“you need to lie down, yura,” otabek says.
“i don’t want to,” comes the waspish retort.
yuri can be grumpy, as a general rule, but he’s exceedingly so when he’s ill. yuri is a hurricane-large personality, squeezed into human form, and he doesn’t have time to be sick; he has so much to offer the world and in a limited time. so when he comes down with sickness, he’s almost overbearingly petulant, and his mood is never any flavour but sour.
otabek sighs lightly. “well, you certainly can’t get up and make it worse for yourself.”
“i know that,” yuri snaps, fever-bright eyes narrowed with irritation. he’s not making eye contact.
otabek sighs again. “want me to put on a movie for you?” he bends down, squatting at the side of the bed. “work with me, yura,” he says softly, searching the stubborn face before him with patient eyes.
yuri looks at him for a second or two, his lip trembling. a brief moment of vulnerability, before his eyebrows furrow, and his expression shutters. his gaze flits off to the side again, but the edges of his scowl are softer, somehow. in a grudging tone, he mutters, “fine.” yuri tucks the blankets around himself a little more securely. “but i get to choose the movie, and you have to watch it with me, and - and you can’t complain.”
otabek smiles, then, a proper smile, and brushes his fingers lightly through yuri’s sweat-damp hair. “not a word,” he promises.
if yuri’s cheeks, flushed from illness, burn a little warmer at his touch, neither of them comment on it.
tangentwithtanner
dededos
dailybridgerton
prguitarman
romaincrisis
origamiaround
