Yuri!!! On Ice Book 2

Chapter 14

**Author's Note!**

I can't even begin to say how sorry I am. It's been so long since I updated, you all have the right to hate me, I feel so guilty. School's been crazy, and I had to skip two weeks of skating to keep up with the homework. It helped though, I got the highest grade out of everyone in my school on my H-WHAC (Honors World History and Cultures) midterm. We had to write an essay and 90% of the students failed... I got 100%. But you don't care, and I owe it to you all to just shut up and get on with the story I've been neglecting for almost a month. I'm so sorry again, and I promise not to let the gap between updates ever be this big again. <3333333333

Also- 100 reads!! Enjoy!

June 12th, 2018- Two weeks Later- 

Yuri's POV- 1st Person

"Ow," I collapse on the bench, my feet giving a nonverbal sigh of relief. Today's practice has been especially brutal and I'm sore all over, the quad Lutz having had kicked my ass today.

Gingerly, I lean down and begin unlacing my skates, massaging my feet as the boots are removed. Beneath the socks I wear, I feel blisters beginning to form, the irritated skin inevitably red and raw. After gently easing my sneakers on, I begin to wipe down my skates, cleaning the white leather meticulously, drying every fleck of water and ice from its surface. Once, at last, I'm content that they're well taken care of, I put soakers on and place them back in my bag, zipping them into their compartment with the utmost care.

"Ready?" Otabek asks from beside me. I nod and get to my feet, swearing under my breath as I do. "Ouch," He says, noticing this, "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I tell him, hiking my bag up on my shoulder, "Yakov seems to have had it out for me today though," He nods,

"It's impressive you're still standing," He says, leaving the locker room with me, "Those quads were relentless, I don't know how you had the energy,"

"Me neither," I snort derisively, "Sheer will power?"

"If anyone could, it's you," He agrees as we start the short walk home, crossing the town square, "Hey, what's that?" He asks suddenly, pointing at something in the center of the grassy area where the gazebo stands. 

Turning to gaze at whatever it is he's pointing to, I find several people struggling to raise what seems to be a parade tent. "What's the date?" I ask him,

"The 12th, why?"

"Ohhhhhh," I nod, "That's why." At his confused glance, I elaborate, "Every year on Russia day, which is basically the fourth of July for Russia," I add, assuming he's not familiar with the term, "Towns and cities throw parades and stuff, I guess this is one of them,"

"That makes sense," He nods, "Have you ever been to one?"

"Yeah," I reply, smiling slightly as memories of young me running around at these festivals with Grandpa in tow comes to mind, "Not for a few years though, I've been touring for ice shows during the off-season so I haven't been home." He nods and thinks for a second,

"When does it start?"

"Sometime in the late afternoon or evening probably- why?"

"Why don't we go?" He says brightly, "We both need a break from Yakov's lunatic training regimen and it sounds like fun,"

"Really?" I say, surprised. He's not normally one to like things like this.

"Why not?" He replies and I smile slightly, bemused by his sudden enthusiasm but enjoying it all the same.

"Okay, let's do it," 

***

"Goddammit," I mutter as the ball yet again sails past the bottles, not even brushing one. Otabek laughs, 

"It's just a game, it doesn't matter,"

"Uh-huh," I reply, "I'd like to see you do better," Raising an eyebrow, Otabek steps forward and seizes one of the plastic rubber balls from my hand. Then, taking aim, he throws it, knocking down all six of the milk bottles laid out; a clean sweep. "How-" I stare at him, "How the fuck did you do that!" He laughs again,

"I used to go to carnivals with Allie all the time back in Kazakhstan, it's not that hard,"

"It is so that hard!" I reply, annoyed, "And just for that, I'm going to beat you." I say, marching past him.

Otabek looks amused but skeptical as he hands me the other ball from the sideboard, "Be my guest,"

I grab the ball and hold it up, trying to remember what Otabek had done. After a few seconds' contemplation of the bottles stacked up across from me, I let it fly, internally groaning as it soars past its target- not even close. Annoyed, I shove another dollar at the man operating the game and grab the next three balls he hands me. 

Miss. Miss. Miss.

"What the hell!" I yell in exasperation "This game is fucking rigged!" The man shoots me a glare and turns his back, busying himself with something else. 

After another ten minutes of me trying and failing miserably to hit the targets (each time I seem to get worse- how does that even happen?!) Otabek clears his throat lightly.

"Here," He says and steps up behind me,

"I don't need help!" I tell him stubbornly but he completely ignores me, putting his hand over mine and repositioning my arm. Against my inclination to do the exact opposite of what he shows me and win by myself, I let him guide me, changing my stance so I throw overhand instead of under.

"There," He says and releases me, "Now try it," Obediently, I let the ball fly. 

"We have a winner!" The man behind the booth crows, handing me a stuffed cat. 

"Shut up," I tell Otabek, as I turn around, irritated that he's right and less than eager to see the smug look that undoubtedly rests on his face. It does and he grins at me, 

"Perfect form." 

The remark is so obnoxious I can't help it, I laugh. He puts an arm around me, and, much to the stall owner's relief,  we walk away and are swallowed by the crowd.

"So," Otabek says as we pass a booth selling popcorn, "What are you going to name it?" He asks, referring of course to the cat.

"First of all, not it, her," I say, giving him a mock-reproachful look.

"Sorry, my mistake," He says, smiling slightly,

"As for a name, I'm not sure," I say, holding up the orange plush cat for examination. "What do you think?" I hand the cat to him and he takes it, brushing the faux-fur contemplatively while he studies it.

"I don't know," He says pensively, "What about Oliver?"

"It's a girl..." I tell him, raising an eyebrow in amused confusion,

"I know," He says, "But," He holds up the cat, "Tell me this face does not look like an Oliver," I shake my head slightly, bemused, but laugh,

"You're so weird," I say and take the cat back, "But, I guess, Oliver it is," 

"Ha-ha, victory!" He says and fist pumps. I just laugh, albeit affectionately,

"You're so weird,"

"You already said that," He says quietly, a smile in his eyes.

"I know," I reply, "And I mean it," I smile at him and he returns it, leaning down to kiss me. "But that's why," I say quietly, "We work so well together. I am too,"