- Ticking - (Otabek x Yurio) (COMPLETED)

{ 4- Thanks A Lot, Zvonar }

Sometimes it plagued him; sometimes it was too much to handle. Other times, less frequent times, he could forget about it entirely. Sporatically, that was the case, but more often than not, it would be the reason for his misery.

The scientists dubbed it as RCDD; Rudimentary Clock Deficit Disorder.

Disorder. As if something was wrong with him, broken, missing. Yurio preferred to not think it about it like that, he would choose to close the blinds instead of watching the lightning strike. Alas, the thunder would continue to boom, a reminder of what was happening outside his comfortable home.

It wasn't as if RCDD guaranteed being single forever; some did indeed have soulmates. It was a gamble, relying on weather apps to forecast tomorrow.

In simpler terms, it was up to the other person to watch their clock-- it had never been heard of for two RCDD victims to be paired, but there was always a way to check.

A nasty way at that, part of the reason why Yurio didn't bother searching if he was paired or not. To make sure if you were soulmates, an extremely rare occasion that was hardly called for, it...

He couldn't. He couldn't even think about it. Not after, not after, never after that one time.

The day had been humid, storm clouds overhead, cars whizzing past that splashed water on him.

They'd all been soaked, head to toe, suits and gowns splattered with taro-tinted water, yet no one had complained. The pews were small but homely, cake smushed but hearty, attendees few but supporting.

The bride and groom stood, the lady in the white dress opening her mouth, talking sweetly, Yurio standing to the side and watching. Her face lit up as she spoke, words pouring out, words that slowly turned black and red, the words taking up the park and causing the sky to turn black; dense fog enveloped them and he heard screa--

Yurio woke up from his nightmare, hair matted to his forehead with sweat. He bolted out of the bed and ran to the bathroom, the cold floor underneath his feet giving him a wake-up call.

His reflection in the mirror mimicked that of most mornings; this particular dream wasn't a one-time occurence. By now, he'd developed a routine: splash water on his face, take a warm shower, and get some fresh air outside. And so he did, following his routine word for word, ending up on the balcony when done.

The air must be magical, for it always seemed to calm him; no matter how cliché some would find it, his mood would brighten up considerably when outside without fail.

There weren't many people outside, especially with it being five o' clock in the morning, but he was used to being in America, where there was never a moment in the day when there was silence outside. In Russia, it was a bit different-- the general public didn't start roaming around until after the standard breakfast time, six to seven. He closed his eyes and decided that he might even prefer the quietness here, the soft wool blanket of the sun rising up rather than constant car horns blaring.

It may have been a couple minutes or a couple hours that Yurio sat there, but it didn't worry him-- he had long since stopped caring about the time spent, rather caring about what he did in that time. And, definitely, he did a lot; because his mouth often got him in trouble, he'd picked up much of his knowledge through observation. Bits and pieces, some important and some belonging in the trash, but he often relied on his eyes to understand the world.

He heard a bell ring in the distance, immediately recognizing what it was-- the zvonar ringing the blagovest with a clear, single strike, signaling that the Russian Orthodox Church was about to begin service.

Yurio sincerely hated rushing in the morning, but knew with that bell that it was almost nine o' clock, meaning he could have very well missed breakfast. He scrambled off the balcony, running into his room and changing from the robe to a fitted black shirt and jogging pants. He then ran a hand through his hair, checking in the mirror quickly to give himself the green light before dashing off to the dining room they had been in last night.