Yuri woke up to an empty house. Viktor had knocked on his bedroom door at sunset, rousing him just enough to whisper something about going into the city as Yuri groaned and shoved his head under the pillow, dozing off until the retreating roar of a motorcycle jerked him from slumber.
Of course, he had spent a few minutes slamming doors and snarling at Viktor about their new housemate, but he hadn't been able to muster any true anger, remembering Otabek's wide eyes as Yuri slipped, surprise knocking him from his feet – it was his own fault for eavesdropping, Viktor said later – and the abrupt apology, face shifting to the mask of blank politeness Otabek had always shown to strangers. Yuri still couldn't believe that Otabek didn't recognize him, that their years of friendship wasn't enough to let him see through the changes, but... maybe he didn't want to. And maybe Yuri didn't want him to, either. After all, Yuri had been the one Otabek had left behind without a word. Yuri had been the one who hadn't noticed that his best friend – his crush – was a werewolf.
His electric blanket had switched off hours ago, leaving the stack of blankets room temperature, but the lack of warmth didn't make it any easier for Yuri to drag himself out from under the comforting weight.
The house was disconcertingly still as Yuri microwaved a cup of blood from the fridge (god, he missed cereal, and eggs, and even the flavorless lumps of airplane meals – his new diet wasn't bad, but it was so fucking boring). It always felt like the building itself was rejecting him, without Viktor there to quell its discontent.
"I live here, you know," Yuri informed the kitchen walls. They seemed to snicker back at him as one of his teeth caught on the ceramic lip of the mug, sloshing a few crimson drops onto his shirt. It turned out that fangs weren't so much cool as they were incredibly inconvenient.
(Okay, they were pretty cool anyway.)
Yuri fumed and kicked the table leg. He wasn't going to sit around all night and wait for Viktor to come home like some abandoned puppy, and he definitely wasn't going to let questions about a werewolf run circles through his brain all night.
YP: still harassing the locals
PC: I just want an interview );
YP: fuck that's pathetic
PC: And Yuuri's not here so I can't even ask them questions
PC: Just schedule meetings
PC: Or I could if anyone would actually talk to me
YP: ...
PC: ?
YP: and it didn't occur to you
YP: to maybe ask someone
YP: who is an actual literal vampire
YP: for help
PC: !!!!??
PC: It seemed rude to ask but???
YP: i'm surrounded by idiots
YP: meet me at friedrichstraße station in an hour
:: :: ::
Phichit was early - he usually was – but it seemed especially prudent to arrive a bit before scheduled when meeting one Yuri Plisetsky, who had never been known for his patience. He spent the remaining thirty minutes sitting on a slightly sticky metal bench, sipping coffee from one of the handful of shops still open at nine on a Friday night. People streamed by, a sea of glittering party dresses, business suits, and tourists lugging oversized suitcases down the staircase. Phichit finished his drink and bought another, enjoying the rush of caffeine free from Yuuri's shrill litany of 'oh my god, that's your fourth cup in the past two hours, you are going to have a heart attack and die.'
YOU ARE READING
A Heart Beats At Night
Hayran KurguA lone figure ran along the sidewalk. Otabek would have mistaken him for a motivated jogger, if not for the sinewy, fluid movements and familiar figure. He jerked his bike over, skidding to a halt in front of the runner. Otabek's heart was pounding...
