153 - Truce

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Breath pale against the frosty air, Yuri Plisetsky walked through the rather desolate side walk with an air of trepidation...with a hint of annoyance, the latter being the far more prevalent feature shown on his face. Despite his flushed cheeks, it was clear to see that he was a man on a mission. Should anyone stand in his way, they'd have to face the wrath of the Ice Tiger of Russia...

But it was quite hard to pull off an intimidating look when he went off grumbling from moment to moment, looking all the more like a petulant child tasked with something he didn't want to do.

Well...it wasn't exactly that far off the mark.

Snow rests on every bare surface like a thin cushion of the cold powdery substance. Footprints crisscrossed each other in a labyrinth of paths, diverging every which way.

The street looked like an unfinished painting, the whites allowing one the privilege to imagine what lies beneath the frosty surface. The unfinished painting patiently waiting for the artist's hand to return to unveil what is underneath.

He scoffed at the thought, clutching the warm paper bag closer to his chest to somehow absorb some of the heat it radiates. He was supposed to be used to this kind of weather having been acclimated to the cold temperature for almost all of his life. He was a figure skater for heaven's sake. Majority of his time is spent in an ice rink. The measly cold shouldn't bother him, not after all this time. He supposes that is the aftermath of his loss that has something to do with as to why his mind was conjuring oddly poetic notions and suddenly pay mind to the drop in temperature.

It was...unlike him.

Although he was usually not one for a show of decorum (given his record with his short temper), he was subdued despite the irritation that was threatening to overtake him entirely.

Why was he doing this in the first place? He could have been enjoying a nice evening having dinner with his grandpa right now for heaven's sake! Not to mention it would undoubtedly be much warmer than staying outside in the streets.

The paper bag crumpled slightly in his grip.

He let out an exasperated sigh.

Finding one particular person in the streets of Moscow was easier said than done. He was going in blind on this one. He grumbled once more under his breath. He wondered why he was compelled to do the good thing now of all times.

It was a question that he needn't have had to answer for the person that he was searching for had miraculously decided to come into view instead.

And all sensibility has been thrown out the window.

With a snarl, the blonde drop kicked his target in his side and couldn't help but allow a satisfied smirk grace his features when his victim fell flat on his stomach with a yelp on the snow. There was a dull thud as the white powdery substance had cushioned his fall. It was viciously cruel, one might note but the fifteen year old felt that it was a necessary evil seeing as he had probably spent about an hour or so wandering aimlessly through the snowy streets.

"There you are, pig," he grounded out, "You have some nerve making me go out and look for you."

The older skater pushed himself off his pathetic position and carefully regarded the blonde, a bit winded he managed to face him, "Oh, Yurio. It's just you..." his voice muffled slightly by the face mask he wore.

He felt his brow twitch in annoyance.

"What are you doing here moping about," he started, "Better yet, what the hell were you thinking back at the rink?! Going about hugging everybody like it isn't anyone's business. I suspected that you probably had a few screws loose but it doesn't mean you can just do what you want when you feel like it!"

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