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Yuri groans, buries deeper into his blankets to avoid the sunlight creeping into the bedroom. His skin aches, his head aches, his throat aches; upon further inspection, he realizes there’s nothing that doesn’t ache, which typically means it was a very good night.
It’s all a bit hazy, only vague memories floating through the remnants of too much alcohol and the softness of sleep. Yuri recalls finally stumbling to the club after the pre-game at one of Otabek’s friend’s house. He remembers pocketing both of their phones while Otabek took the DJ stand for a set (or two, or three?), but past that...not more much than the burn of booze and wandering hands and, naturally, Beka’s lips, but that all was pretty standard for a night out in Almaty.
“Yuri, please.” The words are something between a whimper and a demand and Yuri stretches, smug, like a cat to brush his fingers along his boyfriend’s back. He can’t exactly blame Otabek for wanting a round two (or three, maybe four depending on how last night went), even if it is much too early and he is much too hungover.
As soon as his fingertips touch Otabek’s too-hot skin, the older man shies away. He shifts further and Yuri realizes that Beka’s already half-dressed and perched on the edge of the bed, not cuddled next to him like he usually is after their long nights.
“Please, I need your phone password. Or your twitter password. Or any password.” There’s a quiet desperation in Otabek’s plea that makes Yuri perk up, momentary curiosity-born relief from the pounding taking seed in his head.
Yuri crawls across the blankets until his chin fits into the dip of his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Why?” His eyebrows draw together, immediately confused and mildly concerned by the way Otabek tenses and moves away.
“Why?” Otabek’s voice is bordering on shrill. “Why?! Yuri, do you not remember what you did?” He turns to face Yuri, finally, and his eyes are wild, cheeks flushed. In one hand sits his own phone, buzzing incessantly with notification over notification. In his other is Yuri’s, screen proclaiming that it would be locked for another four hours.
“Four hours, Beka?” What had Yuri done last night for Otabek to try breaking into his phone? Embarrassing photo? (Yuri has plenty of those that Otabek had never complained about.) Posting an embarrassing photo? It wasn’t unlikely, not really, but he can’t imagine any situation that would make his unnaturally calm, even-headed boyfriend look strung out on every drug in the book. “What are you talking about?”
Otabek tosses his still buzzing phone into Yuri’s lap, snorting, “I can’t believe you. Pick a spot to start and then log into your account and take it all down.” There’s no room for compromise here, Yuri can tell, so he does as Otabek says and taps on the first notification that appears.
It’s from what he can only assume is a fan and is a stream of useless keyboard smashing that Yuri doesn’t bother trying to decipher. Instead, he clicks the original tweet and feels all of the blood drain from his face immediately.
“Oh,” he whimpers, staring at the message he had sent out for thousands upon thousands of people to read. This is even worse than he could have expected; he’d been doing so well. No one knows anything about it, not Viktor, not Katsudon, not even Mila, who hounded him about details every day of his life. He’s kept it completely under wraps even if he’s wanted to scream about it from the tops of buildings the second he got Otabek out of his too-tight jeans. “Why didn’t you stop me?”
“I didn’t know until this morning. When you finally gave me my phone back last night, it was dead. Probably from all the notifications,” Otabek deadpans and Yuri thinks that the flat acceptance might be worse than the freaking out.
In mounting horror, he clicks onto his own profile, scrolling to the last tweet he clearly remembers making (a vague comment about landing in Almaty the morning before) and begins reading from there, desperately trying to block out the, “My mother follows you, Yuri” speech Otabek is mumbling.
It starts with a reply to a fan, which means that Yuri was way drunker than he needed to be when he decided to get on social media. He never goes through his mentions from non-mutuals unless he’s in a real situation.
RT: Yuri P.’s Angel @yuris-angel009 10h
@yuri-plisetsky confirm or deny @otabek-altin is hung afYuri Plisetsky @yuri-plisetsky 10h
@yuris-angel009 honey u don’t even know
{attached: a picture of the chart}Yuri Plisetsky @yuri-plisetsky 9h
in case u cant see it that says 19.1cmYuri Plisetsky @yuri-plisetsky 9h
i see all of u freaking out but u dont even understandYuri Plisetsky @yuri-plisetsky 8h
if that chart is average then beka’s top tier extremeYuri Plisetsky @yuri-plisetsky 8h
and all of it belongs to ~ME~RT: Phichit Chulanont @phichithamster 8h
@yuri-plisetsky @otabek-altin YOU HAVE ME SHOOK YURIRT: Christophe Giacometti @christophe-gc 8h
@yuri-plisetsky @v-nikiforov you owe me €100Yuri Plisetsky @yuri-plisetsky 8h
i dont know how people didnt figure this out sooner??? how can you not see it in his pants???Yuri Plisetsky @yuri-plisetsky 8h
i mean it was still a surprise but i’m not complainingRT: Mila Babicheva @mila-babi 8h
@yuri-plisetsky @otabek-altin i can’t believe i’m being blessed with this information finallyYuri Plisetsky @yuri-plisetsky 8h
@otabek-altin u know i love u and ur dick sm it’s my favYuri Plisetsky @yuri-plisetsky 8h
@otabek-altin pls never leave me i don’t know what i would do without it or uYuri Plisetsky @yuri-plisetsky 7h
anyway gn i got a gift the size of my leg waiting in bed for me ur welcome
Yuri stares at the phone, almost as red as Otabek now, but he’s not sure if it’s from embarrassment or from trying to keep in his laughter. It’s not like he lied and rumors going around about being well-endowed aren’t exactly a bad thing; besides, it’s really about time he got to get this off his chest. Trying to keep it a secret had been killing him. Still, the unamused-bordering-on-furious expression from Otabek is enough to sober him.
“You have to fix this,” Beka says, and there’s that same pleading tone and Yuri feels bad for him, he really does. “I can’t—my mom—We need to—” And Yuri’s heart is breaking at Otabek’s stuttering and pink ears and swimming eyes and he wants to wrap him up and let him believe this never happened.
“What’s done is done, Beka. It’ll already be everywhere. I’ll delete the tweets, but I don’t think you’re going to get around this one.” He tries to be as cheery as possible in a weak attempt to keep Otabek calm. “But, hey, at least I didn’t post a picture with it, right?”
Yuri takes the pillow to the face without putting up a fight.