bringbackgold | IC Contact;

Hey. It's Yuri.

Can you meet me downstairs? Outside.

I can. I'll be down soon.

Hey, I know it's late and you probably have to work soon and if you're busy it's no big deal but um-

If you're not, I could use a ride home.

I'll be there. Where do you need me to pick you up?

...Can you pick me up by the wall? Outside the barracks? I was practicing with my spear for a bit.

[ And it's a long way home for him to walk. He doesn't have the energy to run it, again. ]

I can. I'll bring you to my place. You can shower or do whatever you need.

[ He's a little concerned... ]

[ Otabek was probably right to be concerned, too. Once he'd sat down, he hadn't been able to stand back up. Had barely even been able to crawl, groaning, to somewhere where Otabek would be able to see him from the road. He was covered in sweat, every muscle in him screaming in pain from over-exertion. He could barely manage to pull his knees up, sitting on the curb and winding his arms around his calves, resting his cheek against his knees and trying not to fall asleep before Otabek could get there.

The familiar roar of the other's motorcycle was a welcome relief to here, and he lifted one of his arms- barely- waving the other down from where he was starting to shiver.

He hadn't taken a jacket, hadn't dressed for the temperature dropping with the evening, hadn't brought a towel to wipe down his sweat- and now that he was starting to cool off from his exercise, he was definitely getting cold.

He figured that, since he had been waiting, maybe his legs would listen to him again. Trying to push himself onto his feet-
groaning at the burn through his back and thighs, the tremor in his knees- he fell forward, knees hitting concrete, hands barely catching himself fast enough to not go face first into the street, panting for breath just from this small action alone. ]

Shit. Fuck- pretend you didn't see that. [ Yuri hissed, trying again to get his legs under him- and failing. ]

[ The ride to Yuri feels extremely lengthy. He was concerned for his friend. His message to him was concerning. And, well, something just felt off about him. It was different from how the two of them usually talked to each other. Still, he was glad Yuri reached out to him instead of anyone else. He was glad Yuri felt like he would be the best option tonight.

Or at least the most dependable option.

He parked, hopped off immediately, and made his way to his friend. At first he was low, and then when he saw Yuri fall to his knees, he picked up his pace. ]

Yuri...

[ His tone is gentle and easy. It's cool out. Cooler than he thought it would be. Yuri wasn't prepared for it either. So - he did the only thing he could for that, and pulls off his leather jacket. He was, at least, wearing a long sleeve shirt underneath. He places it over Yuri's shoulders, allowing the other to get himself into it if he wants.

Then he shifts his arms under Yuri's to help prop him up, but this doesn't last long. He's lifting Yuri off of the ground so that he can carry him and get him onto the back of the motorcycle. ]

Shit, shit. [ Yuri keeps trying to stand up, even as Otabek gets over to him- and he can't. He falls onto his hip hard, but thankfully he's not very far from the ground. His eyes start to water, and he shudders out a breath, forcing himself to calm down. To squash his feelings, to squash how embarrassed and ashamed, he felt. Maybe calling Otabek hadn't been a great idea, after all.

The other dropped his jacket over him, and Yuri shifted a hand, gripping it's edge, before fumbling into it. Slow and stilted; even his arms screaming in pain from these small amounts of motion and stretching. He swallowed hard, and was about to try one more time to get onto his feet, when suddenly and abruptly, Otabek was lifting him off of them.

Softly, Yuri gasped, feet going limp even as one of his hands gently twisted into the fabric of the other's shirt, hanging on. ]

You didn't need to- I could have managed... [ He protested lamely, but appreciated it anyway, letting his head fall against the other's shoulder and frowning. ]

...Thanks, though. [ Really, Yuri didn't know what he would have done if Otabek hadn't come to pick him up. He didn't know what he would have done. Too proud to call an adult for help, too exhausted to make it home alone... In that case, he might have just found some small nook to hide himself in until morning; or until the strength returned to his limbs. Whichever had come first. ]

[ Even if Yuri had successfully protested, Otabek wouldn't have put him down. Something about everything going on gave him the impression that he should just keep close to Yuri. Hold onto him, hug him. His friend was obviously upset. And that was all that Otabek needed to know before he would act and attempt to do something for his friend. ]

It's okay.

[ His tone is gentle, almost sweet. It was decidedly unlike any tone Yuri would have been used to hearing from him. It was loaded with worry, and the desire to help, but unsure exactly how he should ask how he can. He didn't want Yuri to think that it was pity or something. So he settled on, easily, what he knew how to do best.

Yuri is light, easy to carry in his arms, and Otabek realizes this is the first time he's held his friend like this. It was nice to know he could easily lift him.

He carried him over to the motorcycle, settling him gentle on the backseat. He propped the helmet he had bought, specifically for Yuri, onto his head and hooked it. It seemed silly (and maybe a little sappy), but he was glad to do these things for him. He then he shifted, climbing on himself. He'd wait. Make sure Yuri was settled against him. He needed to know his friend was secure there before he'd drive back to his apartment. He'd wait here if he needed to. ]

[ Squeezing his eyes shut, Yuri brought his fists to his eyes, pushing hard against the sockets and letting out a long, slow shaky breath. ]

No, it's not. It's fucked up. [ He sounded stern at first, but once the words were out of his mouth, he felt his throat close. His eyes starting to water. He pressed harder with the heels of his hands, not wanting to cry in front of the other. Felt like that was more shame than he could bare just then. ]

I'm sorry- fuck. [ Yuri sounded rough, barely holding himself together, and too stubborn to let himself break, no matter how badly he seemed to need to.

Settled on the other's motorcycle, Yuri accepted the helmet with a faraway look, and a deep, tired frown. Wrapping his arms around the other's waist, Yuri was quiet beyond softly murmuring that they could go. Confident that he could hold on to the other well enough to make it back to Otabek's apartment, at the very least. ]

Sorry I'm all gross and sweaty. [ He murmured, embarrassed about his state- embarrassed about a lot more than that, but doing anything he could to keep from having to talk about what was bothering him. How much it bothered him. ]

Don't apologize.

[ He definitely sounds stern Yuri has nothing to apologize for. He had a long, rough day, and he's feeling upset and hurt for good reason, Otabek assumes. He doesn't fully understand anything, but he knows damn well he wants to be there for his friend regardless as to what sparked this. He wants Yuri to feel safe and secure with him. Able to be upset around him.

He gently places his hand on Yuri's for a moment, before he grips the handlebars and keeps at an easy speed to his apartment. Not too far, it feels like. Nothing feels too far in this place. He gets to the apartment easily.

He stops his bike, settling it there for a moment, and letting both of his hands move to rest on Yuri's around him. He feels comfortable with the other's weight on him. But he's not here for his own comfort, he's here for Yuri's. ]

Here.

Otabek! Are you home?

Hello, Anders. I am, right now.

Oh, good. I was going to stop over in a little while, if that's alright with you?

( He doesn't want to intrude or anything. )

That's fine. I'm home for the next few hours.Be sure to text me when you get here. I won't hear the door since I'm going to have headphones on.

IC Contact;

text; ice.tigrrr

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ice.tigrrr » text; late.

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text, un: anders

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