Yuuri barely has time to grab his jacket when he runs out the door, much less brush his hair or find a hat. Unfortunately, he’s sure that that means that his hair is an absolute mess. It’s been getting long again, but in between classes and helping Yura out with his routine on the weekends, he hasn’t had much time for things like haircuts. Besides, Victor doesn’t seem to mind it, and Yura likes to experiment hairstyles on Yuuri “so that if it looks stupid, I don’t have to see it on myself.”
It’s not that big a deal, except on days like this, when he sleeps in (thanks a lot Vitya) and doesn’t have the time to really get it under control. He usually meets up with his friends before class, and he doesn’t doubt that they’ll notice, and probably tease him about it.
“Yuuri!” Estephania gasps, sounding too scandalized for her words to be anything but teasing. “What on earth happened to your hair?”
Yuuri flushes. “I was running late,” he mumbles.
Richard snorts. “You sure? Because that looks more like sex hair to me, man.”
“Ooh, he’s right,” Estephania coos before Yuuri can protest.
He wonders if it’s possible to die of embarrassment (especially since they’re not entirely wrong). “No, really I–”
“We know, sweetie.” She reaches up and moves his hair around a bit, trying to make it look presentable. “You’re just too easy to tease.”
“You sure you’re really twenty seven?” Richard raises an eyebrow.
Yuuri just smiles at the ground in fond humiliation (apparently it’s not a common emotion, but it’s a little hard not to be used to the feeling when he’s married to the world’s biggest drama queen) and nods. “I am.”
His friends are too much sometimes, he admits. Richard is the embodiment of America in a lot of ways: loud, completely lacking a sense of social norms, a walking personification of testosterone. Estephania is less… everything… than Richard, but she’s very touchy and affectionate in an entirely platonic way that reminds Yuuri a lot of Christophe, only without all of the innuendo. But they’re both loyal down to their very core, and they’re not bad people.
His phone starts ringing, Stammi Vicino playing loudly. Yuuri picks up, keeping his phone away from Estephania’s hands. “Да, Vitya?”
“Dude! You speak Russian too?” Richard looks like Yuuri just smacked him in the face. The school year just started, so they’re all still learning about each other.
Yuuri just smiles, since Victor is in the middle of one of his usual mid-morning crises. “Vitya, calm down,” he says in Russian. “Makkachin is probably out with Yura. You know he takes her for walks sometimes. Have you seen him today?”
He manages to get Victor off the phone just before class starts, flipping his phone to airplane mode since he’s sure that this isn’t the last he’ll be hearing from his lovable trainwreck of a husband.
I like to think maybe Robbie has some strength to his frame from messing around with so many metal parts and dragging around giant canons and everything else he does that in a moment of emergency he just picks up Sportakook (bridal or over his shoulder, either way) and runs for dear life instead of Sportanerd grabbing him and everyone is confused and Sportacute is flustered because no one has carried him since he was a young babe and Robbie is confused as of why Sportaflop is so red and– yea… but
We need more Stronger-than-we-thought-he-was Robbie Rotten
I will seductively lie next to you on your couch and aggressively whisper figure skating terms into your ears
It’s a common proverb, to think before one speaks.
(Perhaps Yuuri’s issue is that he speaks, then thinks.)
“Please forget that I said that,” he begs Victor, burying his face in his hands in a desperate attempt to keep his coach from seeing his flushed cheeks. “That was… It made sense in my head, I didn’t mean it… Um, I didn’t mean it like you think that I meant it.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Victor promises. “I’ve been told that before, you know. Plenty of times.”
Yuuri peers at him between his fingers. “You have?”
“No,” he admits, then chuckles. “At least, not so directly.”
If Yuuri could shrink, could disappear, then he would. He considers making a beeline for the door, but that might only worsen the situation, so he stays where he is, hopes that Victor will drop the subject.
Victor puts a hand on his shoulder and the touch is so unexpected that Yuuri jumps, but doesn’t move away, meeting his eyes and searching desperately for any sign of mercy. He knows by now, though, that Victor seems to have a selective memory, and that he’ll never forget this. “I’m flattered, though. That you think my accent is so sexy.”