cigarettes // yuri on ice

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"Yuri?" The Russian said through sobs.

He was crying again.

Yuri nodded. Victor usually sat on one edge of the bench, and Yuri sat on the other, giving the stranger space but also spacing himself from him, after all; he was just a stranger. But this time, he sat in the middle of the bench. It was considerably closer to him. The man seemed to notice too because he tried to scoot away with a almost scared look on his face but soon realized there was no more bench to move onto.

He fell on the grass, toppling backwards. Yuri couldn't see much, but he saw the lit, orange end of the cigarette fall to the ground beside him. "You bastard! You scared me! Why did you sit so close?"

Yuri offered him a hand. "It wasn't that close."