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Yuuri is barely three calls into his list of 'family members who will probably never let him forget it if he doesn't ring them after winning silver at the Grand Prix Final' when he's interrupted by the strangely familiar sound of somebody kicking the stall door.
He pockets his phone, and hazards a fairly confident guess at the likely identity of whoever has followed him into the toilets specifically to kick things. “Yuri?”
On the other side of the door, Yuri Plisetsky grunts, and gives the door another solid kick before saying, “Crying in the bathroom again, huh, pig?”
Yuuri sighs, shaking his head in mild (but mostly fond) annoyance before saying, “No. I just needed a minute away from the party.”
“To cry?”
“Sure, yes, I'm sobbing in here, Yuri,” he says, dryly, as he swings the door open. “I'm in floods. Look at me.”
Yuri squints up at him, glaring fit to burst. “... you don't look like you've been crying.”
“Well, I did just win a silver medal. I'm- why would I be crying? I'm happy.”
“Huh,” sneers Yuri. “That's good enough for you? Silver?”
Yuuri pats his shoulder. “Well, we can't all win gold,” he says, amicably, “Which- um. Well done. I'm proud of you.”
Yuri shrugs him off. “Shut up. Go away. Stop it.”
Yuuri rolls his eyes.
“I said shut up!”
“I didn't say anything, Yurio.”
Yuri growls in clear frustration, and stomps almost out of the room, before stomping back to stand in front of Yuuri again. His face looks vaguely like it's trying to fight itself. After a moment he makes another angry little growl of a noise, and pulls his gold medal from his pocket.
And shoves it toward Yuuri.
Yuuri blinks. “Um... what?”
Yuri smacks the medal wordlessly into Yuuri's stomach.
“Ouch! Alright, yes, I get it, you won.”
Yuri frowns.
“It's very pretty?”
Yuri's frown deepens.
Yuuri cocks his head. “Ok, um, what are you-”
“Go on! Just take it, pig. Here.” Yuri grabs Yuuri's palm, and shoves the gold medal into it.
Yuuri blinks. “This is... lovely, Yurio, but- I really am happy with silver... and anyway, if I didn't win it myself I'm not sure-”
Yuri makes a noise like a strangled cat, and kicks Yuuri in the leg. Hard. “Seriously? Still? Don't you have- don't you care?!”
“Well, I think I did pretty well even if I didn't get the gold. I care about that. And- and I'm glad you won. You did well.”
“What about Victor?”
Yuuri cocks his head. “What about... Victor? What? He wasn't even skating. Here, take your medal back. Have you been drinki-”
Yuri takes a deep breath, stares at the floor, and blurts, “Phichitsaidthatvictorsaidthathe'donlymarryyouwhenyougotgold!!”
“Say that again with... with words, maybe?”
Yuri takes another deep breath, and grits out, “Phichit said that Victor said that he'd only marry you when you got gold.”
Yuuri's mouth drops open for a full second before he starts laughing. Proper, belly-clutching, wall-leaning, almost-fall-on-the-floor laughter.
Yuri kicks him again. “Stop it! It's not funny! You're ruining everything, just like always! I hate you.”
Yuuri is now, ironically enough, very close to crying with laughter. “Oh my god,” he manages to wheeze out between giggles, “Oh my god.”
“Why do you think this is funny? This isn't-” Yuri's bottom lip begins to tremble slightly alarmingly. “This isn't how it was supposed to go! You were going to- come back and- try again next year and- now you're going to go away to your horrible little bathhouse forever and never see Victor again and I won't even have anybody good to compete against and- and I won! I won and I still don't get what I want! It's not FAIR!”
And then, without so much as a warning, he bursts into tears. Yuuri is dumbstruck by it for a moment – Yuri Plisetsky, who spends his life kicking people and yelling and generally making a menace of himself is... crying? Because of him? Sometimes he forgets that Yuri is fifteen. Now is... not one of those times.
“Hey,” says Yuuri, gingerly touching Yuri's shoulder as he continues to sob, “Um, I know everything is very, um, emotional right now with- with winning and stuff-”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA,” says Yuri.
“Okay, alright, it's ok...”
“It's not ok!” snarls Yuri, still blubbering loudly between words, “It's not fair. It's not-”
“Well, hey, look, there's always next year! I can beat you next year. Gives me and Victor more time to plan the wedding, I guess... ha. Is that-”
Yuri blinks. “Wait, you're competing next year?”
“Yeah! Me and Victor are both going to-”
And with that, Yuri practically launches himself at Yuuri, and slings his arms round him. He appears to still be crying a bit.
After the shock wears off, Yuuri smiles, and hugs back. “Hey, so you do have a nicer side, huh?”
Yuri sniffles loudly. “Gonna beat both your asses next year.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I am!”
“Okay.”
Yuri elbows him. “Hey, stop hugging me! We're still not friends.”
Yuuri lets him go, and raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
“I don't make friends with losers. Especially,” says Yuri, drying his eyes furiously on the cuff of his suit, “losers who cry in the bathroom. So there.”
“But you were the one who-”
Yuri narrows his eyes. “You can't prove anything,” he hisses, and fixes Yuuri with a glare that would probably be more threatening if his eyes weren't still visibly red and watery. And then he turns heel, and stomps out of the bathroom, grumbling furiously to himself.
Yuuri smiles, and shakes his head, and after a moment he follows him out, back towards the party.