(( for knived ))


It hasn't been quite an hour since he finished skating, since the last note of his surprise of an exhibition program rang throughout the crowded rink. The adrenaline of it all is still coursing through the blond as he makes his way out of the locker room. Of course, part of that reason might be the fact that after he made his way off the ice he was immediately caught by Yakov and Lilia with a volley of questions about what was that they just saw.

Yuri mostly manages to escape unscathed. He did what he wanted pushed his own boundaries, and there isn't an ounce of regret in him for it. The fact that the screams and cheers of the crowd were nearly deafening, well, that had helped too, of course.

The little Russian skater has thrown his usual hoodie over his very unusual costume, taken down his hair and ditched his skates -- which are tucked into the backpack he has slung over one shoulder. He has, however, completely forgotten about taking off the dark eye makeup (not something he usually has to consider) in his haste. After all, he's in a hurry.

He hasn't seen Otabek since the two of them made their way off the ice, and he hopes the other skater hasn't already left. Of course, if he has, that just means Yuri will go harass him at his hotel room. There are worse ideas. But luckily he catches sight of the familiar face, the beginnings of a smile coming over his own features as he beelines his way down the hallway to where the other stands.

"Otabek!" He raises a hand and jogs to catch up to him. "You're still here." It's getting late, but it's clear from the energetic buzz in his posture, the bounce in his step, the fire in blue-green eyes that Yuri is in no way tired, is wired after everything.