Chapter Text
January 21st 2023, 8am
"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy"
The Shining, great book. Yuri's always thought so, or at least since he read it when he was 13. He's never quite agreed with that mantra though- All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy- work's never been a bad thing for Yuri. But, then again work's all Yuri's really got. No boyfriend- or girlfriend, to his grandfather's dismay- nor any pets to come home to, he's allergic to cats and dogs scare him. Maybe it's their eyes, maybe it's how they always seem to know when you don't like them. So work it is. Sanitary, scheduled, and meaningful. The walk's always nice. His car can't handle the snow, it was barely 500 dollars at a used car dealership, so when it's like this, 12 inches of snow kicking his ass, he has to walk. But the city's great to look at in the morning, Madison's not too bad of a place to live, and it got him away from Virginia. Yuri swears he's becoming like his mom, always making sure he can breath, taking half-unnecessary puffs of his inhaler while he walks to his job at a hospital, a place where he has unlimited inhalers right by his side. He may as well have his own son with asthma who he hovers over like a fly.
He pushes open the double doors, being blasted in the face by a gust of lemon scented cleaning solution and sick people. Mmm, great way to start the day. He walks over to Sandra- Who for the past 4 years has been treating him like he's her son, a habit she likely picked up to distract herself from her own daughter going off to live in Cali the year before he started this job. Maddie, he's heard her say a few times. Apparently she's a nice girl, smart girl, got into Stanford and decided during her time there she figured out she wanted to stay there for the rest of her life, thriving on the beaches with her feet in the sand. Sweet. He can say for sure that Sandra's a nice woman, chatty, he'll admit, sometimes nervous, too, but an overall good first thing to see in the morning. It rubs off. Yuri takes his sweet time walking over to Sandra, last he checked his watch he's 7 minutes early and he rathers to be on time than early. Once he gets over to her, her face lights up like one of those Christmas reindeer lights you can only buy for 50 dollars at a department store, but it's something that puts Yuri at ease anyway. She takes his card from his hand, tapping it for him. Claims she likes hearing the beep. She hands it back, doing a little intake of breath before she speaks.
"You need to sleep better, sweetheart." She flicks through some folder that she pulls out from her little drawers by her feet while she speaks, shaking her head disapprovingly, just like his mother would. "This job's busy. You need a good head on your shoulders." Yuri catches a glimpse of a chart, with small golden stars covering the page. Yuri's listened to her talk enough to know that's how she keeps track of her soberness. 1488 days. 1488 days of no alcohol, not even at work parties or with other moms, not a single drop. That's about 5 years. A true soldier, fighting through the storms of addiction, and here she sits. Not even shivering from the cold. Yuri nods, not agreeing, definitely disagreeing. Just the polite nod. "Really, Yuri, and find yourself a nice boy while you're at it. He might just be lurking around here, hey?"
She's always been so supportive of Yuri, so much so she seems scared to come off as homophobic in any capacity. She's got so much going on, and yet she finds the time to remind Yuri that no matter how much pride he has or hasn't got, he's safe there. She doesn't just tolerate it, she opens her arms to it. It's rare. It's sweet. Last year she tried to set him up with her nephew, again, someone she described as a nice boy. Yuri tried it, but that boy- Henry, he said- was just a little too much for him. And so were the library guy, the Irish guy, and the other two guys he met and ended up not liking. "A coworker? No. Everyone else here is my boss. It'd be weird."
Sandra shakes her head, making a quiet mm-mm sound, and clicks her tongue once. "What's that thing you said to me a while ago? We all have to push-"
"We all gotta push against the darkness somehow. I know."
That's one of his better ones.
Sandra lets out a huffed breath, typing something into her little computer before swivelling her head up to Yuri. "I could try and find someone for you, my friend from AA meetings has a son-"
"No, no thank you Sandra."
"Mm. You best get to work then. Your shift started a minute ago."
And with that, Yuri gets to leave to do what he does everyday: get some easy meds for some guy with a sore throat, a saline drip for a runner who didn't quite hydrate enough, and at a push some chemo meds for another hospital that ran out. Same old shit. Same old pharmacy duty.
As Yuri walks through the hospital, he gets to see everything hospitals have ever represented, all for free. Like right near the water fountain, blocking anyone else who's thirsty from using it, are some nurses giggling about something mundane, probably a reality tv show they all tune in to watch each week; outside of having a patient fake a seizure because they think it'll get them meds they can sell on the street to pay for his hefty gambling debts, nothing else gets their hearts pumping- not quite like tall little girls and himbos that are 90% lip filler arguing in a humdrum, petty feud that'll lead nowhere good, apart from breaking up relationships that were radioactive and thespian. Reality television, folks. You can bet on middle aged women to eat it up, put money right in the pockets of producers who don't care about their viewers. They're sipping from the small cone paper cups you can get from the dispensers by the fountain if you don't wanna drink from it directly, that may as well be recycled party hats they fall apart so quick, and all of them, simultaneously, clacking their slip-ons against the off-white tile that's meant to be 'endearing' and 'calming' to the patients. Click clack, click clack. Again and again. One of them has her pale blue mask pulled down under her chin, barely holding on to her ears, her little purple hairclip pinning only one side of her hair back; some type of new chic look that Yuri doesn't understand. There's a nice cold chill in the air which has one of the nurses, who he thinks is called Chloe, shivering like a dog outside of a supermarket in the cold, because it's a pet free zone.
And like by the doors of the pediatric unit, a mother- presumably- kneeling next to her small kid, 6 or 7, with tears running down her face onto the newly cleaned, shiny floor. The kid's got a small bandage on his upper arm, as likely as not from a flu vaccine or maybe a blood test. He seems pretty calm, not at all fazed by what the doctor what call 'just a small pinch'. In fact, he looks pretty proud of himself. Still, his mother kneels next to him, holding his right arm like he's a magician who's going to make it disappear. "Ala-kazam! Say goodbye to my hand! Presto, where could it have gone?". She's mouthing words, too far away for Yuri to hear, but it's no doubt the usual mix and match of praise every kid stops getting at about 13 years old. The kid every few seconds stops smiling proudly, going into neutral, but it isn't too long before he looks back down at his arm and smiles again like he fought a tiger and won; which is probably what he'll tell his friends in school the next day. They'll believe him, hailing him as the coolest person to ever cross the school grounds, which he'll love for a few months before another one gets a shot or a blood test too, and says the same thing. Then it repeats.
Finally, just before he gets to the threshold of the radiology unit, he sees a teenager, he assumes, doing wheelies in her wheelchair to impress her friend, which it thoroughly does. Her legs are all casted up, and all things considered- like her oversized thrasher tee that was probably her dad's in the 90's, cut off shorts that she clearly cut for herself out of jeans, and slightly to the side hat- it was likely a bad skating incident. The hospital allows you to see a wide range of human, because everyone gets hurt, and everyone goes to the hospital. There's no boundary to who you'll walk past in such a finite area, it's really an anomaly.
Yuri's never liked the pharmacy being right next to radiology, the whirring of the MRI machine turning on distracts him more than it should. But being stuck next to radiology has it's safety features- the people in radiology fuck up a lot. They need a constant flow of sedatives, pain relief, and anti-histamines, so Yuri'd be the one who would have to wait ages for them to come over and grab their orders, but since they're so close, it's not an issue. That whirring, and the constant influx of leftover contrast agents to dispose of, is tiring, no matter how much Yuri tries to spin it. He puts in the door code, they all have their own, and Yuri's choice couldn't've been stupider. He chose the most common passcode he could pick, a birthday. His mom's birthday, no less. June 23rd, 0623. Simple. Easy to remember. And he still has to rack his brain to remember it. But after doing his little 3 second think, he types in the code and opens the door.
Sterile.
One of the better parts of his day. Having his own area to work in, no humans that aren't separated from him through plexiglass. Apart from, ah, Quinn. She pops around from a corner somewhere, probably grabbing a cup of the shitty cold coffee they leave for the drug rats at the back- And like always, she would've left the empty cup at the back because she forgets where the trashcan is. Quinn isn't a bad worker, nor is she great, she falls somewhere between okay and good. The one thing she can't do is focus on her work like Yuri does, she always has a new fangled idea related to whatever she's interested in that week, and she always has to tell someone about it. Considering they're stuck in a room together for 8 hours every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, Yuri becomes her first (and usually only) victim.
It's not nearly bad enough where Yuri'd consider complaining to Rhonda- like she'd do anything, they're already understaffed- or that'd he'd consider telling her to back up for once. No, it's just enough that it can make a completely calm day worse and a stressful day better. Yuri walks to the back, and to his surprise, finds no cup. Usually he'd stand back here for a few minutes, get some labour free money while he waits for the 10am rush of minor fender benders and teenagers thinking they're gonna die because they smoked too much weed skipping second period, but for 8am it's unusually busy, so he's forced to stay at the front once he's finished with the coffee- which he pours a cup of, choking it down despite it being room temperature, and strangely sweet. Yuri puts the cup gently in the trash, as gently as he can for how little he cares about that satan-spawned drink. He can swear the higher-ups don't care about the pharmacists, nor the rest of the hospital, it seems.
He trudges his way back to the front. He wouldn't usually have so many issues doing his job, it is money after all, but after forgetting to make coffee in the morning- which he doesn't even like, he only drinks it for the caffeine- he gets that generally hateful cup, he couldn't care less. He sits down in his swivel chair anyway, Quinn already on the chair she took from Rhonda's office. They have no orders just yet, but Yuri can feel it, feel the soon-to-be cold rush of running around the pharmacy trying to find a specific medicine that he's not even sure they have, and if they do they don't have a lot. It usually doesn't come around until about 12, four hours from now, but there are hoards of people in the waiting room, so it's only a matter of time.
The clock's ticking.
Slowly, but surely, time marches on.
"There are so many bugs around"
Yuri spins around on his chair to face Quinn. As much as it can be annoying, listening to Quinn speak is like popping a Valium. It doesn't last for too long, but you do whatever you can to ease some anxiety.
"Hm?"
"There are a lot of bugs around, have you seen any lacewings? I've been reading about them, they're pretty. They keep getting into my apartment somehow, but I don't mind."
Yuri doesn't even know what a lacewing is. He can't name any bugs, really, not specific ones anyway. He lets Quinn speak, though, mainly because it's much better than having to sit in boredom until an order comes through, which 9 times out of 10 is pretty simple but it's something to do.
"Lacewings are great, they have these beautiful green wings that are almost seethrough and-"
There's a soft knock on the plexiglass. That's new. Both of them turn to see one of the nurses, pediatric, guessing by the little stickers stuck onto his scrubs, dinosaurs, unicorns, giraffes, little ones saying 'You can do it!', assuming a 40 year old man with cancer isn't just trying to cheer himself up. His glasses are nearly falling off of his face and he looks like he's been in the trenches for the past 6 hours. He smiles slightly when they look at him, waving a little, even though he keeps his hands at his sides. He's got frosted tips, which seems a little unprofessional, but granted, everyone working there has done unprofessional things not to have a breakdown and quit. All power to the man who just wants some blonde streaks. His name tag, a little baby blue one with a yellow border, says 'Charley' though Yuri can't see all too well through the glass, so it might say 'Darney'.
"Sorry- I just need a... an IV, 15mg acetaminophen, they sent me because we're understaffed and..." He sounds like he's been in the trenches, speaking quicker than Yuri can fully comprehend, but he did hear 15mg acetaminophen, which can't be right. Sure, you could give 15mg ace to someone, but it'd barely touch a stinging paper cut, let alone a broken bone or a serious infection like whatever this child has to take acetaminophen through an IV. "It's for room 108... uh... Dr. Zomer. I think."
This guy- Charley- is fidgeting with anything he can find, mostly the hem of his shirt. He thinks it's Dr Zomer. Yuri raises an eyebrow. "You think?" He says, which might've come out a little too judgemental, considering the floundering that ensues, as well as the apologetic look on Charley's face. There's that familiar apologetic look nurses give him when they know they're not saying what they want, or just being a general pain in the ass for Yuri. This one's not too bad considering some of the stuff nurses have asked for: Saline flushes with no saline, an emergency dose of TUMS, and non-narcotic morphine. At least this one Yuri can figure out. It isn't impossible. Yuri can see even through the glass that Charley's chewing on the inside of his left cheek, probably getting a nice little dental mark.
"No, I know. It's for a 7 year old, just out of surgery." He's speaking slower now, like he's taking a pause to define each word in his head before he says the next one.
"Alright. What's his weight?" Yuri says, clicking a pen he found stashed in a drawer a few times before putting it against a piece of paper, ready to start writing.
"The chart said... 24 kilograms?" This man, this nurse, sounds unsure just doing his job, but then again Yuri can't judge. Charley looks 10 hours deep into a 12. Yuri looks down at his paper, scribbling down the maths.
"Mm-hm. It's 15 milligrams per kilogram, by the way. Not in total." Yuri says. He tries to keep it neutral, which he's successful in. "We'll run that to you as soon as we can."
When Yuri looks up again, Charley's face is resting on unease, but it might jump into uncomfortable. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry. Thank you."
Yuri looks back down, pretending to write. He hums a little appreciative sound while Quinn leans over to read what he wrote. The impulsive click clacking of Charley's shoes against the floor kicks into action, seemingly an action every nurse does, every day. Most of the sounds in this hospital is the click clacking. It's dreadful. Why hasn't he left yet? Is the question on Yuri's mind. He doesn't need to stay to watch them make the IV and then hand it to him directly. Routine
Yuri barely glances up anymore. "You don't need to stay. We'll bring it to you."
Charley makes a little ah sound and scurries of like a mouse, off to wherever they need a nurse now. Yuri's doesn't mind the pediatric nurses, not too much anyway, there the only people here that Yuri's sure have good intentions. Kids deserve good treatment, and he supposes they get it there. He especially doesn't mind that nurse. Charley seems likeable enough. He's definitely calm enough for a man who's just been spat out by the underworld and he's going back for seconds. Most nurses aren't that calm half an hour into their shift. He also knocked on the glass. Respectfully. Not the not-so passive aggressive 'Pay attention!' Yuri's so used to getting by now.
"Back to lacewings, they're-"
"Quinn, Quinn. I need to go prepare this IV."
Yuri stands up, already planning out where he has to go. Acetaminophen, saline, IV fluid bag, syringes and needles, alcohol swabs, tubing, and labels. Simple. Easy. He's done it a million times before and this time will be no different. He weaves between the backroom with the extra precise precision he's built up through the years, picking everything up relatively quick. He brings all of his little doohickeys to the hood- which to Yuri, is the place to be. It's silent, and clean- where he, with the perfection he's been so hailed for, injects the medicine into the already saline filled back, slowly, not to mix it too quick, huffing into his sanitary mask, before slowly sealing up the back, placing it just outside the hood in the delivery bin for Quinn to take to- whatever room that man said it's for.
He closes up the hood, putting all of the syringes into their own disposal bag, his gloves and mask going in another. He places those in the disposal bin. For someone that doesn't mind being covered in clay in his free time, he sure likes the cleanliness. Quinn peeks into the back room, her eyes scanning from the wall with the clean room rules printed out and stuck up there, all the way to the IV bag, which she hastily picks up, nodding to Yuri and smiling dumbly. In the time she's gone, about 7 minutes, Yuri sits at the front, spinning aimlessly, for about 2 minutes. Then for 3 minutes, he moves on to looking at what new stock they have. For the final 2 minutes he inspects the coffee pot, acting like he cares about it.
Finally, when Yuri starts getting unbearably bored of the coffee pot, Quinn comes back, says that nurse was 'hoping for the other pharmacist' and they both sit at the front again.
By 9:30 orders are coming in quick, and having to be picked up instead of dropped off- Yuri was right.
January 21st 2023, 3pm
A full-time job isn't much different than school, when you really think about it. In school you can't go to the bathroom whenever you want- though that's because of teachers going on power trips rather than having a million orders to fill- nor at a full-time job, you have a set time to go to lunch where you can see your friends, and worst of all, there are people you hate who you're stuck with for hours on end. And none of that's been an issue for Yuri. At the end of the day- he's getting paid. But everytime lunch comes around, he has a decision. A difficult one. Possibly the most difficult he has in a day- albeit he doesn't get many difficult decisions in his line of work.
Where should he eat his lunch?
By now Quinn's gone, frolicking off somewhere telling another person all about Latewings, Spacewings? Gracewings? He doesn't remember exactly what it was.
The hospital has a staff room, the hospital directors still need them to be somewhat happy, but being in there is hell on earth. It's crowded, usually smells bad- like chicken that's been covered in mayo and left out for too long, and Yuri can't handle being around his coworkers for longer than he has to. The microwave in the corner burns half of your food and keeps the other half raw, and the couches are the real kicker. They're lumpy, and on one of the cushions there's a spring that juts out if you sit just wrong enough. Someone brought in throw pillows once to brighten the mood, but it looked comical. Like props in a sitcom. A lot of other people can ignore that because it gives them a space- any space- to talk to their friends quietly in one of the corners, chewing on a sandwich that's gone soggy. Yuri doesn't care for that, so he has no reason to go anywhere near that room.
The only other option he has is staying in the pharmacy. Sitting in the back room flipping through a fire safety pamphlet, sweating from the lack of ac. Despite it being winter that room heats up quick, so quick you might melt if you stay in there for longer than it takes to prepare an IV. So maybe that's not a good option either. All he has today is a granola bar- which won't take long to eat no matter where he eats it- maybe considering the temperature would be good for Yuri. According to his dad he has 'strong Russian genes' which means, at least to Yuri, that he handles the cold better.
But, as Yuri knows, he can't handle the heat. So, the staff room it is. Maybe the better of two evils.
Yuri makes his way to the staff room, passing by almost the same exact things as this morning, like deja vu. There are some new things now though- like a strangely blue man shaking all over in the waiting room, clutching onto one of those crappy blankets they give you. Yikes. That's why you cover up in the winter instead of wearing basketball shorts and a plain white t-shirt in 10 degree weather. He can also see Sandra talking on the phone, making quick gestures like she's talking someone down from a bridge. Everything is copacetic.
Yuri reaches the staff room, pulling at the door. Nope. It's a push door. Yuri manages to get his brain in check enough to push the door, all of the worst smells he could conjure in his head hitting him. He can smell cigarette smoke- he's pretty sure that's not allowed- coming from a cloud of thick fog by the sink in the corner. Anderson, he presumes. Yuri doesn't know his first name, but he knows alcoholism has been kicking his ass recently, so the guy has a right so smoke something. Yuri doesn't quite understand how going from alcohol to cigarettes is gonna do any good, it's just jumping from one addiction to another. Yuri shakes that away and stands by the open window- right by the coffee machine- where Janet's already lingering. Like always. She puts down her gargantuan mug of caffeine juice to wave at him. She swallows down her mouthful of coffee and puts up a hand gesture that Yuri knows means: I'm about to speak, so shut up
"Mm, okay, I need your thoughts on this. So, a guy comes in, just a normal stroke, and everyone's convinced all of his symptoms are because of the stroke. The MRI's clean, but he's not getting any better. I think it's a tumour causing everything. The stroke's just a symptom. What do you think?"
Janet. He knows her. He loves her. And her favourite thing to do is question everything she's ever been told. Maybe it's a science thing. Scientists have that whole motto of 'question everything'. Yuri tilts his head left, to right, to left again.
"What do the other doctors say? About your theory?"
Janet scoffs.
"That I'm trying to get Rhonda to notice me for a promotion or something. That he's young, sure, but strokes happen. It's a one-off thing. That if it were a tumour it would've shown up on the imaging- but the MRI isn't gospel, is it? Depending on the size, sequence, location, or if-"
"If someone missed it." Yuri finishes, because for professionals, it's all too common.
"Right." Janet says, cupping her mug again. She brings it up to her mouth, holding it with both hands like a child in the ending of a christmas movie. "No one wants to pay for another scan unless there's a solid reason. Bureaucracy."
Yuri shrugs one shoulder, cracking open his granola bar that's too many days out of date. Bureaucracy. Everyone's favourite word in this godforsaken place when they need to get away with not doing their job. Yuri isn't exactly innocent either- sending angry customers away to yell at their boss instead of him is a great joy- there's been plenty of times he's forgotten to get out more stock of paracetamol and instead of owning up he just says 'Higher ups said to focus on more crucial stuff. Sorry man.'. Janet sips her coffee, sighing into it. She raps her fingers against the ceramic, the rhythm sounding sort of like Shout, that song by the Isley Brothers, he thinks.
Yuri hums a little, filling the silence.
"Have you noticed how Simon's not here?" Janet says, breaking the chain they had going.
Simon. Oh, Simon. Great guy. Great oncologist, too. Yuri's sure if he were here he'd be all over Janet's little theory. He loves theories- perfect for working in medical. Ghosts, body-snatching, demons, anything of the sort. Yuri thinks it's because he's consumed way more horror movies in his life than any man should. Even some obscure ones from the 70s, La Rose De Fer, is one he distinctly remembers being told about. A couple get stuck in a graveyard, and so ensues the same psychological bullshit that's in every movie. He's got the flu right now- came down with it the day after going to see his little sisters piano recital. Yuri guesses, based off of every time things like this have happened, he'll be off for a week and come back still sort of sick, but not sick enough to get away with staying at home. Granted, usually they should've stayed at home, because their crook, sapped presence brings nothing good.
"Mm. Off sick." Yuri says, mouth half full of granola.
Janet shakes her head.
"I know. Sucks. He's the only one here rational enough to agree with me without trashing it because he doesn't wanna do extra work."
"I can try and put in a good word for you- most of the people here-" Yuri pauses to look around again, just to take in his surroundings, verify what he means by the people here. "They'll listen to me."
"Thank you, Yuri."
Thank you. Something he hears all day working here, but it's always a little sweeter coming from Janet, simply because she always means it. It's never a half-assed thank you to stop him from refusing to help someone, never a desperate thank you during a rush, always meaningful. Always Janet.
January 21st 2023, 6:45pm
Yuri's shoulders ache. His head hurts. He's cold. He just wants to go home. And now he can finally do that. He hears the quiet beep of one of the night shift pharmacists entering their pin, and the swoosh of the door opening. He can't see it obviously, his head's against the desk, head thumping. There've been no orders in the past hour, nothing to fill his shift, nothing to take pride in completing. Emptiness. Not even Quinn to blabber next to him, her shift ended at 5. He supposes it's Nicole, the bus times always make her turn up early during the winter, because she'd prefer to start her shift early than stand outside doing who knows what in the cold. She taps- more like jabs- him on the shoulder, forcing him to lift his head up.
"Hey, you can go home now, if you want."
If he wants. He's been begging god- all of them- to either kill him or make time skip forward so he could leave.
Another day's work.
Yuri nods at Nicole, standing from his seat, almost toppling over as his legs wake up again. He leaves the pharmacy strolling as fast as he can with his half-dead leg dragging him down. He almost just walks by Sandra, forgetting he even has to sign out, before she calls him over. When Yuri whips around, so fast he almost breaks his neck, Sandra looks tired. Makes sense, given Yuri's tired and he works 4 hours less and does 10x less work than her. He's just surprised she hasn't keeled over at her desk. He trudges over to her, really milking the sad, exhausted look.
She tuts, aimlessly shifting around folders on her little desk.
"Can't have ya leavin' here without signing out... you'd run the hospitals money dry with the overtime." She declares, reaching over to take his card from his front pocket. She swipes it through the scanner, a little too fast at first, then just right. Yuri lets the satisfying beep ring around in his head before she hands it back to him, shaking her head slightly. "Before you go, please consider what I said this morning. About the son of my friend from AA. You need to get out more." She says, finally, before shooing him off into the freezing cold winter.
As soon as Yuri steps outside, he wishes he hadn't, wishes he'd stayed inside the hospital forever, hidden between the boxes of new needles until the first dawn of spring arrives. But now, it's much too late. Yuri crunches through the snow, frozen leaves cracking under his weight. The snow's never been something Yuri hates, he remembers being a kid and every winter, like clockwork, he'd go out in his little winter jacket that his parents insisted on him wearing and rolling around in the grass that'd been covered with 3 inches of snow the night before. He'd make angels, his parents watching worriedly through the kitchen window, forever worried he was going to eat too much snow and die- because obviously it'd take them much to long to get from the kitchen right next to the front door out into the front garden. But when your back hurts and you just wanna sleep, snow becomes your worst enemy, another barricade stopping you from lying down, rather than a spark of whimsy in your dull little life. Water seeps into Yuri shoes, wetting his socks and creating an overall unpleasurable experience for him. The water squelches around the soles of his feet, only irritating him more. The soles of his sneakers have already been lifting recently- he really should get a new pair but it feels unnecessary going to get some new ones, forking out money, when his shoes could hold on for another few months, maybe longer.
He passes by a laundromat, the bright neon lights meant to draw in people who think they're too good to wash clothes at home shining into his eyes. He shouldn't have expected any less. Yuri's never had a good experience walking home in the winter nor summer. In the winter it's like this: cold, sappy, water getting into his shoes, but in the summer it's no better. Sticky, humid, much too hot for his liking. There's maybe 2 times a year, one in spring one in autumn, where he truly feels comfortable when he's walking home. His keys jingle in his pocket every time he takes a step, which he hopes only he can hear. There's no one else around- but he hates the idea none the less.
He makes the final stretch- not like it's much of a stretch, he chose his apartment specifically so he wouldn't have to walk far from work- and gets into his apartment.
Yuri's apartment is a neat little place- one bedroom, one bathroom, a small kitchen with just the necessities. He puts in little bits of his personality, but there's no one to be impressing so why go all out? He could afford something better, something more expensive, but he doesn't- and probably won't ever. The most he's done to snazz up the place was paint the kitchen walls a nice warm sunset orange- which he ended up really liking- and put out some plants. Yuri slumps down against the side of the couch, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He's got two messages, one from a guy he considered going on a date with that he's been putting off replying to for a while, and one from Janet, sent right after lunch telling him to eat more than a granola bar. As much as Yuri does try and get out more, he's not a party person and there's not many guys to meet at his local pottery studio, nor the Walmart.
He types out a short response to Janet, rolling back to lay on the couch. 5 years ago he wouldn't have had to do that, but what do you know, he gets back pain from leaning against things now.
Yuri shimmies his shoes off of his feet, kicking them toward the shoe rack- one of them hitting the door. He stretches, back popping in ways it probably shouldn't.
His couch isn't completely uncomfortable- It's definitely comfortable enough to ease up his dying spine, soothing the tension in his middle back- but there's some springs and lumps in it that he'd rather not investigate. He rolls slightly to reach a drawer by the couch, pulling a little bag and a lighter out from the bottom drawer. He kicks himself up off of the couch and clambers out of the window leading outside to the fire escape, almost falling over and hitting his head on the ladder when his foot gets caught on the windowsill. He stretches his arms above his head once he gets out there, taking in a deep breathe, letting the air get in his system. He pops open the ziploc in his hands, inspecting it, like he always does. It's not like it's been tampered with- he hopes not at least- it's more habit than anything now.
He rolls with calm precision even though the cold's biting through his flesh; maybe because he knows the euphoria to come. He puts his newly rolled joint up to his lips, flicking open the cheap lighter he bought in his senior year of highschool. The warm smoke fills his lungs immediately. They ache slightly in the good, calm, very trained way that they do; he knows he won't cough, he's been in the game for too long to do that now, but the swell he feels in his chest isn't something that goes away. He slowly breathes out, the smoke curling up into the air. The street below him, the street he's too scared to look down to, is quiet. Dead quiet. No cars passing by, or chatty drunk people crying over nothing. Quiet. Yuri's completely alone with his thoughts- the thoughts about that guy he probably should've said yes to going on a date with, about Janet, and weirdly enough, about Charley. Someone who's never been anything but a face he rarely sees around work. One conversation in months, if you could even call it that. Yuri's never exactly desired friends, but maybe Janet's rubbing off on him. Janet's years of trying to convince him to just talk to the people he works with, talk to people at the library or at the art supply store, just talk to someone, make a friend, might just be starting to influence him. That'd explain why Charley popped into his head, right? A coworker. Someone to say hi to, someone to ask about their weekend, or whatever you do with coworkers. Janet'd be proud.
Yuri's lips crack slightly from the cold, thin lines spread on his lower lip, and he knows he's gonna regret not just smoking in the warm indoors when he wakes up tomorrow having to put on whatever lip balm he can find tucked away in his bedroom. Yuri leans against the railing, taking another hit. The smoke gets blown by the wind into his eyes when he exhales, making them water. He doesn't blink, this's happened before, but they well up anyway. Oh well, there's no stopping it. His fingers shake faintly from the chill, joint scraping between his teeth as his hand jolts back slightly. He can see a few tired people sitting in the bakery across the street, enfolding small mugs of coffee or lightly burnt croissants; probably in a similar situation to him.
When he really thinks about it, he doesn't remember the last time anyone- apart from Janet and maybe Simon- knew what was going on in his life. Janet'd say loneliness is like mold that rots your brain. You don't know until it's too late and it takes over. Janet's always had pretty good advice, but he never quite got that one. Yuri's 'loneliness' isn't a thing that plagues him. It's nice, being able to breathe, being able to think for himself. But then again, he isn't completely lonely, so maybe he's not the best person to be deciding whether solitude is good or not. He pulls the joint from his mouth, flexing his fingers. They don't quite move like they used to, maybe that's dramatic, but it's true. His joints aren't too bad- not yet anyway- just a small throb that asks for a hot shower.
He stubs out his blunt on the railing, stepping back inside through the window, gently sliding it shut behind him. He slips the baggie back into the bottom drawer; kicking it shut.
Just another day. Another 344 to go.