The Depth of Green

Chapter 3

(Definitely didn't almost forget to post on Wattpad, again.)

Chapter 2 recap: Yuri and Mila converse; some light is shed on Yuri's situation and house life in general. Later, Yuri meets Otabek after accidentally venturing out-of-bounds, and, as he leaves, Otabek sees the mark of a broken bond on Yuri's neck.

***

Yuri let himself drift gently around the edges of sleep, thoughts hazy and unfocused, only partially formed before he lost the brainpower to pursue them, but ultimately pleasant. He didn't intend to fall asleep, only hoping to shut his eyes against the glaring daylight for a moment and put his feet up. Instead, he awoke sharply to the slamming of the dormitory door, and his eyes shot open. How long had he been asleep?

"There you are," Mila strode across the dormitory. Her yukata billowed gracefully behind her, red hair flying as she approached where Yuri lay, nestled somewhere between sitting and lying down, on his bed. "Have you been up here all this time? Dammit, Yuri, the showing's about to start!"

Yuri froze, blood congealing in his veins, and then leaped up, veins flooding with electric energy; he ignored the stiffness in his shoulders no doubt fostered by his strange choice in resting position, and was at Mila's side in the middle of the dormitory in moments, shoving his geta clumsily onto his feet. Mila waited no longer than it took for Yuri to safely be wearing his shoes before grabbing his wrist and yanking him after her, hair fiery and movements fluid in the flurry of motion; they hurried down the stairs, taking the steps far more quickly than was advisable when taking into account the precarious footwear they wore and the lose fabric swishing around their ankles, ready to trip them if they gave it time to. In her haste, Mila shot down the winding staircase, dragging Yuri, locked in an iron grip, behind her as they darted through doorways and corridors and choppy turns, all of the usual kid gloves Mila wore while handling Yuri gone in her anxiety. Yuri couldn't blame her; Mila had risked being late, herself, in finding him, and if she, as one of the first rank, showed up to the pre-showing inspection, her demonstration would be worse than the punishment Yuri knew they would both receive.

This, though, was avoided as they dashed through the unoccupied kitchen and skidded into place before the grand doors, straightening their backs just as the head matchmaker left her office. Their faces were flushed, their lungs burning, sweat drying quickly on the back of their necks, and the matchmaker squinted menacingly at them as she passed; her gaze narrowed further when she came upon Yuri, but, through her lack of comment, Yuri inferred that this was just due to her general disdain of him more than dissatisfaction with his appearance. She probably put down the crimson staining his cheeks to be a good thing, breathing hints of life into his custom pallor.

Inspection of her merchandise complete, said merchandise deemed acceptable for showing, the matchmaker shot one last glance over the omegas before returning to her office, the stumpy, little woman's cold eyes sending waves of ice down their collective spines as she went.

The gong sounded and with relief Yuri opened his parasol, glad to hide his flushed cheeks and wrinkled yukata from view, waiting patiently at the end of the procession as he fought to steady his breathing. He couldn't help thinking, as he stepped into the chilly air, the recently departed pink immediately returning to his pale cheeks, that Lilia would be horrified to see how out of shape he'd become. Even during the first of his continuing years without dance, he hadn't been this unhealthy, at least possessing the opportunity to remain somewhat fit-- an opportunity that all but evaporated once Yuri reached the matchmaking house, his special circumstances dwindling his odds of staying strong.

As he began his descent through the gardens, gaze mostly obscured by the winding, serpentine line of bodies before him and the foliage all around, Yuri lifted a hand surreptitiously to his bun, feeling the blond strands twisted around the dark, wooden chopstick in the center, slanting diagonally through greasy, if slightly frizzy, locks. There were a few flyaways that Yuri could feel, and a strand or two of gold curled around his eyes, but by his inspection he wasn't anywhere near the disheveled state he feared himself to have assumed, and if the matchmaker hadn't remarked on his appearance, he was reasonably certain that he would be fine for the showing. He never got too much attention, anyway, quick as he was to rebuff the attempts of the alphas to be near him, so he doubted that his less than precise appearance would be noticed, or at least that it would be remarked upon.