otayuri cured my soul

Riding a bike, staying in the garage.

Early morning practice for Yura

OtaYuri ♥

back on my otayuri bullshit with no plans of ever stopping

“You’re beautiful,” his mother said when he put on his performance outfit. It was ridiculously tight and a bit too colourful for his taste, but he wore it because she liked it.

“You’re pretty,” reporters praised him when he sat uncomfortably for a two-hour-long interview, his legs crossed and eyebrows frowning when he was asked invasive questions. The flashlights without warning always made him wince in agony.

“You’re cute,” his fans squealed when they saw him down the aisle, waiting for his coach to meet him before the competition began. He learned to simper when needed, and sometimes his muscles hurt from faking smiles when people were around, to ‘not look as intimidating as usual’ quote Mila. For all he knew the teenager girls would move onto another fair looking athlete in less than a year or so. Bodies weren’t immortal, and neither was fame.

Sooner or later he wouldn’t look beautiful nor, at the least, eye-pleasing enough to get so many unnecessary cameos on television. To the people who only gawked at his face at its prime, it was just a process of fade. When he cut off his bangs and grew his hair, when he was two inches taller in height and gained weight as he aged and worked out more, the sigh of disappointment always confirmed his beliefs.

“Maybe I should cut my hair,” Yuri grunted in front of the mirror, harshly tidying his terrible bedhead while Otabek washed his face next to him. “Maybe I should get an undercut, like you.”

“That would be awesome, matching haircuts,” Otabek chuckled under his breath.

“Hey, I’m seriously asking for an opinion right now.”

“Whatever you do, you are beautiful.”

Otabek always made this statement sound extra believable, like it was an unchangeable fact.

First comic 💖 Nurse Yakov is a blessing, let’s be real.