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Look, Yuri loves his long ass mermaid hair, okay? The tips come closer to his hips than his shoulders these days and he's proud of it. That being said, if there is one universal truth in this world, it’s this: hair to your ass is a pain in the ass. Yuri’s respect for young Viktor grows with every centimeter. Not that Yuri will ever, ever tell him that. He'd rather eat his own tresses.
Incidentally, this is the first item on the running list of pros and cons he keeps.
1.
***
Con: You will absolutely, inevitably, just-suck-it-up-and-give-in-to-your-fate, end up eating some of it.
***
Yuri has a habit of shoveling his food down his throat at every meal; between skating, ballet with Lilia, strength training, conditioning, and about ten thousand other things it takes to be a professional skater, he’s never sure how long he’ll have to eat. Eating quickly just makes sense.
“You have a schedule, you know,” Mila says as she watches him decimate his bowl of couscous, perfectly portioned grilled chicken, broccoli and sprouts. “We have thirty minutes for lunch. We had thirty minutes yesterday, and we will have thirty minutes tomorrow. You don't need to chow down like a dog that hasn't been fed in days.”
Yuri looks up and glares at her, cheeks puffed out with food. If he could get away with shoving his head in his food bowl and eating straight from it, he probably would. It’s pretty efficient if you think about it. Fewer dishes to wash. Mila rolls her eyes and takes a delicate bite of her wrap. “You're going to choke one day.” He shrugs. It wouldn't be the first time, but he’s still kicking. “You're too tall for me to give you the Heimlich Maneuver, just so you know.”
“What’s your point,” he mumbles through his mouthful. He pretty much knows how to Heimlich himself at this point.
Mila throws a napkin at him. “Savage. Would it kill you to swallow before speaking?”
Yuri finally looks up. He stares her dead in the eye as he swallows his mouthful and bites off a huge chunk of his bread roll. He chews with his mouth open. The look on her face is glorious.
He freezes, face twisting into an odd grimace. “What?” Mila asks, looking concerned. Yuri shoves the pulpy mass of bread in his mouth to one cheek. With his fingers, he reaches into his mouth and aims for the weird tickle in his throat. He grabs hold and tugs.
Pulling hair from your throat is the strangest, grossest, oh please for the love of everything holy never let this happen again , sensation.
Mila gags. Yuri gags. He drops the hair onto his napkin and spits out the rest of the bread.
“...I should probably stop eating so fast.”
***
Pro and/or Con: Everyone else around you will eventually eat hair too. This could go either way, depending on who the victim is.
***
Con - when Yuri attempts to put together a picnic for Otabek’ birthday. Watching your best friend sputter and spit out the strand hiding in his pirozhki as you babble apologies is not conducive to finally confessing your feelings.
Pro - when Viktor sucks one up through the straw of his protein shake.
Con - when he just shrugs it off and says, “you get used to it.”
2.
***
Con: It gets caught in/on things. And it HURTS.
***
Yuri is used to the little tugs and pulls on his scalp. Things like that one strand in his ponytail that always ends up too tight and won’t loosen up no matter how much he scratches and pulls on the offending area. Or like when he's sitting in a chair and leans forward, but his hair decides it’s happy where it is. Fold up chairs are the worst . They have all kinds of joins and nooks and crannies for strands to wiggle their way into. Yuri long ago learned that buns and braids are a necessity during press conferences.
What he's not used to is having his scalp ripped off .
***
He's late for the press conference again and Yakov is going to murder him. Eviscerate, gut, hang, shoot and all the other threats he makes every time Yuri fails to show up on time. Yuri thinks Yakov must be close to following through by now.
"Not my fault he won't let me come to the conference with my hair wet," he grumbles. He pulls on his Team Russia jacket, struggling to get his arm through one inside-out sleeve while simultaneously sweeping his hair out from under the collar as he steps out of the the hotel room.
Maybe if I run, I can pull off fashionably late , he thinks. He can only run in the areas reporters won't see him, though. Like the hotel corridor, for instance. He finally gets his arm through his sleeve and takes off.
Yuri is abruptly yanked backwards; he stumbles and slams into the door. His scalp screams. So does he. He clutches his poor abused head, tears prickling. He very carefully turns around.
A good three or four inches of hair are caught in the heavy hotel room door. "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" he yells. He’s in agony, but he doesn't have time for this. It's bad enough he'll be teary eyed at the press conference and probably has blood staining the back of his head.
Yuri takes some deep breaths and tries to focus on the silver lining, any silver lining, like his anger management coach taught him. You’ll have a legitimate excuse for Yakov , he thinks as he pats angrily at his pockets for his key card. There’s your fucking silver lining, Hans.
The card isn't in his jacket pockets. It's not in his pants pockets either. His stomach sinks.
Neither is his phone.
"Fuck my life," he groans as he drops his head in his hands, then whimpers because the movement pulls at his tortured scalp.
It takes five minutes of tugging to come to terms with the fact that it's not going to come out. It takes another five to stop rage crying. It only takes about thirty seconds of wondering if he can break each individual strand before he dismisses the thought. By the time he gets free, the conference will be well over and he'll be left with nothing but ruined, ragged ends.
Pro, he thinks tiredly as he slumps down against the door. It’s long enough to let me sit down. Someone will come find him eventually, right? If nothing else, one of his neighbors will come by.
It takes a lot longer than Yuri anticipated. He's a little offended, if he's honest. He's the Grand Prix gold medalist for God's sake. Finally, after what seems like eons, he hears the ding of the elevator. "Praise everything holy," he mutters when he sees it's Viktor. He doesn't think he could handle being yelled at by Yakov right now. Not that Viktor witnessing this humiliation is much better.
"Yura, what are you do-" Viktor cuts himself off as he takes in the scene. He claps his hands to his mouth. Yuri doesn't have the energy to scowl, so he just waves half-heartedly. Viktor crouches down next to him. "Get a little caught up on your way to the conference, Yura?"
"I hate you so much right now."
"Words you probably shouldn't say to the person who has the power to free you."
"Go screw yourself with a ten foot pole. That better?"
Viktor pretends to consider, one finger on his lips. "It'll do, I suppose." He stands up and turns around.
"Wait, where are you going?" Yuri asks desperately. He reaches out for Viktor and is rewarded with burning pain. "Ow," he whimpers. Viktor sighs and crouches down again. "I think I'm bleeding." That’s right, Plisetsky, play the sympathy card and maybe he won’t leave you here to rot.
Viktor just rolls his eyes. "You aren't bleeding," he says without sympathy, but peers at the back of Yuri’s head anyway. "I was going to get Yakov. He has the extra key cards, remember?"
Oh. Yeah.
"Okay," Yuri relents. "But hurry up, would you?"
"Sure thing, Yurotchka." Viktor stands. "But first, smile!" Yuri looks up disbelieving, just as the shutter click of Viktor's camera phone goes off.
"You son of a -" Viktor ignores his curses as he walks off, waving over his shoulder.
Yuri sighs and slumps back as the elevator doors close. At least there's an end in sight. It's almost worth all the crap he's going to get once that picture gets out.
Wait a second , he thinks suddenly. Viktor could have just called Yakov.
Viktor is a dead man. He just doesn’t know it yet.
***
Pro: Scalp massages are the best.
***
Yuri practically purrs as fingers very gently work against his tender scalp, pausing when he hisses and continuing when he subsides. Yuri hugs his arms tighter around Otabek’s waist. “You are the best thing in my world,” he slurs into the thigh under his head.
Otabek chuckles lowly and shifts into a more comfortable position on the hotel bed. They are carefully ignoring Otabek’s physical reaction to Yuri’s position splayed face down in his lap. They’ll talk about it eventually, but there’s no urgency in this moment.
“That’s possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Otabek muses. He transitions to combing through Yuri’s hair, carefully working out any tangles they encounter. Yuri rolls onto his side so he can look up.
“Well it’s true,” he says fiercely. “And not just because you make my head feel better.” He doesn’t continue. If he did, they would dip into dangerously sappy territory.
The moment is ruined anyways when Yuri’s phone buzzes. He groans and covers his face. “I thought I put it on Do Not Disturb,” he grumbles. Otabek pats him on the head and picks the cell phone up.
“You did,” he says placidly. “After your Angels got a hold of the picture.”
“Why couldn’t you be the one to find me,” Yuri moans.
“Because I actually made it to the press conference.”
Yuri points a finger at his face. “Rude.”
Otabek ignores the accusation in favor of squinting at the phone screen; the dork had taken his contacts out but hadn't bothered to put his glasses on. He takes the finger Yuri is pointing at him and holds it to the fingerprint scanner. Yuri lets him without comment. He’s used to it by now; Otabek grew up in a family without personal boundaries, and therefore has no concept of them either.
Otabek snorts and covers a smile with his palm.
“What? Lemme see.” Yuri makes grabby hands.
“I think I have competition for best thing in your world,” Otabek says as he hands the phone over. It’s pulled up to a text message thread.
Yuri grins helplessly as he reads. “So have I been unseated?” Otabek asks, amused.
Yuri bites his lip and shakes his head. “Nope. Katsu’s still a distant second.” He screenshots the the text messages and quickly edits out everything but the story. He sends it and a thank you to Katsuki and gets a devil and a thumbs up in return. “Definitely worthy of silver though.”
***
(@v-nikiforov @phichit+chu I just heard an interesting story about Viktor’s infamous haircut. Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?)
3.
***
Con: People like to make fun of guys with long hair.
***
Yuri grits his teeth as he builds up speed for a triple axle. Focus , he thinks. It’s not worth getting injured just because a couple hockey meatheads decided it would be fun to catcall. No one gives a shit about them anyway. He throws himself into the jump, putting all his rage into it. He grins as he lands, clean and impeccable. Hell yeah!
“Lookin’ good, pretty lady!” Yuri spins around. He is going to kick their asses. “You can jump in my bed anytime.”
Scratch that. He’s going to murder them with his knife shoes.
A hand clamps down on his arm. “Easy, Yura. It’s not worth it, trust me.” Yuri glares at Katsuki and yanks his arm out of his grip.
“I will make it worth it,” he growls. “I will eviscerate them. I will strangle them with their own entrails. I will -”
“Not go to jail for murder? Yes, you’re absolutely right. Glad we understand each other.” Behind Yuri, the hockey players are still at it. One of them boasts that he’s gonna use all that hair like reins and break that pretty filly in. Yuri sees red, humiliated and frozen with fury.
Katsuki’s eyes narrow over Yuri’s shoulder. He smiles, syrupy sweet. “You know what, let me take of this one.” He pats Yuri’s chest and glides towards the catcallers.
“Katsu,” Yuri calls out, frustrated. Trying to talk to them is just going to make things worse. Katsuki is too far ahead for Yuri to intervene; the hockey players joke and jostle each other smugly as the man approaches.
Yuri will never find out what Katsuki said to them. All he knows is that by the time he’s done, their skin resembles cottage cheese, heads bobbling up and down as they back up quickly. “Have a nice day,” Katsuki cheerfully calls after them. He goes back to his warm ups with an enigmatic smile.
***
Pro: Yuuri 'I will cut a bitch and feed cookies to the cops who come to question me so please stop fucking with my friend’ Katsuki is a sight to behold. Frankly, Yuri has no idea how he’s gone his entire life until now without it.
***
4.
***
Pro: It's warm, something that’s a godsend in the rink or during winter. Yuri hasn't bought a scarf in years.
***
“What are you doing?”
Katsuki stops tying his skates in favor of watching Yuri with a look that clearly questions Yuri’s non-extraterrestrial status.
Yuri sneers and shoves another lock of hair under his shirt. “What does it look like, Katsudon?”
“I...honestly don't know,” he replies, mystified.
“Guess it'll stay a mystery then,” Yuri says smugly as he pulls the last bit over his shoulder and pushes it down the front of his shirt.
A hand grabs a handful from the back and pulls it back out. “He's using to keep warm,” Viktor singsongs as he passes by and glides out onto the ice.
“God damn it, Viktor!” He chases the older man onto the ice.
Katsuki, left behind on the bench, cocks his head to the side. “Huh.” He shrugs. “Smart.”
He goes back to tying his skates.
***
Con: It’s warm.
***
“I'm dyyyyyying,” Yuri whines. His cheek is mushed against the kitchen tiles because at least they are somewhat cool against his skin. Every time they warm to body temperature, he inches up to another section. “ Bekaaaaa ,” he whines again.
“ Yuuuuura,” Otabek whines back from the living room. He's making fun of Yuri. Lucky for him, Yuri is too hot to do more than flop around halfheartedly like a fish on the edge of death. Like that fish, Yuri would do almost anything to be in the ocean right now.
“Beka. Beks. Otabek Umiduly Altin. You have money. Why are you still living in an apartment without air conditioning?”
“It's not that bad,” Otabek says instead of answering. He sounds both amused and exasperated.
“It's not that bad,” Yuri mocks under his breath. He scowls at the dust bunnies under the cabinets. Otabek needs to clean more often. Yuri should probably be disgusted by the nastiness he’s probably laying on, but he isn't. Cold tile trumps gross tile. “Beka, even my scalp is sweating. I swear, I'm going to shave it, and then what will you do?”
“Cry, probably.” Behind him, Otabek’s footsteps change from the pat-pat of carpet to the slap-slap of tile. “Yura, why are you lying on the kitchen floor in your underwear?” he asks, bemused.
“Because my boyfriend has this weird thing about people being naked in the kitchen.”
Yuri inches his way up again and winces as hair gets stuck under his torso and pulls on his scalp. He scrapes it out from under him as much as possible, but it's stuck to his body with sweat, so he just gives up. He whimpers pitifully.
Otabek huffs out something that could be a laugh. “You’re such a baby.”
“Yeah, well, you have a dirty floor,” Yuri replies petulantly. He is acting like a baby, but he’s completely out of fucks to give. The heat has stolen everything, including his will to live.
“We could always stick a dust cloth under you,” Otabek teases, but he also kneels down next to Yuri and gathers the up the swaths of hair blanketing it. He ties Yuri’s hair up with one of the hairbands he started keeping on his wrist after witnessing Yuri’s creative use of twist ties. He blows gently on the sweaty nape of Yuri’s neck. Yuri moans in appreciation. “ Zhanym, we go through this every summer. You’ll get used to it. You always do.”
“That helps me not even a little right now, Altin. What would help is if you’d finally agree to stay in St. Petersburg for summer instead of Almaty. Or start renting an air conditioned flat like a real human. I’d be happy with either option.”
Otabek sighs heavily. “I’ll think about it,” he relents.
“Great. Awesome. Perfect. Could you keep blowing on my neck, please?” There’s a telling silence. “No.” Still more silence. “Oh for… fine, just get it over with.”
“Your neck’s not the only thing I could blow,” Otabek says in a rush, like he’d been holding it in through sheer force of will. Yuri groans.
“You are such a dork,” he complains. Otabek laughs and Yuri bites back a smile. Otabek’s full, unadulterated laugh is a rare and beautiful thing.
“I’m a dork who has something a little better than the kitchen floor,” he says. He pats Yuri’s back and stands. Yuri hears the freezer open.
“I already tried sticking my head in the freezer,” Yuri says crossly. “You told me to get my hair away from the ice cube trays.”
“Because you shed like a dog in summer, and I’m tired of finding hair in my food.”
“I wear the hairnet,” Yuri grumbles. “Beka, what are you -” he cuts off sharply as something deliciously cold settles over his entire back. He jolts up onto his elbows. “What the…” He looks over his shoulder.
There’s a towel draped over him, stiff and a little crunchy and blessedly chilly. “I dampened it and put it in the freezer for a while,” Otabek says. “I asked Mila and she said this was the only way she survived that training camp in Arizona.” Yuri stares at his boyfriend in wide-eyed awe.
“You are the smartest, most wonderful boyfriend in the entire world.” He just barely manages to bite back the marriage proposal on his lips. They just started dating; a marriage proposal before they even said I love you is probably overkill. Yuri collapses back onto the ground and pulls the towel around him like a cape.
“I’ve got a whole stack of them in the freezer. Fair warning, we’re going to be eating all the leftovers for a while.” Yuri doesn’t even care. He is in heaven. Otabek scratches the base of Yuri’s scalp with his fingernails. “Want one to wrap around your head?”
Seriously. Best boyfriend ever.
5.
***
Con: The amount of money Yuri spends on shampoo and conditioner alone is frankly ridiculous. Don’t even ask him about his water bill. (Or Otabek’s spending habits.)
***
“This can’t possibly be your budget,” Katsuki says incredulously. He stares down at the itemized list of Yuri and Otabek’s finances. Yuri shrugs and rocks further onto the back legs of his chair. Katsuki looks down at the paper again. “But the beauty expenses alone…” Viktor looks over his husband’s shoulder and makes a thoughtful noise.
“Looks about right,” he muses. “Pretty low, actually.”
Katsuki stares blankly into the middle distance. I have seen hell, his expression says, and this is infinitely worse.
Yuri frowns and drops back onto all four legs. He crosses his arms. “So can Beka and I afford the apartment or not?”
Katsuki swallows and carefully sets the paper on the kitchen table. “We’re going to need to get you some sponsorships.”
***
Pro: Hair care companies are practically begging to sponsor him. Of course, that means he actually has to use their products. (Otabek insists this is a pro; Yuri is skeptical.)
***
Yuri looks into the box with a look of dawning dread. “What have I gotten myself into?” he asks faintly. He pulls out a tub of some sort of goop and a bottle of... “Leave-in conditioner? Why would you leave in your conditioner? That’s gross.”
Arms come around his shoulders. Otabek digs his chin into Yuri’s shoulder and snorts repulsively directly into his ear. “You are hopeless, Yurionok. How do you not know basic hair care?” Yuri turns and blows a wet raspberry against Otabek’s cheek. Otabek jerks back with a disgusted yelp and wipes furiously at his face.
Yuri crosses his arms and smirks. “First of all, Botam, basic hair care is shampoo and conditioner. That’s it. You’re lucky I stopped using the two-in-one. And second of all, not all of us have a dad who grew up in a barber shop. So forgive me for not knowing what a…” he peers at a tin, “pomade is.” Otabek mutters something. “What was that?”
Otabek smiles sweetly. “Nothing.” He pulls one of the kitchen chairs out and flips it around so he can sit in it backwards like a tool. “I can teach you,” he says as he reaches into the box and pulls out another hair product. “Here, you’ll like this one.” Yuri peers suspiciously at the canister that looks vaguely like the hairspray Lilia uses to turn his head into a helmet during competitions. “This is dry shampoo.” Otabek tosses it to him and he catches it clumsily.
“What’s wrong with wet shampoo?” he asks miserably.
Otabek laughs, a mellow, rolling chuckle that makes Yuri hate him a little less. “No, it’s,” he knuckles moisture from one eye, “It’s a spray that has this powder in it. It soaks up all the extra oil and stuff between washes.”
Yuri looks at the canister with new eyes. “Wait, so could I hypothetically just use this instead of washing my hair?”
Otabek pushes up his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “For a little while, technically, but-”
Yuri cradles the can to his chest. “Hello, my new best friend,” he croons to it.
Otabek groans and drops his head onto the chair back. “What have I done?”
6.
***
Con: It. Gets. Everywhere.
***
Yuri looks down at the scummy shower water rising around his toes. He looks back up at Otabek. “I am not getting down on my knees.”
Otabek runs his hands through Yuri’s hair, combing the last of the conditioner out. “If you do, I’ll take your turn cleaning out the shower drain.”
Yuri thinks for a moment. Then he drops to his knees.
Choose your battles, right?
***
Otabek blinks rapidly and brushes Yuri’s hair away for the millionth time. Yuri snorts and tosses his head, but all it does is flip his hair right back into Otabek’s face.
“Really, Yura?” he says through a mouthful of hair. Yuri laughs and sits up so he’s straddling Otabek instead of leaning over him. He tucks as much as he can behind his ears.
“Bad with the good, Beka,” he says, a mantra he repeats several times a week, if not daily. “I could always just cut it off…”
Otabek frowns and grinds his hips up. “Don’t tease,” he chides through Yuri’s gasp. It takes a good ten seconds for Yuri’s brain to come back on line, but when it does, he smirks wickedly. He leans over again.
“You like it when I tease,” he murmurs into Otabek’s ear. Otabek’s response is to sputter and blow out a breath. Yuri sighs and sits up again. “Can I at least pull it up in a bun?” he asks, exasperated. Otabek pulls a strand out of his mouth and holds up his other hand so Yuri can pull a hairband off his wrist. “Thank you,” Yuri says as he ties it up. “Now, can we please get back to business?”
Otabek settles his hands back on Yuri’s hips. “As you wish.”
***
“Yuriyim, I love you, but I am never doing your laundry with mine again.”
Yuri looks up at Otabek from his sprawled position on the couch. “Uh, okay,” he says, confused. “Why?”
Otabek holds a closed fist over the back of the couch. He opens his hand; balls of hair and dozens of individual strands flutter down onto Yuri’s chest and face. He sputters and sits up, pawing at his face. “Beka, what the hell?” he calls after Otabek’s retreating back. Otabek’s laugh echoes down the hallway as he returns to bedroom. Yuri scowls; he gathers up as much of it as he can and rolls it between his hands into one big ball. He looks at it contemplatively.
***
Pro: When you are half blind, a ball of hair looks a little like a spider.
Otabek is scared of spiders.
(Otabek claims he’s more disturbed that Yuri waited to strike until he gathered enough of Otabek’s hair to make the “spider” the right color, but Yuri knows better.)
***
7.
***
Con: Washing, drying, and styling it is a task worthy of a medal all on it’s own. Unfortunately, Yuri is miles away from the podium.
***
Yuri is a world class athlete but by the time he’s done drying his hair, he’s pretty sure his arm is going to fall off. “You are so lucky I love you, Beka,” he grumbles as he shakes his arm out for the umpteenth time. He runs fingers through his hair and decides that it’s dry enough. He turns off the hair dryer and sets it on the toilet seat. “Okay!” He claps his hands and attempts to psych himself up. “Let’s do this.” He sets his phone, Youtube tutorial preloaded, on the sink and double checks that he has all the required supplies. Then he hits play.
“Hi everyone!” the perky looking girl on his screen says. “Today we’re going to learn how to do a simple fishtail braid…”
***
Two hours later, Yuri is going to be late for his anniversary dinner and has nothing to show for it but a snarled mass of hair, a broken phone, and a broken dream. He sniffs pathetically and pokes at his cracked screen until he manages to pull up Mila’s contact.
“Yurotchka! What’s up, bratik ? Aren’t you supposed to…” she trails off as she actually looks at her phone screen. Her lips do some sort of spasm. At least he thinks it does. It’s hard to tell through the spiderweb of cracks over her image. “Oh. Oh...uh…”
Yuri resists the urge to rub at his eyes. He’d spent forty-five minutes following a ‘no makeup makeup’ tutorial previous to the hair one, with far more success. He’s not going to mess that up too. “Milasha, please. No comment. Could you just get over here and help me?”
Mila gives an amused huff. “Be there in five.”
***
Yuri is half an hour late to the restaurant, but he looks fucking fabulous, okay? Otabek looks up from his phone as Yuri slides into the booth. He has his chin in his hand, fingers covering most of his mouth, but the crinkle at the corner of his eyes give him away. Yuri slumps in his seat. “She sent you a picture, didn’t she?”
“It looks very nice, now,” Otabek says in a choked voice. “I appreciate the effort.”
“You are dead to me. Both of you are dead to me.”
“But then who would do your hair for you?” A smile spreads slowly over Otabek’s face. It’s painfully fond and beyond annoying.
“Viktor,” Yuri snaps. Otabek smothers a laugh. They both know that will never happen. “Fine, Lilia, then. I’m pretty sure she still resents you for taking over.”
Otabek shakes his head and takes Yuri’s hand. “It’s okay, Yurionok. I will love you no matter how bad your hair looks.” Yuri flushes happily, the sentiment more than making up for the annoying nickname.
“That’s practically a marriage proposal coming from you, Botam,” he teases to hide his pleasure.
The look on Otabek’s face shocks Yuri’s heart to a standstill, then kickstarts it again at double time.
“About that…”
***
Pro: Coming up with “hairstyles” designed to make his fiance’s eye twitch is fun. Otabek’s methods of venting his frustration are pretty fun too.
***
Yuri starts small. When Otabek comes back from training, Yuri is leaning over their dining table. “So I’ve been thinking about the seating assignments for the wedding,” he says casually. “And I’m thinking we should put Viktor and the Katsudon as close to your family as possible.”
“Uh huh,” Otabek says, distracted. He’s staring at Yuri’s head.
“I’m just thinking, since your family doesn’t drink and all, maybe it will keep the Idiot Twins from getting out of hand, you know?”
“Sure. Solid plan.” His eyes haven’t moved. Yuri sighs, pretending to be exasperated.
“What, Beka? Why are you staring at me?” Otabek blinks and shakes himself as if coming out of a trance. He scratches the back of his head, making a complicated face before it smoothes out into his customary impassive look.
“Nothing, I just. Your pigtails are a little...” Yuri touches one.
“Girly? Whatever, I was just trying something out. Don’t be so gender normative.” Otabek walks over and takes his hand so he can kiss the ring on Yuri’s finger. It’s Yuri’s new favorite habit of his.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he chides gently. Yuri shrugs.
“Fine. What made Otabek.exe crash, then?”
Otabek’s lips quirk and he rolls his lips inward. It’s the same look he gets when looking at baby animal memes. “It’s just that... pigtails are generally meant to be high or low, not both.”
Yuri pretends to look surprised. “Huh. Duly noted.”
***
“What about like this?” he asks later that night. Otabek looks up from his book and barks out a surprised laugh. “What?” Yuri pouts as he crawls across the bed to give Otabek a quick peck. Otabek looks up at the pigtails sticking up on top of Yuri’s head, then down to where Yuri is wearing his Team Kazakhstan jacket and nothing else. He swallows hard.
“Sure, looks good,” he rasps. He looks like he’s just sold his soul to the devil, and doesn’t even care.
“Great!” Yuri says brightly. He straddles Otabek and plucks the book out of his hands. “Now, onto the next item on the agenda.”
Later, as they bask in the afterglow, Otabek twirls one pigtail around his finger contemplatively. “Hey Yura,” he says, deceptively calm. Yuri grunts to let him know he’s still awake. “What’s your opinion on Playboy Bunny costumes?”
***
“So I tried those ‘no heat’ rag curls. I don’t think they came out right, though.”
Otabek clears his throat. For someone with such an impressive Resting Bitch Face, he’s remarkably bad at hiding emotional pain. “I’m sure it just takes some practice,” he manages.
“Good point. I think I’ll try again tomorrow.”
“...good idea.”
***
In spite of all of Yuri’s genius attempts, Otabek manages to remain calm and supportive of Yuri’s newfound “hobby”. Yuri decides it’s time to ramp up his efforts.
***
“So, uh, that’s an interesting look,” Otabek says weakly. Yuri beams.
“Well, you seemed to like the bunny ears, so I thought I’d give cat ears a try.”
“Yup, you sure did.”
***
“So, wanna do some Princess Leia roleplay?”
“...okay.”
***
“I’m thinking about growing a beard. Opinions on this style? Looks good, right?”
“No.”
Yuri grins; now he’s getting somewhere.
***
“What...how did you…how is that even possible?”
Yuri grins and delicately touches the tips of his two foot high Mohawk. “I’m just talented, I guess.”
***
Otabek walks back out. Yuri pumps a fist in the air.
***
Otabek stops dead in the doorway and stares. He drops his head in his hands, a broken man. “Why are you doing this to me?” he moans.
Yuri blinks innocently at him from the bed. “I was thinking this might nice wedding hairstyle.” He selects another section of hair and lifts the comb.
Otabek is across the room and grabbing Yuri’s wrist so fast Yuri’s pretty sure he actually teleported. “Do you have any idea how much damage teasing your hair causes?” he growls. He plucks the comb out of Yuri’s hand and tosses it over his shoulder.
“No,” Yuri admits, a little guilty. None of the sites he’d read had mentioned any damage, just that it was a good way to create volume. Otabek straddles him and gently pushes him down with a hand on the chest. He pins the wrist he’s still holding above Yuri’s head.
“It’s going to take so much deep conditioning to fix this,” he tells Yuri. He sounds like a disappointed father, which is not at all sexy.
“Can we concentrate on that later?” Yuri asks. He settles his free hand high on Otabek’s thigh. For a second, Yuri thinks he might have won Otabek over. Then he gets hauled up and tossed over Otabek’s shoulder, like he’s not a good three inches taller and far from scrawny anymore. Yuri shrieks with indignation. “Beka!”
“No, shower first. I can’t look at you like that.” Yuri goes pliant; he knows better than to struggle. It’s futile and only ends in bruises and broken furniture. He decides to enjoy the view instead.
Otabek pats Yuri’s butt. “Don’t worry, it’ll be worth your while.” Yuri grins. No that sounds more like it.
(Turns out Otabek’s definition of worth your while is very different from Yuri’s, but he has to admit, his hair looks amazing.)
***
Otabek is incandescent with rage. “Who. Gave you. A hair crimper ?”
Yuri will never give up the name. He wants to marry Otabek, not put him in jail.
***
Yuri texts Otabek two pictures. The first shows his damp hair hopelessly tangled in a round brush. The second is similar, but this time he’s holding a pair of scissors up to the mess. He adds help, for good measure.
Otabek bursts through the door a terrifyingly short amount of time later. Yuri is curled up with his back against the side of the bathtub. He looks up and sniffs weakly. “I didn’t mean to do it this time,” he says in a small voice.
Otabek sighs and kneels down next to him. “Yurionok, I love you, but you are such an idiot sometimes.” He sounds fond, but also relieved. He cups Yuri’s cheek and runs a thumb under his eye. “At least you didn’t actually cut it.”
Yuri leans into the hand, miserable. “Are we going to have to?” He doesn’t want to; it took forever to get it this long, and for all that he threatens to shave it all off, he was really looking forward to recreating one of the myriad wedding styles he and Mila have been obsessively adding to their Pinterest board.
Otabek doesn’t say anything at first, just examines the snarls around the brush. It’s even worse now than it had been in the picture. Trying to untangle it just left the brush trapped right up against his scalp, too tightly wound to move. Otabek sighs and plops down cross legged next to him. “Maybe not,” he hedges. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket. “I’m going to call Äke.”
Otabek’s father laughs for five minutes straight before passing the phone to his mother, three siblings, aunt, uncle, and grandparents, who are getting ready for dinner. Embarrassing as it is, it’s also reassuring. They wouldn’t laugh if the situation was dire.
When Umid finally calms down, he wipes his eyes and says, “Alright, let me get a better look at that.” He hems and haws, but eventually tells them, “You’ll be fine. You just need patience and a lot of leave-in conditioner.”
Yuri lets out a sigh of relief. Thanks to his sponsorships, he has more than enough of that.
Three hours later, Yuri’s hair is detangled, washed, dried, and pulled back into an annoyingly gorgeous loose braid, courtesy of Otabek. the amount of likes on the before and after pictures Otabek posts to Instagram is also very annoying. They lay in bed, Yuri’s head on his chest and Otabek’s fingers gently massaging his scalp. “So, are we finally done with this game?” Otabek asks.
Yuri pushes up on one elbow. “You knew?”
Otabek rolls his eyes and smirks. “I didn’t mean to do it this time, ” he mocks. Yuri flushes. “Besides, no one has ever accused you of being subtle.”
Yuri thinks about denying it, but in the end just lays back down. “Fine. I’ll stop.”
***
Things Yuri will never tell Otabek: in learning to do hair badly, Yuri has also learned how to do it well.
8.
***
Pro: Beka likes it
***
“I swear to god, Altin, if you keep rubbing your nasty, runny nose in my hair, I will never have the chance to be a widower because you won’t survive to see the wedding.”
“But it’s so pretty. And smells good. Like peaches,” Otabek mumbles blearily.
Yuri sighs and shifts a little in Otabek’s octopus embrace. “Of course it does. You’re the one who makes me use the stuff that makes it smell like that.”
Otabek hums. “Yes. Because it smells good.” He mashes his nose against the back of Yuri’s skull again and inhales deeply. It sounds more like a diseased, mucus clogged snort. Yuri shudders. “Yuuura, I need a new nose, this one’s broken.”
Yuri flips over so he can look his fiance right in the flushed, sweaty, glassy-eyed face. “What you need is a decongestant and something to bring your fever down,” he tells Otabek firmly. He sits up, but when he tries to get off the couch Otabek just clings harder and whines pathetically. Yuri rolls his eyes and runs his fingers through Otabek’s hair. Otabek’s whine turns into a happy little purr as he butts his head further into Yuri’s touch. Yuri huffs out an amused breath. “Zhanym , I need to get up so I can get you what you need to get better. You want to get better, right?” Otabek is quiet for a long moment. “Beka?”
“I’m thinking,” he grouses, but finally lets go with a disgruntled sigh. “Fine.”
Yuri finally manages to get the cold pills down Otabek’s throat, along with some sports drink. After, he maneuvers them both until Yuri is propped up lengthwise against the couch arm, Otabek sandwiched between his knees. “Movie?” he offers. Otabek nods quietly and sips at his drink bottle while Yuri chooses a movie at random. He combs through Otabek’s hair as they watch. He’s beginning to understand why Otabek likes doing it so much. It’s very relaxing.
Otabek rolls over partway through the movie. He stares up at Yuri with an awe filled gaze. “You’re marrying me,” he says as if just coming to this realization. Yuri can’t stop his soft, smitten look.
“I am,” he agrees, smoothing Otabek’s bangs back from clammy forehead. His hair is gross, oily and sweaty; Otabek would be appalled at its state if he were in his right mind.
“In one week,” Otabek adds, like Yuri might not understand the significance.
“I know.”
Otabek smiles, wide and unguarded. He reaches up and hooks a finger around a lock of Yuri’s hair that must have fallen loose from his bun. “I really like your hair.” Yuri snorts.
“I am aware of this fact, yes.”
“But I love you.” His eyes slide shut, like now that he’s said his piece he can finally sleep.
Yuri kisses his forehead. “I know.”
9.
***
Pro: Beka likes it
***
“Yura,” Otabek says as he carefully knots his tie. Yuri watches him through Facetime, banished to the other dressing room because a certain someone (read: Viktor) insisted they get dressed separately so as ‘not to ruin the surprise’. Because it’s not like they hadn’t picked out their tuxes together, or anything. “Yura!” Yuri blinks and comes back to reality. Otabek smirks. “Focus,” he says. Yuri sticks out his tongue but goes back trying to figure out his own tie. Where is Katsuki, anyways? He promised he’d help with stuff like this. “Yura.”
“What?” Yuri snaps. “I’m focused, okay? It’s not my fault this stupid tie -”
“Take a breath, zhanym . Things are going to be just fine, okay?”
Yuri grumbles, but takes a few breaths and feels a little better. “Thanks,” he says quietly. Otabek nods solemnly.
“Yura.”
“Oh my god, Otabek, is that the only word you can say? Because I like it when you call my name but -”
“Yura.” Yuri groans emphatically. “I just wanted to ask you, when I was sick last week, did you…?”
That sentence could end with any manner of things. “Did I what?”
Otabek looks down, then up through his eyelashes. “Did you Han Solo me?”
Yuri’s brain screeches to a halt, trying to figure out what Otabek is talking about. Then he starts to laugh. “Oh god, I did, didn’t I?” he gasps out, bent over and clutching his stomach. “You giant nerd, I didn’t even notice.”
Otabek narrows his eyes at Yuri, assessing. “I think we’re going to have to revisit the Leia buns,” he finally says. He nods firmly to himself.
Yuri’s chest hurts, and his stomach too. This is the man he is marrying. He is the best thing in Yuri’s world, and in just a few minutes, Otabek will be his to keep. He straightens.
“As you wish.”
10.
***
Pro: Beka likes it
***
Otabek buries his hands in Yuri’s soft, shiny, 100% styled-on-his-own hair and pulls him down for a kiss. Around them, people cheer. “I love you,” Otabek says, soft and fond.
“Beka,” Yuri says slowly, “Are you saying that to me or my hair?”
Otabek kisses him again.
***
