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“Why am I—“ Yuri woke up at the airport arrivals gate in a confused stupor. His head very much disagreed with him, as did his stomach, and he was pretty positive he was still drunk. “We must’ve been seeing Alexei off.”
He’d been going home to visit his family in Moscow.
Fuck the old men must not have taken them and let a group of young drunks stumble to the airport alone.
The air outside was brisk, Yuri hissed through his teeth as the wind whipped his hair into his face and pushed onwards to the taxi line.
“3rd Builders Street.” He rattled off an address without thinking much about it, leaning his aching head against the cool glass of the window. This trip was going to cost him a fortune.
Thirty minutes later—damn cabs—he pulled up at his street. The building looked an awful lot like the dorms he used to live in, he thought absently, and took the elevator up.
Yawning, Yuri fumbled with the lock on his door for a moment and finally stumbled through it. He was too tired to deal with the fact none of his holiday lights were on. The bed was where it always was, comforting and warm, and he collapsed, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
He awoke to someone shaking him.
His mind supplied that it was Viktor or Yuuri. He ignored it, groaned, and rolled back over.
“Excuse me,” An unfamiliar voice made his eyes fly open. “What are you doing in my bed?”
“Oh…uh…”. The most attractive man Yuri had probably ever seen in his entire life was standing in front of him with bags under his eyes. “Your bed?”
“That’s what I said.”
“I think there’s been a mistake. This is apartment 4B, is it not?”
“Yes.” The man narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“In building F on 3rd Builder’s Street?”
“…Yes.”
“Then this is my apartment.” Yuri crossed his arms.
“Do you have your license?”
It was Yuri’s turn to narrow his eyes, but he looked around for wherever he’d dropped his jacket. His eyes scanned the floor until he realized he’d been too tired to even take it off.
“Here.” He dug through the pockets and procured the wallet.
“Oh.” The suspicious look on the other’s face was replaced with an amused one. “Yuri Plisetsky, hmm?”
“And you are?”
“Otabek Altin.” The man didn’t look up from the license. “You live at this address you say?”
“Yes.”
“In Moscow?”
“In…In Moscow?” Yuri felt the color drain from his face. “Oh shit. Oh my god. Fuck. Wait.”
His new mission was to dig for his phone. He hoped to god it wasn’t dead, but Russian winters were unforgiving on lithium ion batteries.
“I have a charger in the living room.” Otabek offered, “If you don’t mind? I had a long night. I’d like my bed.”
“Um. Oh. Yeah. Thank you. I—shit—let me help you make the bed. You probably don’t want my drool all over your pillows.”
Otabek didn’t say no, but he didn’t exactly jump at the prospect of help. Still, Yuri found himself stripping the bed and pulling the sheets into the hamper in the corner.
Twenty, maybe fifteen (Yuri had no phone to go by) minutes later he was sitting quietly in the living room trying to plan his return trip. It was the holiday season, New Year’s Eve specifically, flights were booked, trains were running holiday schedules (and were also booked).
Plus there was a storm threatening to delay Aeroflot more than usual so that was another reason not to leave yet. He could hopefully find a hotel so that he wasn’t a burden on his unsuspecting host.
“Yura? Oh, thank god—Vitya, it’s Yura!”
“Katsudon, shut up.” Yuri snapped. “Why am I in Moscow?”
“You’re in Moscow?” Yuuri asked, voice high-pitched. “Vitya, why is he in Moscow, what did you do?”
“It wasn’t me!” Yuri heard his friend’s startled voice. “Ask him if he’s heard from Bodhan.”
Yuri swallowed nervously.
“What happened with Bodhan?”
“Well…”. Yuuri started. “You didn’t come home last night and—“
“Give me the phone!”
There was static for a moment as the married couple fumbled back and forth and then Viktor returned.
“You’ve been very lackluster about this whole engagement, Yura, and after you didn’t come home yesterday—I think he’s moved out. You should call him.”
Yuri’s stomach sank.
“Unless, of course,” Viktor sounded smug. “You don’t want to. Because you don’t love him.”
“Shut up, of course I love him.”
“Oh? Why are you in Moscow then?”
“I don’t know!” Yuri gritted his teeth, very aware his host could be listening in or that he could wake him up. “I woke up in the airport after seeing Alexei off. Mila was there with—Mila.”
“You were out drinking with Mila and you trusted her to be the sober friend?” Viktor cackled. “Ok. Well. That answers why you’re in Moscow. Can you get back here anytime soon?”
“Flights are booked.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in an apartment.” There was a silence on the other side.
“I’m putting you on speaker. Explain.”
“I got back to my apartment, like this is literally my address except fucking Moscow and I don’t know how my fucking key worked—“
“Soviet era buildings, Yura, I told you you lived in a bad neighborhood. You should move in—“
“Anyways now I’m in this dude’s apartment. He’s named Otabek. He’s asleep right now because he was out all night doing something—“ He was too involved to hear the key jiggle in the lock or to hear the footsteps as someone seemed to quietly try to sneak into the abode. “And I can’t get home and this sucks—“
“Who are you?’
Yuri looked up into the eyes of someone probably about his height with red hair pulled up into a messy, man-bun and startling blue eyes.
“Guys, I have a situation, I’ve got to go.”
He hung up.
“Who are you?”
Oh, god, he has crazy eyes.
Yuri groaned.
“I’m Yuri Plisetsky—and don’t go in there he’s asleep he had a long night!” He took off after the new man as the redhead raced back towards the bedroom.
“Who is he?”
“Oh god, listen, I’m just a guest. I don’t—“
“Beka, Beka, who is he?” The redhead was literally straddling the formerly sleeping, looking wide-eyed and frantic.
Otabek yawned and blinked at him in confusion before remembering the stranger in his home. He looked at Yuri and back at the man practically in his lap.
“I’m a guest.” Yuri repeated flatly.
Otabek nodded, man of few words it seemed.
“Why is he here? You’ve just gotten home, haven’t you? I came to surprise you—“
“He just got home, can you let him sleep?”
“Shut up, he’s my boyfriend—“
Oh god.
“Zhenya, please—“
“Why is he in your apartment? You never have guests, Beka, I can’t even spend the night!”
“There’s not much point if I work nights—“
“Is he the reason you don’t return my calls?”
“I feel like he’s not your boyfriend if he doesn’t return calls.” Why did he even open his mouth? Now he had furious blue eyes staring him down—if looks could kill. His heart fluttered a moment when he made eye contact with Otabek’s tired but amused gaze.
“Fine. Fine. I see how it is.” Zhenya huffed. “I’m leaving.”
As quickly as he’d appeared, he left.
____
Yuri gasped, startling himself awake.
“Nice of you to join the land of the living.” Right. He was living with Viktor and Yuuri right now. They’d taken him in after his injury, helped with finances. “Just in time for the romance.”
The old man gestured to the screen in front of them and Yuri groaned at the familiar singing.
Viktor’s smile widened.
“It’s a classic, Yura!”