Yuri!!! On Ice Book 1

Chapter 14

Otabek's POV 1st Person

I yawn as I stumble out of Yuri's room the next morning, banging into the junk that litters the floor in my jet lagged haze. I'd assumed Yuri would already be up, seeing as it's 11 am, and he's an early-ish riser. But to my surprise I find him sleeping peacefully on the couch where I left him last night. Except, something changed, and poking up from below the blanket Yuri is curled up under is a tuft of orange fur. Fur? I press a bit closer, slowly and quietly, careful not to disturb the sleeping teen. And I find, a tail... A tail? Wait a minute,  I think suddenly a memory springing to mind, Is he wearing the tiger onesie Yuri got him for his birthday? I gently lift the blanket to reveal Yuri's small frame encased inside tiger striped pajamas. He was even clutching the tail as he slept, like a teddy bear. I softly replace the blanket atop the sleeping tiger, and tiptoe back to my room- YURI'S room. I know he'd be mortified if he knew I'd seen him wearing that I thought to myself, a wide grin plastered to my face, So, I can't let him know I saw it. I lie back down in bed and try to get back to sleep. I'll let Yuri 'wake' me up for himself. I think, and shut my eyes, dreaming of a blonde furry little tiger.

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Yurio's POV 1st Person Omniscient

I wake up on my couch, and slowly the events of last night come back to my mind. I groan audibly as the memory of the baggage claim incident resurfaces, and even more so when I remember Otabek trying to help me clean up around here. Clean up... "Shit!" I gasp as I jump up, the blanket I slept under falling off of me as I do so. Faintly I register that it's 12 pm and we should've gotten up earlier to combat the jet lag, but mostly my brain screams you are wearing a tiger onesie!  I scramble to change out of the ridiculous onesie, and once wearing normal clothing, stuff the tigerstriped possession into the depths of my suitcase. Never to be seen again. I thought savagely, spinning on my heel as another thought popped into my head. Otabek! He's staying with me! What if he saw me?! I make my way to the bedroom and poke my head inside, Otabek is sleeping soundly on the bed, Thank god, I think to myself, If hes still asleep he probably hasn't seen me. Relief floods my senses and I retreat back to the living room, plopping down on the couch as I arrive. This journey has brought something else to my mind. Cleaning. Ugh. I sigh as I rise from the couch once more, resigned to my fate. I begin three piles in front of the sofa; dishes, laundry, and random crap. I quickly do a scope of the room and inwardly groan How the hell did I do all of this? And so quickly, I make a mental note to try and keep my slob instincts in check and get to work, trying to go as fast as I can to get as much done as possible before Otabek awakens. On my third rotation around the living room I gather the last of the crap and sort in into it's piles. It takes me several trips to get all the dishes into the sink, and I let the water run over them for a few seconds. Next I grab the dirty laundry and  load it into the machine, (yes I own a washer dryer, I'm not an animal, well actually-) not bothering to sort out darks and lights. It wouldn't make much of a difference, I reason, I don't own anything in a lighter color than orange. At the mention of orange my cheeks burn red as the onesie resurfaces in my mind. I program it to run and turn around, retracing my steps to my final pile. Junk I should put away, next to the pile stands my suitcase, empty, it's contents being in a spin cycle. I try to put the thing that belong in the living room, kitchen, spare room, and bathroom back in their original positions, but leave the things that belong in my bedroom. Those can go in after Otabek wakes up. Being satisfied that the living room is clean except for the pile I make my way into the kitchen and start on the dishes. Most just get tossed into the dishwasher, but a few things with plastic on them or a nonstick coating have to be hand washed. At times like these I hate that I cook. I think to myself as I dry another baking spatula. Why do I have four in the first place? I set the rubber/plastic/nonstick dishes into the drainer and wipe my hands on a dishtowel, glancing at the clock as I do so. 12:57, it reads. I grab a sponge and am halfway through wiping down the counter when a voice startles me,