A Heart Beats At Night

Chapter 30

The dark wood loomed over him, daunting and mocking.

Otabek silently cursed whoever decided that kitchen cabinets should have shelves two meters from the floor, as if that was an acceptable and convenient location.

Normally, he'd climb onto the counter to retrieve whatever it was that he needed, or pull over a chair. The latter was impossible because all three of the kitchen chairs were occupied. The appeal of the former was diminished by the fact that two of the three chairs were occupied by Christophe and his boyfriend, who were seated at the kitchen table listening to Yuri rant about how only Viktor would be late to his own birthday party because he had to wash his hair.

Otabek could feel Chris's cool gaze brushing against the back of his neck, reserved but not openly hostile. Another second chance, one he still couldn't convince himself he entirely deserved.

"Yura," he murmured during one of the many pauses in which Yuri had to stop and search for the appropriate (or rather, most inappropriate) English curses, and flicked his eyes to the cabinet. "I need the tomato paste. It's on the second shelf."

Yuri stood up and peered over Otabek's shoulder. "Which one is it?"

"In the middle, the small can."

"Beka, the labels are in Turkish. I don't speak Turkish."

"Neither do I, they have pictures. It's-"

Suddenly, the floor was a lot farther away and the shelf was at a much more manageable height, because Otabek was sitting on Yuri's shoulder. He picked up the tin of tomato paste, which was indeed in the center of the shelf, helpfully emblazoned with a cartoon tomato, and the only can in the cabinet.

"Very helpful, Yura," he said, flicking a strand of hair that had escaped from Yuri's messy bun.

"This way was easier." Yuri smirked up at him, his arm wrapped loosely around Otabek's knees, and made no move to let him down. "You're light. And small. And fragile, like a little-"

"Yura, no, I'm not a-"

"- a little baby bird," finished Yuri.

"I won the arm wrestling," Otabek reminded him. "You're breaking our deal."

"Cheating doesn't count as winning, Beka."

"We never said that cheating was against the rules."

"What the- fuck you, that's not-"

Otabek sighed, resigning himself to his fate as Yuri shifted, flipping Otabek so he was draped, facedown, over Yuri's other shoulder. Chris's boyfriend, Luca, snorted with almost-restrained laughter.

All the conversation had been in English up to this point, out of respect for the guests, so it took Otabek a moment to process when Chris turned to his boyfriend and half-whispered, "Il pourrait presque être fae, avec sa logique."

He could almost be fae, with that logic.

Yuri huffed with exaggerated annoyance while Otabek froze.

Chris knew he spoke French – had spoken it with him, years before. Had he forgotten? When Luca replied with a few quiet, terse words and an uncomfortable grimace, Otabek realized that their voices were pitched low enough that humans wouldn't be able to make out more than a murmur of sounds.

"Il n'est pas de mon cour, je suis sûr que j'aurais dû savoir."

He's not of my court, I would have known.

Christophe didn't realize Otabek could understand him.

"Beshka?" Yuri's hand brushed against the back of his knee before he was set back down on the floor, which felt wobbly and no closer than it had been a moment before.