their first kiss is an accident. in the bustle of yet another airport, otabek leans in to brush his lips against yuri’s cheek, an action as familiar as they’re goodbyes. a head turns at the last second, and they collide like celestial bodies unable to escape their orbit.
otabek shifts back in surprise and russia’s reigning gold medalist glares defiantly, as if daring him to comment. he doesn’t, opting to move once again into yuri’s space, and this time he lingers.
“you could have just asked,” otabek murmurs soon after, so close that yuri practically breathes the words in. his heart feels far too big for his chest, but he musters a quiet “fuck you” in return.