc. There’s a lot of enthusiastic gesturing going on there. As he watches, Michele grabs Emil by the collar of his dress shirt, reeling him in. Emil’s smile doesn't falter for a second. Yuri’s not sure if they’re getting ready to throw down or make out, but either way he doesn’t need to see it.
He stalks past them, checking around the corner into the kitchen and even peeking in the garage, but there’s no sign of Otabek yet. Maybe Yuri was wrong about him being the early sort. Maybe he’s not even coming at all.
It takes a moment for Yuri to place the weird chiming noise as a doorbell. Usually only the media and delivery men bother to ring it, assuming they even make it as far as the door.
Yuri barrels right through the middle of Team Incredible’s weird threeway in his haste to get to the door. He stops abruptly once his hand is on the latch. It might still just be a very nosy reporter with no fear. He starts by opening the door just a sliver and peers out through the gap. Fortunately, it’s actually Otabek waiting on the porch, wearing a light grey v-neck shirt and the same studded leather jacket. There’s a sleek black motorcycle parked in the driveway behind him, an unadorned helmet resting on top of the seat. Cool.
Yuri straightens his posture, swinging the door open wide. “You’re early,” he says, trying to sound disapproving.
Otabek looks down to check his watch - an actual watch! - then says, “Really? I was worried I was running late.” Yuri was not wrong about him. He can feel his mouth pulling toward a smug smile, and forces it down into a more neutral expression as Otabek moves past him, into the entryway. He just watches, giving his guest time to look around at Aura’s austentatious damn house. If Otabek hates it, he can blame Victor. “Nice,” he says. Yuri just nods.
“So, I was thinking about what you said,” Otabek continues. “About trying to get me onto the team, and I may have made a plan.”
A plan. Who makes a plan for a party? This is amazing. “What’s the plan?”
“I just have to get half the members who are here to approve me joining, so I…” He hesitates, glancing away. Is he blushing? “I made a list. Of which members I thought we could persuade the most easily.”
Oh my god. Yuri thought this guy was cool, but he’s a giant dork. He can work with this, though, because he works with some of the biggest dorks in the universe already. Besides, he and Otabek already proved back on that roof that they work well together. With their skills combined, they can own this party. “Okay” he says. “Let me see the list.”
-
Otabek already has one vote guaranteed - Yuri’s - so he only needs five more people to sign off. They decide to circle in and pick off the weakest prey first, so Yuri leads him right to Georgi, who is still apparently trapped on the couch by Mila’s legs.
As they approach, Mila is saying, “And then I told him since he likes basketball so much he should like this. And I kicked him in the nuts.” Georgi is pressed as far into the corner of the sofa as he can get, a horrified look etched across his features. The timing of their approach is clearly perfect.
“Listen up,” Yuri says, interrupting loudly so they both turn to look. “You both have to meet Otabek.”
Mila scoffs dismissively, but Georgi’s eyes widen, an obvious sign that he’s picking up on something. “Yuri,” he gasps, his eyes sparkling with delight as he clasps his hands to his chest. “You feel so calm right now. Perhaps even… happy?”
Now Mila’s staring at him too. Great. He can feel Otabek’s eyes boring into the back of his skull. Fucking empaths. “Get out of my head,” he snaps, pushing his irritation through the words so that it overwhelms anything else Georgi might pick up on. “It’s none of your damn business how I feel. Otabek needs your attention.”
The pair shift their eyes compliantly over to Otabek, who nods to them both. “Good afternoon. I’d like to please ask you both to vote for me to gain full membership in the Justice Friends.” Mila snorts, and Yuri’s eyes narrow. The battle is only beginning.
They move along from the sofa after only a few minutes of discussion, because it quickly becomes clear that Georgi is just thrilled to vote for “Yurachka’s first real friend!” Once that’s settled, they move on to fresh meat.
“Hey,” Mila yells after them. “What about me, you little asshole? I’m not persuaded yet!” Yuri just waves back at her. She wasn’t on Otabek’s list anyway.
The next target is Team Incredible, but they only need one of the two to commit to vote. Michele is still very much up in Emil’s personal space, poking him repeatedly in the breastbone and having some type of very intense but one-sided conversation. Sara, on the other hand, is alone by the bar mixing a drink. Yuri heads straight for her, towing Otabek along in his wake.
After an introduction, Otabek extends his arm to shake Sara’s hand. Before their fingers even brush, Michele appears between them, seemingly out of nowhere. Emil waves awkwardly as he trots after him. “What’s going on here?” Michele asks, batting Otabek hand away with a bit too much force to be playful, then slinging an arm over his sister’s shoulder. Her smile reconfigures itself to a look of exasperation.
“Mickey,” she sighs, shrugging off his arm. “Lynx was just introducing me to his new friend. He wants to move up from the LF and join the full team.”
“Well, I’m not voting for you.” Michele says, even though no one asked him, and folds his arms across his chest. “And neither is Sara, so move on, creep.”
“Mickey,” Sara snaps, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder. The siblings’ striking violet eyes meet, clashing in a war of wills. “I’m an adult. I can make my own choices. You don’t get to tell me what to do just because you’re insecure.”
“Sara,” he mumbles, desperately seizing her hand in both of his as the others look on awkwardly.
Yuri pinches the sleeve of Otabek’s jacket and tugs lightly, pulling him away. “Don’t we need to plead our case more there?” Otabek asks, looking back over his shoulder at the tinder pile they just lit.
“I don’t want to listen to their gross drama,” Yuri shrugs. “One of them will vote for you. The other one won’t. It doesn’t matter which, and we don’t need to waste our time on them when we have more difficult targets to go after.”
There’s a racket like a herd of wild horses is running through the next room, so Yuri grabs two sodas off the kitchen counter on their way out, then pulls Otabek into an out of the way corner just as Aura makes his usual dramatic attention whore entrance.
“We can regroup while everyone is distracted by His Highness over there,” he suggests, handing one of the drinks off to Otabek, who accepts it with a nod, and then using one of his claws to lever the tab off his own.
There was a bit of a press emergency earlier in the year after Yuri followed Victor and Chris into a bar after a fight, and the notoriously prudish Americans fell over themselves trying to figure out exactly how young Lynx really was. Through the magic of superpowers and world-saving, no one seems to give a damn if anyone drinks in the house where the press can’t see it. Unfortunately, Yuri doesn’t actually enjoy drinking much, so the freedom is wasted on him.
“Yuuuuri!” He winces as the yell cuts through his train of thought like a knife through butter, and ducks behind Otabek’s broader form, avoiding eye contact with Victor just long enough for Twister to distract the old bastard and monopolize his attention.
“You and Aura must be pretty close,” Otabek says, swigging his beer.
“No,” Yuri snaps, horrified. “We’re not even friends. He’s completely ridiculous.”
“You live in his house,” Otabek points out, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t he your legal guardian? Or did the papers make that up?”
“It’s basically my house now,” Yuri mutters, ignoring the other questions. “I’m the only one who actually lives in it.” As he looks through Otabek’s shoulder to the rest of the room, his attention is caught by a flash of crimson and gold. Sparkler is heading for the door at a jog, clearly in a rush to be somewhere else. This could be a problem. Phichit was on their target list next, and an easy enough vote to get in theory. If he’s leaving, they’re going to come up one vote short at the end of the night.
“That’s a problem,” Otabek says, apparently reading Yuri’s mind, as Phichit vanishes out the front door. “Do you think he’ll come back?”
“Well,” Yuri says, “So much for plans. Looks like we’re making shit up after all.” Otabek looks uncomfortable with that suggestion, but Yuri just starts scanning the room for new targets. Chris was on the list, but he’s still talking with Victor, and if Yuri could just completely avoid Victor the entire night? That would definitely count as living his best life.
Otabek nudges him, then nods over to the masked man sitting alone near the bar. “What about him?”
“Night Owl? Are you serious?” Otabek’s facial expression doesn’t so much as twitch. Yuri’s actually not sure what he’d look like if he were kidding, but the fact remains: he is dead serious. “We can’t,” Yuri hisses, checking around to make sure no one else hears him. “Night Owl never talks to anyone. No one even knows his real name, in case you didn’t notice how he’s the only guy in here still wearing a mask.” Yuri scowls. Otabek does not look convinced yet. “He’s so cool, he doesn’t even show up for this shit usually. It’s super weird that he’s even here tonight.”
He shoots a glance over to check what the mysterious hero is doing, and sees him raise a glass in Yuri’s direction. He feels the blood drain from his face, and then Night Owl pulls up his phone and takes a picture. Yuri groans, turning to hide his face in the sleeve of Otabek’s jacket. He hasn’t even said two words to the guy and he’s already being mocked.
“He was talking to Sparkler earlier, wasn’t he? It seems like they’re friends.” The older boy shrugs, making Yuri’s head bob up and down with the movement. “He can’t be that scary if he’s friends with Sparkler.”
“Everyone is friends with Sparkler,” Yuri mutters, tasting leather, but he can grudgingly admit that with Michele no doubt set against them and Victor not an option, their choices to get more votes are limited. Otabek has a point. It’s do or die. “Okay,” Yuri takes a deep breath, spinning around. Georgi is walking past them with a drink in each hand, and Yuri simply snags one, ignoring the meltdown in his wake with practiced ease. Georgi is a shitty drunk, anyway.
As they cut across the room to where their target is waiting, it feels like it should be a movie moment: the crowd parting on either side of their path like snow before a plow. In reality, however, the crowd is sparse and no one comes near them. They quickly reach their target, but he doesn’t look up when they arrive, preoccupied by staring into an empty glass. Yuri clears his throat. Nothing. “Hey,” he says, and when there’s still no response he adds, louder, “You! Night Owl!”
The masked man finally raises his head to focus on them, but he still doesn’t respond, his dark eyes sliding back and forth between the two of them as if he’s never noticed them before. His face is passive, the mask concealing any hint of what he might actually think of them.
After a long moment of looking, he shakes his head. “Yes?”
This guy - he doesn’t even know them. They’ve fought together only once or twice, but here he is looking at Yuri with that same disappointment he’s seen from so many other adults in the past, as if he has any right to judge. Well, fuck him anyway.
“You need to vote Otabek in as a member later,” Yuri says, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “Then you won’t be totally useless for once.”
Night Owl tilts his head toward Otabek, his expression still unreadably flat beneath the mask. “You’re Otabek? Is that your code name?”
To Yuri’s surprise, a faint flush tints the older boy’s cheeks. Is he embarrassed of his code name or... Does he admire Night Owl? Shit, how old is Night Owl? Yuri always assumed he was as old as Aura, but he doesn’t actually know. He bites his lip, tuning out of their conversation about code names as he struggles to do the math on how long Night Owl has actually been in the JF. Otabek elbows him sharply in the ribs, bringing him back to the present.
Yuri glares at him, fighting the instinct to hold his side. Night Owl is still focused on Otabek. “We’re calling him Man-Wolf for now,” Yuri says, slapping the table to redirect his attention and causing the still full drink in his other hand to slosh and nearly spill on his hoodie. “His name isn’t important, though,” he adds, through gritted teeth. It’s so important. Man-Wolf is the stupidest name he’s come up with yet. Why did he say that? “You have to vote for him to join!”
Night Owl’s eyes visibly narrow behind his mask, zeroing in on Yuri’s drink. “Wait, what do you have in that glass? Aren’t you fifteen?” Ugh, this crap again.
Yuri makes a frustrated noise, pushes his hair back with one hand, and then shoves the drink into Night Owl’s shoulder, sloshing it again. “Fine, you have it then.” The other man takes the drink out of Yuri’s hand - bribe accepted. “Will you vote for him or not?”
Night Owl drags out the moment, taking a drink and then pausing, eyes closed as if savoring the experience. Yuri can feel himself practically vibrating now, bouncing on his toes as he waits for the rejection he can feel brewing. He’s already got a few snappy comebacks lined up in his head, but he won’t know which to use until he gets a real answer.
“Sure,” Night Owl says, voice strained. “That’s fine.”
Yuri stares. All that judgement and drama, and the guy just says Sure? It’s fine? He can’t. He can’t deal with this Victor-level power play bullshit. He nods carefully, and then stalks off to the kitchen. He’s going to need a new drink.
To make things even worse, he looks back from the fridge and realizes Otabek is still talking to the guy. What could they possibly be talking about now that he agreed to the vote? As he watches, the other boy straightens his posture, pushing his shoulders back, and nods. When he turns around, looking around for Yuri, it looks like he might be smiling. Yuri seethes. Night Owl’s not that special, really. Yuri thought he was cool before, sure, but now he knows the guy is just some ancient jerk, so what the hell is Otabek smiling at?
“Okay,” Otabek says, snagging one of the beers from Yuri’s hands casually, like he hasn’t just been acting super weird. “That wasn’t so bad, see? And now we just need Twister.”
Yuri eyes the other boy, not saying anything. Otabek tilts his head back to take a swig of his beer, inscrutable. Fine. “Yeah.” Chris is the last team member on their list. He’s not a sure thing, but as the main liaison between the JF and the junior team, he’s also the person here who knows Otabek’s abilities best.
As if Chris’ curly, two-toned hair wasn’t distinctive enough, his enthusiastic, easy laugh makes him nearly impossible to miss. Yuri traces the sound and spots him quickly, leaning against the wall near the couches and talking to some kid with a bright red streak in his mop of blonde hair. Yuri feels his jaw drop. Is that fucking Hummingbird? What the hell is he doing here?
Otabek is moving past Yuri already, heading over to Chris to continue their campaign, but Yuri once again catches hold of his sleeve, trying to reel him in before it's too late. “Wait, wait a minute,” he hisses, curling the leather jacket tight in his fist. “Don’t go over there.”
Otabek frowns back over his shoulder. “Why not?”
“I just can’t go over there,” Yuri mutters, not meeting his eyes. Instead he peers through the curtain of his hair at the pair across the room, only to find that Hummingbird is looking right at him. Shit, it’s too late. He’s been spotted.
“Lynx!” Hummingbird doesn’t just wave with his entire arm, his whole body gets in on the action, the bright red streak in his hair flapping like a warning flag from across the room. “Hey, it’s me! It’s Minami,” he shouts, in case maybe Canada didn’t hear him yet.
Yuri groans under his breath, then grunts as Minami collides with him full-body and throws his arms around him with no regard for the sanctity of his ribs. “Let go of me,” he hisses, feeling his claws coming in, though his arms are pinned helplessly to his sides.
“But Yuri,” Minami pouts, rubbing his face against his arm like the worst cat. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”
“It’s been two months,” he grits out in response, squirming in at attempt to free his arms at least. “You’re hurting me.” It’s just a bluff to get Minami to stop squeezing him, but it doesn’t work this time. Yuri extends his claws all the way. He shouldn’t have to slice the smaller boy up too much.
Then Otabek taps Minami on the shoulder, distracting him just long enough that Yuri can pry himself out of Hummingbird’s grasp without maiming anyone this time.
Free at last, he rolls his shoulders back into place and then brushes invisible dirt from his hoodie. Minami is still bouncing around, now asking Otabek all sorts of questions, but apparently he somehow doesn’t merit a physical attack.
Yuri gets himself to safety, putting Otabek between himself and Minami and counting on his broader shoulders to protect him from any more attempts at a hug. “What the hell are you doing here, Hummingbird? Somewhere in the city I bet there’s an old lady who can’t cross the street without you.” Minami’s eyes get wide, and he looks genuinely distressed by that thought.
“I’m taking him under my wing,” Twister says with an exaggerated wink, coming over to stand just behind Minami and laying a grossly proprietary hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I think it’s time he got to move up and play with the big boys, don’t you?”
Shit, well this is inconvenient. If Chris is planning to sponsor Minami himself, that sets Otabek up as his rival. Hummingbird is so immature, Yuri always forgets he’s actually older - more than old enough to think about leaving behind a team called the “Little Friends”, even if he is the shortest person on either team.
“I’m surprised to see you here myself, Beka,” Chris continues, interrupting Yuri’s thoughts. He seems to have missed part of the conversation already. “You never struck me as the ambitious type.”
Otabek just shrugs and doesn’t deny it, but the energy of the conversation is weird, confrontational almost. Lynx bristles, remembering this sort of thing from his own brief time in the LF. Twister wasn’t exactly the most logical choice to mentor a team of teenagers. “You don’t know everything,” he snaps at Chris, jumping to Otabek’s defense even though he’s not really sure what he’s defending him from.
Chris’ smile only gets wider as he looks from Yuri to Otabek and back. “I guess you’re right. No matter how old you get, people can still surprise you.”
Yuri’s about to ask him what the hell that’s supposed to mean when there’s a commotion from the kitchen. Night Owl has gotten up from his seat by the bar and discovered the small speaker Victor had hidden in one of his fake plants to play music for the party. Some weird old pop song is on, and while the whole room watches he cranks the volume up and starts… shaking his butt.
Yuri can only watch in horror as Minami, visibly perking up like a puppy hearing a squeaky toy across the room, dashes off to join the dancing. In a couple minutes, the living room is transformed into an impromptu dance floor, with nearly every hero in the room humiliating themselves in front of a single tiny speaker.
Yuri finds himself backing into the nearest wall to stay out of it. This is not what he imagined his life would look like when he decided to join the Justice Friends. They were supposed to be an elite team of badasses with super powers. Meetings were going to involve intense training regimes and serious discussion of important, world-saving business. Instead, he’s watching Night Owl and Hummingbird join hands and practically throw each other around the room in time with a crappy song that’s even older than Yuri.
He starts edging along the wall, hoping to get past the crowd and back to the kitchen without being sucked into the bizarre vortex of dance.
He sees daylight - in this case, the light of the range hood - teasing him with freedom and safety, and he thinks they’ve nearly made it. Then someone jostles Otabek, who stumbles, catching himself on the wall only inches from being crushed against Yuri. “Okay,” he says, standing on slight tiptoe to peer over Otabek’s shoulder. “Who the hell did that?”
It’s Night Owl. He looks nothing like the composed man of mystery Yuri was dealing with earlier in the evening. His cheeks are flushed, his hair sticks out wildly in every direction, and he’s grinning like an idiot despite the fact that Yuri has never seen him crack a smile before. Rather than apologize for bumping them, he looks thrilled. “Lynx, come dance with us,” he says, and grabs for Yuri’s hand. Yuri yanks himself back, pressing further into the wall. With his hand held up, his claws are visible, extended in panic, and Night Owl notices them immediately.
“Oh, do you want to spar instead?” He asks, oblivious to Lynx’s horror. “Okay, let’s go.” He squares off, crouching slightly, and what the fuck is happening. But before things can go any further down that path, Otabek turns around, gently pushing Night Owl back by the shoulders.
He stumbles backwards and nearly collides with Aura, who turns from dancing with Twister to see what’s going on. Night Owl immediately perks up again, exclaiming, “Dance with me, Victor!” When he throws himself at the other man, Aura immediately catches him by the waist, and starts waltzing him around the living room.
Some of the others stop dancing, distracted by the ruckus. It’s clear immediately that both of them can actually dance, as they glide around the room in a formal step that’s not really suited to the tinny pop music emanating from the speaker. With Night Owl’s dark hair and clothing contrasting Aura’s silver, gold, and white, they remind Yuri of ceramic salt and pepper shakers his grandmother once had: a pair of small dancers in elaborate traditional costumes with hands that miraculously interlocked.
The song finishes, and Night Owl dips Victor dramatically, surprising him into genuine laughter. Yuri feels his eyebrows reach for his hairline. He’s lived here for most of a year and never heard Victor laugh like that. The pair collapses back onto one of the unoccupied sofas, and Yuri drags his attention away to see who else was watching.
Twister and Hummingbird are still dancing, along with Arc and Mila. Team Incredible are wedged into a corner by the bar, and the wild gesticulations and finger pointing he’s seeing indicates yet more drama coming from the siblings. In the kitchen, Makkachin has apparently escaped Victor’s room again, and is standing up on her hind legs, eating leftover snacks right off the kitchen island. Good for her.
There’s a loud whooping noise from the dance area, and Yuri turns back to see Twister now spinning around in circles with Night Owl, the latter now looking distinctly less happy and much more green. He starts to flail, and Yuri steps forward in case he falls, but Aura catches him neatly, murmuring something Yuri can’t make out over the music as he begins to guide him toward the entryway.
Oh, no you don’t. “Hey,” Yuri yells, abandoning both Otabek and his beer to trot after them. “You’re not leaving before we vote, are you? You promised. I traded you my drink!”
“Your drink?” Victor whips around, his face like a stormcloud. “Yuri, what the hell did you give him? He’s a mess!” Yuri can see that now, more familiar than he’d like to admit with the way Night Owl is listing slightly from side to side like the floor is tilting under him. As Yuri watches, he reaches over and starts playing with the little buttons on Victor’s shirt, seemingly fascinated by them.
“I don’t know,” Yuri mutters in response, averting his eyes. He thought Night Owl was cool before this party, damn it. He can’t deal with watching him humiliate himself like this. “It was something I got from Georgi.” Victor slaps Night Owl’s hands away before he can start unbuttoning his shirt, but the other man just curls his arms around Victor’s waist, burying his face in his shoulder.
Victor turns away from Yuri once again. His silver hair falls to cover his eyes, but Yuri lingers, watching his lips move as he speaks softly with Night Owl, asking questions. Yuri doesn’t feel like he belongs here right now, but at the same time he is maybe a little responsible. He did give Night Owl that drink. Then Night Owl reaches up and starts stroking Victor’s face, and Yuri decides nope, he’s not responsible for this at all. Let the adults work it out.
He looks around to see where Otabek disappeared to and spots him over near the sofas, talking to Emil and Mila. He’s nodding along with something Emil is telling him, and all three of them are smiling, calm. Maybe Yuri should have just let him do his own thing at the party. He probably didn’t need the help to make a good impression. Maybe he would have done better without it, actually.
A hand on his shoulder yanks him back to the present, and he turns his head to find Victor frowning at him. “I’ve got to take Night Owl home now,” he says. “You’re going to have to clean up and get everyone else out of here safely.”
“What? It’s your party, and it’s your damn house,” Yuri protests. “Have Twister drive him home or something.”
“I called Sparkler to come to get him, but he’s tied up with some sort of roommate issue apparently. I asked about the others, but Night Owl is so secretive about where he lives, apparently it’s me or no one,” Victor shakes his head. “Besides, as you so often point out, you’re the one who really lives here, Kitten.”
Yuri jerks out from under Victor’s touch. “Don’t call me that!” They stare each other down, unflinching. The argument over who has responsibility for the house is a long-standing one, and Victor usually wins, but Yuri is still going to try damn it. What was it Otabek said on the roof? ‘Fight smarter, not harder’?
Yuri feels his lips curl into a smirk. “Okay, I’ll take care of your house and your guests if you vote for Otabek to join in full when we hold the next meeting.”
“Done,” Victor says immediately, sticking out his hand. Yuri slaps his palm, but he just smiles smugly and shakes his head. “You should have held out for more. I was going to vote for him anyway, Kitten.”
“Whatever,” Yuri mutters, looking away. “Take your pathetic drunk friend and get out of my house.” Victor doesn’t even bother to argue anymore, just wraps an arm around Night Owl’s shoulders and pulls him away to the door.
“Alright, assholes,” he announces to the room, yelling over the still-cranked dance music. “The party’s over, so either start cleaning up or leave already.” Then he heads into the kitchen to start gathering up empty bottles to move to the recycling bin in the garage. By the time he comes back into the kitchen, Otabek is putting dirty glasses into the dishwasher, and the other guests are finally starting to take the hint and grab their things. Hummingbird even comes over and helps to clean up the sticky puddles on the counters, his speed making the effort go much faster.
When the food is put away and the empties are disposed of, Yuri comes out of the kitchen to lean in the doorway, seeing the guests out with the occasional nod or slight wave as they disperse back to their own homes, leaving only Yuri and Otabek in the big, quiet house.
“Yuri.” Otabek waves him over to the sofa, frowning. Yuri isn’t even a little surprised when he comes over and sees Georgi laid out across the white cushions, facedown, shoulders shaking as he weeps hysterically.
Yuri sighs, “You’re going to stain fabric with your snot, you idiot.” He bends over to grab one of Georgi’s arms, nodding at Otabek to get the other one, and together they haul him to his feet. As soon as they get him up, he buries his face in Yuri’s neck instead, still sobbing. “You’re paying my dry cleaning bill if you ruin my stuff.”
“Is he drunk?” Yuri can’t see his face through Georgi’s stupid hair, but Otabek sounds surprised, in spite of the scene Night Owl had been making earlier.
“Drunk on feelings,” Yuri scoffs. “He always does this shit. He comes to these stupid parties, gets high on all the emotions, and then he just fucking crashes like this.” He puts his hand on Georgi’s face, trying to shove him off his shoulder before his hoodie becomes just an expensive kleenex. “Aren’t you supposed to be an adult? Learn your damn lesson!”
“They were so happy,” Georgi wails in his ear dramatically before collapsing back in on himself.
“Help me get him upstairs to a guest room,” Yuri says, trying to haul the weeping empath out of the living area. It’s a good thing Otabek didn’t leave with the others. Normally, Victor takes care of getting Georgi to a bed, and Yuri is pretty strong, but he’s also a lot smaller than his teammates.
When they get to the base of the steps, Otabek pulls Georgi’s weight entirely off Yuri’s shoulder and effortlessly tosses him over his back in a fireman’s carry. It's pretty much the highlight of Yuri’s night, watching Georgi’s snotty, tomato-red face bouncing around inches above Otabek’s butt as they climb up the stairs.
Yuri leads them to one of the many spare bedrooms, where Otabek drops Georgi down onto the bedspread like a sack of flour, then starts unlacing the other man’s shoes with practiced care. Seeing that he knows what to do, Yuri leaves them to fetch a box of tissues from the bathroom so Georgi is less likely to blow his nose on the pillowcases.
When he comes back, Georgi’s shoes are placed neatly by the door, but he’s still sobbing, glistening trails etched along his cheeks as he squints at the ceiling. Yuri puts the tissues next to the bed, then drops one on the empath’s face. “Get a handle on yourself, you idiot.”
“It was so beautiful,” Georgi gasps out, blowing his nose loudly into the tissue and sniffling. “Yurachka, they were both so happy!”
“Sure, old man,” Yuri sighs. “It was a good party. Everyone was very happy. Now sleep it off, and try not to wake me up when you leave.” Georgi just rolls over, burying his face in the pillow. Maybe he’ll inhale the duvet and suffocate in the night. Yuri nods toward the door, and he and Otabek leave Georgi to his feelings.
-
Yuri thinks superstition is for fools and old women, but he’s also found it's not really superstitious to be reluctant to use the Q word. He’s seen for himself how one careless comment with this word can seemingly cause trouble to appear out of nowhere, but there's no other way to say it: the last couple weeks since Aura’s big victory party have been… quiet.
Normally there would have been at least one megalomaniac running around, an alien invasion or massive worldwide disaster, or perhaps just something small, like a jet with 200 passengers nearly colliding with an active volcano off the coast of New Zealand.
Instead, Yuri's been spending more time than usual going out on random patrols in the back alleys of the city, dealing with baby stuff like armed robbers and that so-called serial killer he nabbed coming out of a club one night with his next victim. It’s like he’s back in the Little Friends with this crap. The actual junior squad posted photos of themselves out a few days ago, catching stray dogs and cats and dropping them off at no-kill shelters to find new homes.
Since the party, Yuri has only heard from Otabek through texts - random messages about the mundane boredom of the day. Even Victor has barely been around, popping into headquarters to change clothes or look after his dog as needed, and then disappearing again as if he has something better to do. It’s suspicious as hell.
He’s in the middle of microwaving two slices of leftover cheese pizza when his phone starts vibrating across the kitchen counter. He grabs right as it falls off the edge, leaving a greasy smudge on the screen when he thumbs the message open.
Baldy: I’m coming over later.
Baldy: Let’s do some training. :)
The microwave beeps insistently, so he pulls out the paper plate and takes a bite of boiling hot cheese and bread before responding.
Yuri: whatever
Yuri: i’m going to invite otabek
Yuri: so you don’t bore me to death
Baldy: Sounds like fun! :D It’s a party.
Yuri scowls. He never wants to hear Victor say “party” again. Then he texts Otabek to invite him to his first official bullshit team training session. Now there will be someone around to hold Yuri back when Victor inevitably ticks him off, so that he doesn’t murder his benefactor and wind up on the streets.
Maybe he could move in with Otabek. He should rethink his stance on not murdering Victor.
He takes his plate full of pizza upstairs to eat it on his bed with his cat, like the gross teenage boy he is. Once the pizza - and Potya’s small bite of just cheese - is gone, the cat curls up on his chest, and he resigns himself to not moving until she chooses to leave. Let Victor scream all he wants, Yuri is a cat bed forever now.
Aura announces himself a short time later with a bang, throwing open the front door dramatically even with no one there to see it and yelling, “Yuuuuuuuri, we’re here!” The barking that follows the announcement makes Potya’s ears lie back, and she stands, jumping off his chest and back onto the bed. Even after all this time, she’s about as fond of Makka as Yuri is of the dog’s owner.
Hopefully, the dog’s return means that Victor drove here, but he’s been known to fly over the city with her strapped to his chest in a giant baby sling made of a bed sheet. The press thought it was very cute when Makka was a puppy. Luckily, no one has caught it on camera since she hit her full adult weight.
Yuri doesn’t bother to respond to the call right away, rolling onto his stomach and stroking Potya. If he goes downstairs before Otabek arrives, the chances that they’ll make it through an entire practice without bloodshed greatly diminish. When his phone buzzes, he kisses Potya between her little ears, pulls on his hoodie, and jogs downstairs to get the door.
Otabek ready to train looks just like Otabek ready to attend a party, except in sweatpants instead of jeans. When the guy commits to an aesthetic, he really commits, but Yuri’s starting to suspect he’s actually just the real life equivalent of a cartoon character, with a closet packed full of nothing but identical white t-shirts and jeans, and just the one leather jacket.
Yuri shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, nodding at Otabek to follow him back to the living room. Makkachin trots over from the kitchen as soon as they walk through the doorway, jumping up like a puppy to try to lick Yuri’s face. He dodges her slimy tongue, putting Otabek between himself and the assault. Unphased, the older boy just pats Makka’s fluffy head and accepts her slobbering kisses all over his hand in return.
Victor is in the kitchen, head down and ass in the air as he rummages through the fridge. Yuri clears his throat loudly, and Victor finally pulls his head out of the refrigerator to look at them. “Yura, there’s no real food in here,” he says, pouting. “You’re supposed to be taking care of my house.”
“Buying extra groceries for you to pig out on whenever you feel like doesn’t count as ‘taking care of the house’,” Yuri shoots back, folding his arms. “Buy your own food to keep here if you want to eat here.”
“Oh,” Victor straightens up with a smile, trailing his hand along the granite counter as he walks over to the end of the kitchen island. “If I bring over extra food, will you leave it here for me?”
“I will eat every crumb of food you bring into this house,” Yuri says, smirking. “You will starve.”
Victor shrugs at Otabek, shaking his head, “So rude.” He steps out from behind the counter and stretches out his hand to the older boy. “Otabek, it’s good to finally meet you under slightly more normal conditions. Any luck workshopping that codename of yours since the party?”
“His name is fine,” Yuri snaps. It’s fucking not, but it’s growing on him like a cancer. Victor needs to back off. “You wouldn’t know a good codename if it bit you on your giant ass, anyway. You’re the founder of the Justice Friends.”
“Mmm. I don’t think my taste is that bad considering I was twelve at the time I picked my name,” Victor says, releasing Otabek’s hand and walking through the living room, back toward the study, and Yuri stalks after him. “You two came up with ‘Man-Wolf’ last week.”
Otabek puts his hand on Yuri’s shoulder, preventing him from launching into another defense. “Even I don’t think it’s a great name, but I also don’t care. Can we all just agree that at least it’s better than ‘Jeneral Justice’ or ‘Shrieking Violet’?” Victor chokes back a laugh, and even Yuri finds himself smiling along. One thing he and Victor can always agree on: JJ and Georgi are both ridiculous.
In the study, Victor swans by a baby grand piano that neither of them can play and a huge mahogany desk that he never actually uses, over to the bookshelf. He pauses to wink theatrically at Otabek before pulling on a pristine leatherbound copy of War and Peace. Yuri rolls his eyes as the bookshelf slowly swings out from the wall, revealing the stairway down to the training room.
“Don’t be afraid to tell him what a huge cliche he is,” Yuri mutters. “Tolstoy.”
Otabek is smiling faintly as he tries to peek down the stairs. “I actually think it's pretty cool,” he whispers back. Judging by the smug smile on Victor’s face, he heard everything.
Victor starts down the stairs and Yuri has to jog to make sure he and Otabek descend side by side. He keeps glancing over, watching Otabek’s face more than the stairs, so he that he sees the moment about halfway down when the training facility comes into view and the older boy’s eyes start to widen.
Yuri often thinks of this house as a monster: ridiculously large, looming, powerful, and more house than anyone could possibly need, but whoever helped Victor plan the place out had the right idea when it came to the training room at least. From the unnecessary study, they descend into a massive concrete bunker that would be the envy of any insane doomsday prepper. Pushed up against the cinder block walls around them are several treadmills, racks of weights, punching bags, gymnastics equipment, and a cage containing balls and protective gear for a variety of sports. Most of that stuff has never been used in the entire time Yuri’s been here.
The equipment is all just a bonus feature, though. The crown jewel of the facility is the enormous central practice ring: an empty space that takes up most of the room, protected on all sides by man-sized metal barriers, heavily padded on the inner edge.
The ring isn’t indestructible - that’s been tested and proven quite a few times by both Victor and Yuri - but it's about as close as anyone’s going to get to creating a sparring area that can stand up to multiple people with enhanced strength smacking each other around for a couple hours. As soon as they reach the bottom of the stairs, Otabek jogs over to it for a closer look, with Yuri tagging along after him.
He watches as Otabek runs his hand along the cool, smooth metal of the ring walls. “This is amazing. I’ve never seen a space like this at my gyms. We can spar in here?”
“Maybe,” Yuri says, smirking. “You’ve got accelerated healing, right?” Otabek shakes his head, and Yuri’s stomach sinks to his feet. “Shit. I’m only supposed to spar with people who have boosted healing,” he explains at Otabek’s confused look. He puts his hand up and wiggles his fingers, showing off the claws.
“Oh.” Otabek is frowning now, still touching the wall of the ring. “I guess that makes sense.”
“We can try anyway,” Yuri says quickly. “It’s just a stupid precaution. I can control it.” He checks over his shoulder, half expecting Victor to be standing right behind him, warming up to launch into full lecture mode.
Instead, he spots him all the way back at the entrance to the training area, sitting on the bottom step, his silver hair spilling forward as he clutches his phone in both hands, furiously texting. As Yuri watches, Victor looks up, but his eyes are unfocused, his lips curled into a smile. It’s not the smile of magazine covers or ridiculous team bonding exercises - it’s something quiet and unguarded, and Yuri immediately feels embarrassed to have seen it.
He’s not going to let an opportunity like this slip away, though. He unlatches the entrance to the ring, swinging the door open quietly. “Get in, quickly,” he mutters, even pushing at Otabek’s lower back to get him moving along.
The older boy complies, but cranes his neck back, checking on their teammate. “Should we just leave Aura back there?”
“He’s too busy googling cures for baldness. He’d just get in our way anyway.” Yuri continues to push them through, then relatches the gate behind them so they can’t be interrupted. “He’s distracting.”
“Oh, are you distracted?” Otabek asks, turning to face him with a smirk. Yuri isn’t sure how to answer, and he hesitates, watching as Otabek shucks off his leather jacket, tossing it up against the far wall of the ring, out of the way. “We can wait if you’re not ready.”
“Is this where I say something like, ‘I was born ready’?” Yuri pulls off his hoodie, throwing it across the room to land in a heap with the jacket, and then squaring off across from the other boy. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Otabek shifts into a wide stance, then beckons at Yuri with a smirk.
Lynx charges across the room, keeping his claws retracted as he goes for a slash at Otabek’s eyes. Otabek steps back, raising his arm to block the swipe. He looks startled until he gets a look at Yuri’s fingers and realizes he’s still safe.
He ducks down and weaves to the left, aiming a punch at Yuri’s core with his right hand, but Lynx leaps back out of reach, landing in a crouch a few feet away. He’s can feel himself baring his teeth, and Otabek flashes some fang in return, tossing stray strands of hair out of his eyes.
Again, Lynx rushes him, and Otabek gathers himself to block. But Yuri isn’t going to scratch at him this time. Instead, he springs forward and up, locking his grip into Otabek’s shoulders and using the momentum to drive his body up further, flipping over his head to land behind him. Spinning, he kicks him hard in the middle of his back. “Tag,” he shouts, joyful. “You’re it.”
Then he drops, rolling away and coming back up into a crouch, already prepared for the next attack. At first, Otabek still has his back turned, making for a tempting target, but slowly the other boy turns, sliding into another defensive stance. Lynx gathers himself for another charge. Otabek will expect another high attack after that, but maybe if he goes low-
“Lynx, stand down!” Aura floats right over the top of the barrier and into the ring, disregarding the gate right there. Nothing like a glowing man in yoga pants hovering over you to kill the mood. He drops down between them, one hand outstretched, his toes not quite touching the concrete.
“Butt out,” Yuri spits up at him. “We’re doing just fine without you nannying us.”
“Fine?” Victor’s tone is high, outraged. “He’s hurt, Yuri. You know you’re not supposed to be sparring except with approved partners. What the hell were you thinking?”
Yuri drops his stance immediately, straightening. “What? No! I kept my claws in. I was careful!” He hops up on his tiptoes, trying to peer past Victor to confirm he’s right, that Otabek is okay. Otabek is standing in a ready stance still. His eyes meet Yuri’s and he shakes his head, but now Yuri can see them- the bright red blooms, barely bigger than thumbtacks, showing here and there through the thin white fabric of the t-shirt on either side of his collar, where Yuri’s claws dug in where he grabbed his shoulders for the flip.
His distress must be visible, because Otabek stands up from his crouch, rolling his shoulders back. “It’s fine, Yuri. I’ve had worse.” Victor reaches for the collar of his shirt, pulling it out to check the extent of the wounds, but Otabek shugs him off. “It’s just a scratch. He didn’t mean to.”
“I know he didn’t mean to,” Victor says, sighing, his attention still focused on the bloodstains on his shirt. “But it still happened. Why didn’t you stop him? If I hadn’t come in when I did-”
“Lynx fights bad guys who can’t heal themselves all the time,” Otabek interrupts, scowling as he crosses his arms over his chest. “He knows what can happen. What are you protecting him from?”
“It’s not to protect me,” Yuri interjects, but then he catches sight of Victor’s face - he looks fucking miserable. Damn it. “Victor, that’s ridiculous. I’ve watched people die.” Aura won't look at him, eyes fixed on the wall. “I have to learn to control my claws. How can I learn my limits in the field if I never have any real practice in training?”
“Yuri and I are a team now,” Otabek says calmly, and even though he’s said those words before, Yuri still feels a little shock of pleasure at it. “If we’re going to work together, we need to each know how the other fights, and how to adjust for problems.”
Victor looks like he's just been hit on the head with a blunt object. Then his expression clears, and his gaze lasers in on Otabek again. Yuri tenses, trying to restrain himself even as his instincts scream to prepare for an attack.
“Otabek,” Victor says slowly, tilting his head in consideration, his fingers drumming absently on his own thigh. “Twister tells me you're good in a fight, but you’re only, what, a little stronger than an average person?”
Otabek shrugs, shifting his weight to his heels. “I guess so. A little stronger, a little faster, plus a couple extra things. It's hard to measure.”
“But nothing like my levels of power, right?”
“Oh, very humble,” Yuri says. “Are you really just using this moment to inflate your own ego?”
Victor simply waves off his comment. “It’s not an insult. I’m just curious about Otabek's training before this.”
“Boxing gyms and some kickboxing mostly,” Otabek says, shrugging. “I was into martial arts when I was a kid, before my powers started showing up. I wanted to keep training, and I needed to know how to fight, but I didn’t want to spar with regular people at first. Now I can control it, but it took practice, starting with working with just heavy bags and targets.”
“So you trained like someone with no powers at all,” Victor muses. Yuri’s not sure where this is going, but he sure as hell doesn’t like it. Then, Victor claps his hands together loudly and declares, “You should teach me!”
Otabek looks shocked, either by the words or the noise. Yuri is baffled as well. “Um, what? Where the hell is this coming from?”
“I want to know how to fight like someone with no powers.” Victor looks sideways, meeting Yuri’s eyes, then adds as an afterthought. “Lynx should know too. You should teach us both. That would satisfy your wish to know how the other fights, right? We all get something out of it. If you can show me you can do this without Lynx hurting you again, I’ll let you train without me in the future.”
“Okay,” Otabek says cautiously. Yuri’s looking for the catch as well, but aside from having to spend more time with Aura, he hasn’t found it yet. “I can probably work with that.”
“Great,” Aura drops to the floor, the glow around him dissipating in an instant as he shifts into an awkward mimicry of Otabek’s earlier, wide-based stance. “We’ll start now.” After all this time, Victor’s utter weirdness never fails to surprise.