Otabek stared at the coffin at his wake, his petite figure dressed in an ice blue tux. He had no visible scars when he fell. Everything was internal.
"Yuri...I did care."
●~~~~~~~~~~~~~~◇~~~~~~~~~~~~~~●
The cold air nipped at his face as he ran down the gloomy sidewalk, his eyes set on the roof of the ballet class, taught by none other than Lilia Baranovskaya herself. He had to stop and breathe, maybe he could take a peak.
"It's all the same."
He remembered so much all at once. The way Yuri used to hold onto the brown pole so tight as she tested their flexibility. The way his short blonde hair still found a way to get into his eyes as he danced. He wouldn't forget all the times he caught him glancing at him in admiration, only to make a stupid face when the ocean met the earth.
He would lean onto the dusty counter and see the mothers flood in and out, looking for girl like Anastasia or Valerie, or their sons running into their arms as he had done before. Then there was Yuri, who never had a parent to run too, always going home with a different parent each week.
He's still there, right? Otabek was as anxious as ever, dashing up the stairs around back. Please be there.
But as his eyes looked over the top, he saw a silhouette fade out and down.
