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Yuri and Quatre Backdated
Quatre meets one of Russia's most talented figure skaters and things go...okay.
"Yobannoe dno," Yuri swore under his breath, trying to see over the top of a box of his skating things. When he'd moved to St. Petersburg, Grandpa had been there to help him, even with the bad back. Not that Yuri needed help. But the box was huge and he was not, and he needed to work harder on cross training for his arms, because this level of difficulty was humiliating.
A door swung open right in front of him and spat out a blond kid. Yuri swore again and asked in Russian, "What the hell is your problem?" Then remembered where he was and asked again in English.
Quatre startled when first he was asked what his problem was in Russian and the again in English, turning his head a little so he could see the small blond boy behind all those boxes.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" He apologized in Russian, wondering if that was what the other proffered, but switched to English next. "Do you need help?"
"No," Yuri said immediately, in English. Then he peeked over the top of the box and frowned. He switched to Russian. "Your accent is weird."
Quatre smiled at the comment and nodded, deciding to converse with the other in Russian since that seemed his preferred language. "Ah, yes. My accent can be muddled since my family has moved around a lot. I was born in Kazakhstan, but we travel all over the Middle East. Your English is very good, where are you from?"
"Moscow," Yuri snapped, though he hadn't lived in Moscow for years, now. And he was tired of holding all this junk, so he dropped it and stepped up to examine this Kazakh boy for himself. He was blond. Very blond. Weird. "I guess your English is good, but it all sounds the same to me."
"Oh." Quatre smiled widely and nodded. "Moscow is so beautiful. St. Basil's Cathedral is truly breathtaking! I have only been there a few times, but every time I’ve gone I enjoyed myself immensely."
One of those trips had been the time Quatre's father had allowed him to tag along to meetings and such. The memory was bittersweet now with how things were between them, but he wasn't going to let that bother him now. "Do you mind me asking what your mutation is?"
"Yes," Yuri replied. He wasn't falling for that one. What was wrong with this guy? Did he have sunshine coming out his asshole too, or just his mouth? "Unless you tell me what yours is first."
"Oh, of course." Quatre nodded. He hadn't been around any other mutants before, but he could understand that to some it was a very personal thing. "I'm an empath. I can feel what others are feeling by touching them with my bare skin."
He held up his gloved hands. "Hence why I wear these."
Well, that had backfired. Yuri stared blankly for a moment, then said, "That sounds like hell." Other people’s feelings were annoying at best, oppressive at worst. "I can change. Into a Siberian Tiger."
Quatre's eyes widened at that information, a large smile coming to his face as he tried to picture the blond who was only a little taller than him turning into a large white tiger. "That is amazing! Are you able to turn wherever you want or is it only under special circumstances?"
Yuri looked away, flushing slightly. This was mortifying. Why had he gotten into this conversation in the first place? "I don't know, exactly."
"Oh. Well, that's alright. That's why we've come here right? To practice and work on our powers." Quatre smiled at the boy's flushed face, not sure why he was so embarrassed when all of them here were still pretty much just learning. "I have a feeling you'll master it quickly."
Yuri grunted--an expression of gratefulness--and nodded. His shoulders relaxed just a little though the flush stayed put. "I hope so. I want to go back to training in St. Petersburg." He'd traveled all over the world for competitions and moved to St. Petersburg on his own at twelve, but this... was something else.
"Training?" That was when Quatre noticed the fancy red, blue and white jacket Yuri was wearing and it clicked. "Are you an athlete? A professional one?"
Yuri lifted his chin a little and his hair moved out of his eyes. "A skater, yes. For Russia." That last part must've been obvious, but he felt the need to say it anyhow.
"That is wonderful." Quatre smiled, impressed that a boy as young as himself could be a professional skater. "Speed or figure?"
"Figure. Those speed skaters are meatheads," Yuri said with a snort. He was an artist and an athlete.
"That's fantastic! I haven't watched much, but the few I have seen are really beautiful." Quatre gushed. "To be able to do so many jumps and moves on the ice while wearing very thin blades is very impressive."
Yuri had never been in a situation like this, where someone wasn't specifically fanboying over him and calling him "Yuratchka" or other names they weren't entitled to, but they were... being... excited about his sport. For a moment, he just stood there with his mouth slightly open, unable to think of a response and wondering why he wanted to. Then he nodded and said, voice clipped and matter-of-fact, "It takes a lot of work."
"I bet it does." Quatre tilted his head a smiled. "Will you be able to do at least a little training while you are here? Though I don't think they have an ice rink on the property..."
This was a much more comfortable--as in familiar--topic. Yuri settled visibly, shoulders relaxing. "There's a rink twenty minutes away. My old coach arranged transport after classes. I'll do my cross training here in the gym and--whatever." Yuri waved vaguely.
"Well, that's lucky. I'm glad." Quatre smiled and glanced at the boy's bags again. "Are you sure you don't need even a little help? I carried my stuff in, but it was hard."
Quatre watched him lift the box up into his arms, the others thin arms shaking just slightly making Quatre nervous about the leaving him be. He decided to move closer and ask one more time just to be sure. "Really, if you need help just ask. Also, I never caught your name."
“Yuri--" He grunted and hefted the box higher. "Plisetsky." He walked past Quatre, a little unsteadily, but determined. And strong, dammit
Quatre bit his lip before moving in and helping grip half the box's weight, surprised the other could carry something this heavy by himself. "I'm Quatre. It's nice to meet you, Yuri."
Yuri tried to tug the box away... but really, really couldn't. He growled a little under his breath. "I don't need help, Quatre. Go spread sunshine somewhere else."
Quatre startled a little at the rough words, but didn't let go because he knew the sudden loss of help and the added weight might make the boy drop it. "I'm afraid my power to spread sunshine is limited to here right now. Is this your room?”
He tipped his head towards the door they were close to.
Yuri continued to growl but didn't want to drop everything, so he had no real choice. When they got into Yuri's mostly empty room, Yuri dropped the box on his bed with an ounce, then gave Quatre a belligerent look.
Quatre stepped back a little surprised at such a hostile look from the other, holding his hands up in defense. "I'm sorry. I just thought you could use the help."
Yuri glanced away, flushing, ashamed even though he wasn't totally sure why. He nodded, then grunted something that was meant to be sort of grateful but mostly a dismissal.
Quatre bit his bottom lip, but then nodded and smiled, knowing what the other wanted him to do. "It was nice meeting you, Yuri. I hope to see you again soon."
He gave a small wave and walked away.
"Yobannoe dno," Yuri swore under his breath, trying to see over the top of a box of his skating things. When he'd moved to St. Petersburg, Grandpa had been there to help him, even with the bad back. Not that Yuri needed help. But the box was huge and he was not, and he needed to work harder on cross training for his arms, because this level of difficulty was humiliating.
A door swung open right in front of him and spat out a blond kid. Yuri swore again and asked in Russian, "What the hell is your problem?" Then remembered where he was and asked again in English.
Quatre startled when first he was asked what his problem was in Russian and the again in English, turning his head a little so he could see the small blond boy behind all those boxes.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" He apologized in Russian, wondering if that was what the other proffered, but switched to English next. "Do you need help?"
"No," Yuri said immediately, in English. Then he peeked over the top of the box and frowned. He switched to Russian. "Your accent is weird."
Quatre smiled at the comment and nodded, deciding to converse with the other in Russian since that seemed his preferred language. "Ah, yes. My accent can be muddled since my family has moved around a lot. I was born in Kazakhstan, but we travel all over the Middle East. Your English is very good, where are you from?"
"Moscow," Yuri snapped, though he hadn't lived in Moscow for years, now. And he was tired of holding all this junk, so he dropped it and stepped up to examine this Kazakh boy for himself. He was blond. Very blond. Weird. "I guess your English is good, but it all sounds the same to me."
"Oh." Quatre smiled widely and nodded. "Moscow is so beautiful. St. Basil's Cathedral is truly breathtaking! I have only been there a few times, but every time I’ve gone I enjoyed myself immensely."
One of those trips had been the time Quatre's father had allowed him to tag along to meetings and such. The memory was bittersweet now with how things were between them, but he wasn't going to let that bother him now. "Do you mind me asking what your mutation is?"
"Yes," Yuri replied. He wasn't falling for that one. What was wrong with this guy? Did he have sunshine coming out his asshole too, or just his mouth? "Unless you tell me what yours is first."
"Oh, of course." Quatre nodded. He hadn't been around any other mutants before, but he could understand that to some it was a very personal thing. "I'm an empath. I can feel what others are feeling by touching them with my bare skin."
He held up his gloved hands. "Hence why I wear these."
Well, that had backfired. Yuri stared blankly for a moment, then said, "That sounds like hell." Other people’s feelings were annoying at best, oppressive at worst. "I can change. Into a Siberian Tiger."
Quatre's eyes widened at that information, a large smile coming to his face as he tried to picture the blond who was only a little taller than him turning into a large white tiger. "That is amazing! Are you able to turn wherever you want or is it only under special circumstances?"
Yuri looked away, flushing slightly. This was mortifying. Why had he gotten into this conversation in the first place? "I don't know, exactly."
"Oh. Well, that's alright. That's why we've come here right? To practice and work on our powers." Quatre smiled at the boy's flushed face, not sure why he was so embarrassed when all of them here were still pretty much just learning. "I have a feeling you'll master it quickly."
Yuri grunted--an expression of gratefulness--and nodded. His shoulders relaxed just a little though the flush stayed put. "I hope so. I want to go back to training in St. Petersburg." He'd traveled all over the world for competitions and moved to St. Petersburg on his own at twelve, but this... was something else.
"Training?" That was when Quatre noticed the fancy red, blue and white jacket Yuri was wearing and it clicked. "Are you an athlete? A professional one?"
Yuri lifted his chin a little and his hair moved out of his eyes. "A skater, yes. For Russia." That last part must've been obvious, but he felt the need to say it anyhow.
"That is wonderful." Quatre smiled, impressed that a boy as young as himself could be a professional skater. "Speed or figure?"
"Figure. Those speed skaters are meatheads," Yuri said with a snort. He was an artist and an athlete.
"That's fantastic! I haven't watched much, but the few I have seen are really beautiful." Quatre gushed. "To be able to do so many jumps and moves on the ice while wearing very thin blades is very impressive."
Yuri had never been in a situation like this, where someone wasn't specifically fanboying over him and calling him "Yuratchka" or other names they weren't entitled to, but they were... being... excited about his sport. For a moment, he just stood there with his mouth slightly open, unable to think of a response and wondering why he wanted to. Then he nodded and said, voice clipped and matter-of-fact, "It takes a lot of work."
"I bet it does." Quatre tilted his head a smiled. "Will you be able to do at least a little training while you are here? Though I don't think they have an ice rink on the property..."
This was a much more comfortable--as in familiar--topic. Yuri settled visibly, shoulders relaxing. "There's a rink twenty minutes away. My old coach arranged transport after classes. I'll do my cross training here in the gym and--whatever." Yuri waved vaguely.
"Well, that's lucky. I'm glad." Quatre smiled and glanced at the boy's bags again. "Are you sure you don't need even a little help? I carried my stuff in, but it was hard."
Quatre watched him lift the box up into his arms, the others thin arms shaking just slightly making Quatre nervous about the leaving him be. He decided to move closer and ask one more time just to be sure. "Really, if you need help just ask. Also, I never caught your name."
“Yuri--" He grunted and hefted the box higher. "Plisetsky." He walked past Quatre, a little unsteadily, but determined. And strong, dammit
Quatre bit his lip before moving in and helping grip half the box's weight, surprised the other could carry something this heavy by himself. "I'm Quatre. It's nice to meet you, Yuri."
Yuri tried to tug the box away... but really, really couldn't. He growled a little under his breath. "I don't need help, Quatre. Go spread sunshine somewhere else."
Quatre startled a little at the rough words, but didn't let go because he knew the sudden loss of help and the added weight might make the boy drop it. "I'm afraid my power to spread sunshine is limited to here right now. Is this your room?”
He tipped his head towards the door they were close to.
Yuri continued to growl but didn't want to drop everything, so he had no real choice. When they got into Yuri's mostly empty room, Yuri dropped the box on his bed with an ounce, then gave Quatre a belligerent look.
Quatre stepped back a little surprised at such a hostile look from the other, holding his hands up in defense. "I'm sorry. I just thought you could use the help."
Yuri glanced away, flushing, ashamed even though he wasn't totally sure why. He nodded, then grunted something that was meant to be sort of grateful but mostly a dismissal.
Quatre bit his bottom lip, but then nodded and smiled, knowing what the other wanted him to do. "It was nice meeting you, Yuri. I hope to see you again soon."
He gave a small wave and walked away.
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