All About Us [Yuri Katsuki x Reader]

135 - Disarmed

If he could describe the airport in one word he would have called it a sea. It was, in a way, akin to the great body of water with the way everyone seems to be tossing and turning around, never really staying in one place for too long, too preoccupied with moving. It was filled with faces of different people, of different backgrounds, with different stories to tell. All of which flowed like water to their destinations down the aisles. Small groups would stop for a moment and chat a bit, some hurrying about to meet deadlines, but others chose to just flow around the outside and continue on their way.

It was rather hard to breathe. The air around him felt thick and heavy though the atmosphere of the entire place seemed so light, warm and inviting.

There were plasma screens of arrival and departure times on the walls. People lined up at the check in desk with suitcases and other various baggage. What always interested him about airports were the curious mixture of people. Their expressions were always rather intriguing. It was the one thing that is worth taking note of in the midst of all the usual hustle and bustle of the place. In the arrivals lounge, there were those who were bored and those who were seemingly excited. As for he, he wasn't sure if he was either. But he supposes that like all of them, he too was waiting for something. He was waiting to check out his own luggage and it was taking too damn long.

He didn't like waiting. He did not like it one bit.

The sound of someone chuckling behind him snapped him out of his reverie, "You know Yuri, if you keep your face scrunched up like that, it might just end up staying that way forever,"

He ignored her.

"Okay, what's wrong this time?" She walked right in front of him and blocked his path.

He did not say anything. He let out a breath slowly through his nose. He was reaching the peak of his tolerance, his patience had been wearing thin ever since they got off the plane and now he just feels like he's about to burst.

Because nothing is more annoying than being in a foul mood (more often than not for no apparent reason) and then someone would just go up to you and ask, 'what's wrong?'

Well, he could come up with at least a hundred different things that were bothering him at the moment, right off the top of his head. Give him a pen and a paper, he'd probably even make a novel if he had the time. But of course, he would never say anything out loud.

Mila Babicheva is his rink mate and she has been skating along with him for as long as he could remember. From his point of view, she always tries to butt into his business. There were times where he could tolerate her nosiness and other times, she was just really annoying...well, everyone was annoying to him, one way or another. Almost everyone he has met, at one point, has buzzed around him like flies. Their mere presence sometimes put him off especially when he wants to just keep to himself.

There are just people who are like flies that you cannot swat. And you cannot do that because swatting flies means killing and apparently killing people is illegal...Well, there were times where he did feel the sudden urge to throttle someone but that was as far as the urge has tempted him to do.

So far...

Besides, he knew that if he so much laid a finger on her person, she would simply lift him up and probably tie him down and leave him defenseless on the landing strip. A plane would run him over and he'd be nothing more than a bloody mess splattered on the tarmac.

He scoffed. He had little time to waste on humoring Mila in her attempt to strike up a conversation. Can't she see that he was blatantly avoiding her. She had done enough of that in the plane ride back to Moscow and he could really appreciate some quiet time right about now. Her ongoing mumblings of trivial things for the whole nine hour flight had given him a head ache. He simply turned away from the red head and hoped that was enough non-verbal indication that he did not wish to be verbal with anyone at the moment.