Work Text:
note to self: stop being in love with boys who barely talk more than a dozen words a day
Leo didn’t think he’s old enough to know what love is yet, but goddamn, with how much he was tested every day, he would not doubt it if this were it!
Every brush of their elbows, every rustle of each other’s hair, every single damned unintentional graze between their fingers has sent countless alarms through Leo’s brain. He never used to notice it, but when he did, it was everywhere: how soft his hair feels or how short his nails are clipped or the fascinating smoothness of his hands; something was always up with Otabek, and it drives Leo nuts to be around him.
It didn’t use to be a problem; Leo wasn’t touch-starved or anything. He was perfectly familiar with every kind of hug and friendly kiss and he’d been mistaken for his friends’ boyfriend far too often. But Otabek was different! Leo didn't know why, but he was!
After a lot of meditation, Leo came to this conclusion: it’s Otabek’s fault, because he never started it. Sure, he’d ask Leo for help him with something or to go to buy some snacks, but whatever touching that happened as a result was entirely on Leo’s part, as much as he avoided it. He walked too close, he wanted the same item as Otabek, he was in the way, he simply was too much. Sometimes, Leo would feel guilty instead of elated, because who was he to take something to innocuous and turn it into some farfetched indication of reciprocation? But then, Otabek would thank him for his help, not shake off Leo’s hand on his forearm, smile shyly at a weak joke Leo made, and Leo would push away his worries for a different day.
It became a thing , something he’d try to rely to his friends in third-person as to save his hide, but he feared they already knew. Maybe they laughed behind his back. Maybe they told other people. Maybe they thought he was a dumb idiot kid who had no experience at all.
Leo could not deny the last part, if he was being honest .
He also could not deny how warm his hand/arm/shoulder/knee/whole body felt afterwards, how his imagination ran freely in the late hours of the night. It felt good, it filled him with a emotion only comparable to compliments on his music taste or how well he’d been doing in practice lately or how dreamy he looked in the jacket combo he chose specifically for this exact moment and how come Otabek still wouldn’t say anything the hell about it, no matter how much Leo willed him to with his stare.
He’d be helping Otabek with layering his music, moving though software menus and shortcuts, and his fingers would bump into Otabek’s politely resting hands. Leo would jerk back, caught in an imaginary criminal act, stumbling over the next few words of his personal tutorial. Otabek would be unfazed, and Leo would try to follow his example. When Otabek would thank him, Leo would excuse himself and go into the next room to sit on the floor and breathe real hard about what just happened.
At some point, one of them should have reached his tipping point, right? One of them had to snap and ask the other out, that’s how these whole deals usually worked out, right? Leo was determined not to be the one, he’s made it thus far and a fury of pettiness always accompanied his thoughts whenever he considers making the first move, because if Otabek was so chill and so cool, enough as to not so much as blink while Leo was having both the best and worst time of his life, than he could have worked up the courage to ask him out.
(That is, if it were meant to be. Leo ignored this part, because he would surely lose his mind if he dwelled on it longer than necessary.)
This philosophy hadn’t stopped Leo from testing the limits. After all, he couldn’t be all buddy-buddy with the rest of his friends and then turn into a Victorian-age schoolboy around Otabek. That’s weird and probably more creepy.
The first thing he tried was letting himself stand a little closer than usual (relative to Otabek). Their arms would press against each other. It was a particular chilly day in Leo’s opinion, but Otabek ran cold and he went with a short-sleeve shirt accordingly. Leo had caught him on his way to the rink, spotting a mess of black hair in desperate need of a cut peeked over the fence, and he ran up to catch up with Otabek. He walked alongside him with little more than some spare centimeters, mentally excusing himself, on account of the weather. He still felt the urge to jump back as if he had been shocked, maybe apologize profusely and also leave town. However, he suppressed that for a much more welcoming feeling of comfort and affection. Friendly affection. Between two friends.
Their shoulders bumped into each other often, but if Otabek noticed it, he made no face over it. As they walked along the path to the rink, Leo noticed Otabek’s steps seemed shorter, quicker. He kept his eyes to the sidewalk, and that’s how Leo caught sight of Otabek’s bright pink ears, but the floor staring was normal, and Leo figured the cold must have finally caught up with him.
After a few weeks of this, Leo pushed it again. They were over at a friend’s house watching a newly released and newly pirated movie in his basement. Even though Leo had started off on the recliner, stretched across a different friend’s lap, her girlfriend arrived shortly into the ads before the movie, and he was demoted to the floor. Kicked off, he slid down to sit cross-legged next to Otabek, who sat stiffly with his legs pointed forward as if he was doing his stretches. Leo told him as much, biting back a smile, and Otabek almost instantly pulled his legs back tightly against himself, knocking his knee against Leo.
Before he could apologize, Leo smiled and dismissed it. He left out the part where a fire ran up his thigh and into his chest, and how he wished their knees stayed close. Leo instead settled for their proximity, even though he could feel the inch between them like the pulsing bruises on his legs from skating a little too recklessly. The ads dragged on because nobody could find the remote to the DVD player, and they could only press random buttons on the television monitor, and when the movie finally began, there was a strong shushing across the room, and everyone became silent.
In the dark basement, where only the crunch of popcorn and the dialogue of the movie was heard, Leo could feel Otabek begin to relax, minute by minute. From the corner of his eye, Leo watched as his shoulders descended, and his arms no longer were wrapped tightly around his legs. It relieved him to see Otabek becoming more comfortable around his friends. Leo only wished he were more comfortable around Otabek, without any overbearing shame.
Some time into the movie, Leo discovered he did not like it very much. It moved too fast when it should have been paced, or the actors didn’t even look engaged in their roles, and as somebody whose sport is half performance, it was annoying. He looked for any distraction, and his eyes fall on Otabek before long. If their time together has been worth anything, Leo could tell Otabek wasn’t very interested either. Sensing his eyes, Otabek’s own gaze met Leo’s, and they exchanged a look. Otabek held up a finger, still too polite to speak during a bad movie, and dug around in his jacket. He pulled out his iPod Nano and it gleamed in the dull light emitted from the movie’s frankly boring cinematography.
Otabek raised his earbuds, and without a word, Leo took one. As he does, Otabek scooted closer and their legs were pushed close together. He, as to be expected, doesn’t take notice, and instead focused his attention on swiping through music options. Leo, however, did notice, very strongly. The fire rolled back in, except this time, it’s much longer. It moved beyond his chest, inching up his neck and ears, but in the darkness, there’s no chance he’d be caught. This comforted him, and Leo inhales and exhaled measuredly. Their shoulders met, and for a brief moment, Leo worried about the heat radiating off him. Previously extinguished anxiety had started to worm it’s way back, and Leo considered pulling back when a quiet and familiar voice broke though the cloud of doubt.
“Are you doing fine? Do you need to step out?” He said it with such complete sincerity, and though Leo expected as much from a friend, it still made his heart beat faster. He nodded after dozens of those heartbeats, and Otabek nodded as well. They lean against each other, cozy and untroubled.
It felt, yes, warm and comforting and all that, but most of all, natural. Leo didn’t feel as if he was forcing anything to happen, rather, he was doing away with unnecessary guilt. And that’s a good thing, wasn’t it?
This exchange defined new terms and boundaries in their friendship. Leo was happy about this, his actions no longer seemed wildly out of place afterwards, they seemed more in line with how Leo acted with his other friends. Who knows, maybe he and Otabek would start a secret handshake! It all went as Leo planned, and if his prediction was right, he would be over his whole touch thing in no time.
It became easier to let himself get lost in imagination, indulge for a few seconds and imagine how it would feel to— gasp!— hold hands! Hug! Maybe, even kiss! There was no end to the dramatics!
Dramatics that were going to get him caught, so Leo only entertained the idea for a few minutes at a time.
But, the more Leo let himself think about it, the more he felt like he was deluding himself. He was setting himself up for failure, and there was nothing he could do about it, because what could he do? Plan a long-term scheme centered around “awakening” something in Otabek that probably didn’t exist in the first place? Who knew if his own emotions would have lasted that long! Logically, Leo knew he should have just rode it out, most things don’t last at his age. But he was crushing now , he was losing it now , and in the now, Leo could give fuck all about what was supposed to happen next year.
That was before Otabek decided he was going to start being more— lively? Friendly? And in hindsight, that might have been what did Leo in.
It starts with Otabek perching his arm on Leo’s shoulder if he was sitting. They’d have some banter over who’s shorter than you, and it was all fun and games. More and more regularly, Otabek would use his hand to call Leo’s attention. This meant a two things:
- Otabek spoke less. This was an entirely different issue unto itself.
- They became more touchy feely. The pendulum had swung the other way.
At least, in Leo’s perspective. In any other situation, this would be nothing, but Otabek? Otabek continually proved to be someone who takes immense joy in wrecking Leo’s expectations. Leo thought they had finally reached a spot of platonic ease! He thought everything was good and well, but apparently not!
But if he was being fair, Leo had to admit he’s dreamt about it before. About Otabek being so casual and free with his touch, and so incredibly gentle, so much so that half the time, Leo is unsure whether he is indeed dreaming up the entire thing. Sometimes he wishes he were, because the alternative can be unbearable. The alternative means that Otabek is being that soft, he is that willing to be close to him, he is being honest when he chooses to sit next to Leo at any given opportunity.
It started with Otabek wrapping his arm around Leo’s shoulders more often. An important distinction to make is the fact that he was the one to start it. It wasn’t as if Leo has never done it before, but he cannot help but try to pull a greater meaning from it when Otabek starts it.
Then, he’d lay his head on Leo’s shoulder, as Leo does anything at all. Like watching television, for example. He found out the reason Otabek ran cold was because all his heat was stuck on his face. Leo couldn’t even say anything about it, lest Otabek pull his head away and give him a legitimate cold shoulder. This, in a word, sucks, considering Leo knew few greater pleasures in life than leaning his head back and feeling the unruly bunch of black hair curl against his cheek. Very little compares to the intimacy of Otabek’s voice, centimeters from his ear, asking questions or commenting on the scene in front of them.
One day that stuck with Leo constantly was when they were watching a seasonal movie, probably some unremarkable Hallmark feature. Otabek was seated beside him, head on his shoulder, acting as the new him does, and there was a couple on screen. In classic Hallmark fashion, they were being cheesily straight, to the point of ridicule by the two of them. But when the couple was having their climactic reunion, they stayed quiet.
“That would be sweet. I think,” Otabek had said.
“What?” Leo didn’t turn his head, in fear that he would push Otabek off, but his disbelief shone through. Otabek’s face grew even hotter on his shoulder.
“I mean, who wouldn’t want someone to care for them enough to fly across the ocean?” He spoke more quietly, like he expected derision. Leo gave him nothing of the sort, only an affirmative hum to disguise his own fiery cheeks. Across the ocean! Leo had half a mind to ask if Otabek cared like that. He had a quarter of a mind to announce he would do that for him.
So, the head on shoulder thing was fun, in some way. Leo could handle it, he laid his own head on his friends’ shoulders before. However, he found he could never with Otabek. Again, he was different. It was infuriating sometimes, that Leo couldn’t will his dumb heart to stop wishing for the improbable, but to be fair, it wasn’t helped by anything Otabek did.
It was at a regional competition they shared, and it operated as any other, unremarkable beyond this single incident. In the days leading up to it, Leo and Otabek barely spoke. They entered the arena at different times, left for differing regiments at varying hours, and most of the time, they were each so focused on practicing that the other’s existence was little more than a blur in his peripheral vision. But in the rare moments where their eyes met briefly, Leo didn’t know what to feel. He just smiled and waved, as he does, and Otabek would try to smile back, awkward as ever, and nod.
This was the nature of the week leading up to any competition, no matter how low on the hierarchy it was. They both knew that in a few weeks, the grind would slow moderately back to its regular state— not that it was any less taxing when there wasn’t a qualifier hanging in the horizon.
To make an unnecessary story short, the day of their competition came, and while Leo’s coach was off tending to some more inexperienced and younger skaters, he found himself getting prepared alone.
Sat in front of a mirror, Leo had no other options but to look at himself. He could study every minute imperfection he could find or invent for hours, not he would ever admit to it. That came along with being a performer, there was no avoiding it. He always waited until the last possible moment to apply competition makeup, he always broke out and it never looked right when he was looking at himself in the mirror. Sure, it wasn’t meant to be looked at that closely, but still.
For that reason, when Leo began to prepare for a competition, he always opted for having his hair done first, after putting his costume on. Even in younger years where he’d kept it short and it only took seconds to finish, he would sit as still as he could and watch. He knew he should probably learn to do it himself, but there’s a certain artistry in hairdressing that he doesn’t think he has, and other people seem to do it so well already.
But the thing is, through all his friends and family, nearly none of them were very delicate. They’d always pull and tug and he’d feel like the skin of his temples were being yanked off, even if the end result was prim and professional enough.
Otabek did not do that. He was not rough and harsh and rude, he just was not raised that way.
Leo didn’t know what he was thinking when he knocked on Otabek’s hotel door, next door to his own room. There was no precedent, no plan, no thought pattern, just him and his jacket zipped all the way up. When he asked Otabek to help him do his hair, he privately hoped that would be what finally changed something in Otabek’s features, but yet again, he is plain-faced as he welcomed Leo in.
Again, sat in front of an identical mirror, Leo has more options. His face is still bare, washed and ready, and he frowns mildly in anticipation of the foundation he will need. One by one, he catches a scar here, a mark there, freckles that will begin to fade in the incoming autumn. Are his teeth crooked? Does he need braces? He catches himself in the middle of a thought and pushes it away for later, for when he is not about to perform.
His eyes roamed the busy countertop, covered in various jars and bottles and cans, nearly all related to hair or skincare. The extra bed indicated there was an absent skater that roomed with Otabek, who offered little more explanation than, “He’s feeling ill.”
Otabek, Leo noticed, was already finished with his optics. He, like Leo, prefered not to do anything too drastic with his fair, and his hair was simply slicked back. It made sense that he would help his friend out, and from where he was seated, Leo figured he knew what he was doing.
Leo watched as Otabek combed through the thick of his hair, detangling what Leo couldn’t catch, and began parting it. He was focused intently, like it took so much of his mental capacity that he couldn’t even hold a conversation, not that Leo wanted one. He worked quickly and efficiently, without the semblance of a tug, and it was the only thing keeping Leo from thinking he was somehow angry. It was incomparable to what Leo was used to, he almost expected much of the same discomfort when he asked for help. And this was only the technical side of things.
His mind began to wander, no longer needing to tense when someone jerk his hair back. Leo closed his eyes, ignored the marks and sprouting acne, and let himself be swayed by Otabek’s hands. The repetitive motions of his fingers arranging and crossing made Leo think he was probably braiding, and Leo smiled. It had been ages since his hair was braided, probably years. He was so much different then, but any agitation that might have arisen was dissuaded as Otabek made his way up the back of Leo’s head. He’d move back and forth and Otabek moved accordingly to grab some gel or a bobby pin.
It wasn’t until Otabek twisted his hair up and tight into a small bun and began to gel back flyaway hairs into place that Leo realized how hot his neck felt. Especially when Otabek grazed the base of his neck; his fingers felt icy and Leo could only imagine what his own skin felt like. He knew why it happened, but it still embarrassed him. It would soon reach his face, and Otabek would ask questions, and what kind of friend was Leo if he had to lie to his face? His heart beat rapidly as he shifted to sit up and bumped into Otabek rather gawky.
He began to stammer out an apology when he opened his eyes and found Otabek inches from his face. Leo shut his mouth and instinctively tried to lean away. Otabek held a firm hand on the back of his neck, holding him in place.
“Give me a minute, I still have to… I thought you would want me to finish.” Otabek didn’t look at him in the eyes, instead looking off into the small jar of gel. Leo, not used to being so close to his face, held his breath and tore his eyes to the mirror. He was looking practically done, except for—
“The baby hairs?”
Otabek nodded mutely, reaching for the jar.
Leo continued to sit still as Otabek crouched in front of him and slicked down the stray hairs. It was harder to keep his composure with him in his very close proximity, and Leo couldn’t look him in the eyes once, or even breathe. He usually did this part himself, after somebody did his hair, because he thought it made him look like he knew what he was doing, especially during competition season. It was an extra touch he liked doing, and though it would often be ruined by the makeup, Leo always tried.
He just didn’t know how Otabek knew.
Otabek drew back, done, and rinsed his fingers. “Take a look, tell me if anything looks wrong.” Leo sat up and examined himself, turning this way and that and absorbed the handiwork. It wasn’t anything complicated, but he held the actual experience closer to his heart. He was quiet for a few seconds, unsure of how to compliment it.
“How’d you know? That I like gelling them down?” He asked cautiously. It was a meaningless question, he probably mentioned it in passing and had forgotten. But he was curious, dangerously so, and he wanted to know this and everything he could about Otabek.
Otabek hesitated as he shook his hands dry. “I just noticed, is all.” He properly finished drying his hands on the itchy towels provided by the hotel, turning to do so.
Leo watched his shoulders, his back, and the bright national blue of his sports jacket. ‘Just noticed’ , huh? Leo knew he would tear that sentence apart later, trying to solve an improbable riddle, and be thrown for a endless loop of will-we-won’t-we. He could ask so many questions, clear the fog, at last set his busy heart to rest.
Leo takes a deep breath, full of worry and frustration and mistakes, and breathed out. “Thanks, it’s perfect.”
“Anytime.”
If dreaming weren’t so tempting, he thought, he would be more active in changing the status quo. Maybe that was why he let this whole bit run on, because he could live in a false world as much as he wants when he hasn’t been explicitly rejected. He could, and did, send relatively strong signals, but in the end, he figured he could only leave it to Otabek. The jump he needed to make was very deep and dark and he was so blinded by how good it already was as it is now that he couldn’t imagine anything being any different.
Perhaps, one day, things would be different. But that day was not even close.