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Otabek looked up as a class of third years filed into the weights studio; he was spending his free period working out today as he’d promised to go with Mila to her costume fitting later rather than hitting the gym with the rest of the hockey team. A familiar head of silky golden hair caught his eye, but he made himself look away - Yuri Plisetsky had never given him a second glance anyway.
The third years milled around while the gym teacher, Coach Celestino, gave them instructions and then dispersed amongst the machines, Yuri making his way over to the bench weights near where Otabek was working the free weights. Otabek kept his eyes front while Yuri loaded a couple weights onto the bar then proceeded to dig out his phone from the loose black sweats he was wearing. Paired with a three quarter-length sleeve, leopard-print, raglan tee, the outfit went a long way to hide his lithe form. He sat on the bench for a moment scrolling through his phone before laying back and lazily making a show of pressing the weights a few times before returning to his phone. Celestino paid him no mind, he was probably well aware Yuri didn’t exactly need the extra exercise on top of his training regime as a competitive figure skater.
As Otabek was finishing up, three of the other third years - footballers on the school’s team going by the colours of their matching sweatpants - wandered over to where Yuri was laying on the bench staring at the ceiling.
“Look at this punk!” The short one - obviously the ringleader - crows.
“Walks around thinking he’s tough and he’s benching barely 30 kilos!”
Yuri rolls his eyes as he stands and waves toward the bench.
“Why don’t you show me how it’s done?” He asks, bored.
Otabek looks to Celestino, who is now also watching the exchange. Otabek catches his eye and smirks. Celestino winks back; this should be good. As the young footballer strides over and starts fussing with the weights. He and his friends load up weights to a total of about 75kg. Not bad for 15 year old, Otabek supposes.
As Otabek wipes the sweat from his face on his towel, an idea occurs to him. His feet are moving before he realises what he’s doing and suddenly he’s standing next to Yuri as he watches the other boys.
“Yuri,” he murmurs.
“The fuck are you, asshole?” Yuri demands, though also keeping his voice down.
“Otabek Atlin, we’ve met.” Yuri just raises an eyebrow in question, “at the rink in town, I’m a friend of Mila’s?”
“So?”
Otabek watches as the kid on the bench starts grunting through reps. “So… you know Mila’s been practicing lifts?”
“Ugh, yeah, she keeps sneaking up and hoisting me in the air, why?”
Otabek nods toward the kid now heaving the bar back into place.
“Who do you think she’s been practicing on?” he mutters, blushing slightly.
Yuri stares at the muscular older boy incredulous.
“Exactly. If she can lift me, you can, and I weigh more than that,” he indicates the bar. “Do you know any lifts?” Yuri just smirks, a wicked gleam in his eye as the footballer and his friends come swaggering back over to where they stand.
“THAT’s how you do it,” the kid gloats, “still think you’re all that!?”
Otabek nods subtly to Yuri and braces himself as Yuri stares the kid straight in the eye then crouches gracefully and sweeps Otabek right up and over his head in one fluid movement. He holds Otabek there for a moment, long enough to demonstrate the ease of it, then spins, lowering Otabek in a flowing movement around his body depositing him back on the ground in a dip, smirking wickedly again as Otabek blushes deeply. Yuri pulls him back to a standing position to the cheering and whooping of the third year class, and to the slack-jawed expressions of the three stunned footballers.
The three shamed students slink back to their machines, and Celestino regains control of the class. Yuri turns back toward the bench and fishes in his pocket for his phone again.
“Hey,” Otabek calls after him.
Yuri looks back over his shoulder.
“Are you going to become my friend now or not?”
Yuri just grins.