- Ticking - (Otabek x Yurio) (COMPLETED)

{ 14- Sober Thoughts }

Day in, day out; another week passed, time moving monotonously. The same nightmare inevitably driving him foward, that inspiration not the best drive but what he had. It supplied courage, never ceasing to remind him the reason of his actions-- grim or not, it was incessant. Yurio knew not anything else to fuel him anymore; where did he go and what did he hope to find there? Not even he could tell the answer, only a guess-- scarcely an educated one, even.

Yurio's feet hit the ground with a sounding slap, sweat conjoining his hair to throbbing forehead. He panted heavily, sleeping schedule far past ruined and body not yet adjusted despite being corrupted for so long.

Five minutes and a cooling splash of water to the face later, he was pushing the door to walk outside, promises slipping through the floor.

"Settle down, everything's fine, everything's fine," he muttered to himself as he sat down, "No it's not, I lost my head on the floor." It was a nod to his worsening state as of late; sleeping on the floor, wide awake from the dream with a shake and a scream, hoping for so much more. Hope that did nothing for him, hope so hopeless he was nearly a living oxymoron.

He was tired, to say the least. Tired of fighting in the dark of the night, not knowing what he's doing right. He can't look back, never looks back now, no matter how dearly he wants to turn his head. Yurio never makes it past forty five degrees before snapping it back to where he was before, resetting back inevitably with a frown. What could he possibly do? He was only letting himself down.

"Russia, when will you save me?" Yurio's eyes scanned the city in front of him meticulously, wishing the lights, the life, the culture would be a pathway to a better way of living. It wasn't.

It was just another city, just another pinpoint on a map. As if a mere tangible place in the world could do him any justice-- he was toying with fairy tales. At least the book was right in front of him where he could see it, read the tales without hesitation. His head was too sore to even try to look back anymore, stuck in a position he'd chosen. A permanant state from a moment's mistake, hours lost to dawn from dusk.

Of course, Calliber was great, bubbly, friendly-- all the meaningless words that described a basic run-of-the-mill friend. Not that he didn't appreciate her, of course he did. But she just wasn't who he needed, not someone who could truly help him currently.

There was one person who could.

Yurio knew it, knew it as it harshly echoed from his heart to his brain and could even feel it in his toes; Yurio pushed it back down. He had no time for those ideas, inconsiderate things more trouble than they were worth.

How could he possibly ask Otabek for help? Ask the man that had caused him to tumble down this never-ending rabbit hole, every second ornating him with fresh scratches from unwilting branches? No, he couldn't-- wouldn't-- and maybe that would be his downfall.

But he would have a downfall either way, and Yurio was much more content to stay where he was. Alone, nightmares blurring into reality to the point where there was no seam anymore. No loose stitch, no tag, nothing to look back on; black shirt, black pants, wretched memories stuck in his head. Head that wouldn't move, even with the will of a thousand lives.

He rubbed his eyes, still staring out at the horizon that was ever so dim. He tilted his head, wanting to think clearly when he was sober; sadly, there was no foreseeable future in which he wasn't drunk from his own thoughts.

~ ~ ~

Yurio wasn't typically the type to give second chances, which was truly unfortunate for Viktor and Yuuri because they were about to run out of their first.

He was a skater for a reason-- to skate. Not to waste his precious time listening to them drone on about their love lives, reliving the past with overexaggerated anecdotes.

It was mainly Viktor telling them, naturally, Yuuri swaying with nervosity next to him. He spoke with all the skaters in the room hanging onto his every word-- the sight was sickening. Yurio couldn't fathom how anyone could honestly listen to him talk for hours and hours without growing the urge to storm up there and physically force Viktor to cease talking.

The high-pitched drawling sound of Viktor's constantly excited voice was coming close to making his ears bleed, and clenching his fist was all he could do to not yell.

Fortunately, Otabek was right next to him-- at least there was one person not annoying him right now. Otabek was sitting quietly, as always, not looking interested nor bored. He had a poker face, an expression that he was infamous for among the skater camp.

"Otabek Altin!" The daunting personality that was Yakov called out, ensuing after the creaking of a door being opened. Yurio immediately turned, eyes flicking between Otabek and Yakov as he idly wondered why Yakov was here again, the third time this week to talk to Otabek. He hadn't asked the man yet, and the other hadn't said anything about it; Yurio was growing restless, curious to find out what had been commencing.

Yakov wasn't the type to cause a student to miss class for anything less than paramount, so Yurio knew something was up-- he could see it in the way Otabek's jaw clenched as he rose and began to walk, waving a small goodbye at the coaches and Yurio. Otabek was exceptional at maintaining his straight, unreadable face, but Yurio had known him long enough to decipher his movements into emotions.

The door shut, silence barely existent before Viktor began to babble again. Yurio glanced at the door, deciding to follow his instincts, try to find some medicine for his stuck head.

"Bathroom!" He yelled out unceremoniously, running out the door before anyone could ask why. While passing, he saw Calliber raise an eyebrow at him, but he didn't care-- he was going to find out what was happening.