Though the flight from St. Petersburg to Moscow is well under two hours from gate to gate, travel always leaves a film of grime that it's better to wash away. Yuri finishes his pirozhok as he digs through his backpack for his travel kit -- a proper grown-up bag with things like nail clippers and tweezers and a toothbrush holder in it, a gift that Lilia had given to him just before they left for Skate Canada. He plugs in his phone to charge it while he's in the shower.
The shower's water pressure and temperature are decent, even on the upper floors of this hotel. Once he's done, he picks the most ear-splitting death metal he can find on his playlists to listen to while he gets his clothes in order. Just as he's putting on his socks and shoes, his phone buzzes with a message from Yakov: Room 812. Five minutes.
Yakov's room, not Lilia's.
This was going to suck.
The song he'd been listening to ends, and Yuri shoots back a single k to Yakov before he sets his phone down and goes to brush his teeth. There are two more pirozhki in the bag, and they won't keep until tomorrow, but they'll do for a snack before bedtime while he checks his skates and his costumes for any last-minute problems that might need fixing. Once he's rinsed out his mouth and smoothed his hair down, he glares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. 'All right, suck it up and just fucking do it already,' he mutters to himself.
Wallet, keycard, necktie in hand. Time to go have his ass roasted.
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The shower's water pressure and temperature are decent, even on the upper floors of this hotel. Once he's done, he picks the most ear-splitting death metal he can find on his playlists to listen to while he gets his clothes in order. Just as he's putting on his socks and shoes, his phone buzzes with a message from Yakov: Room 812. Five minutes.
Yakov's room, not Lilia's.
This was going to suck.
The song he'd been listening to ends, and Yuri shoots back a single k to Yakov before he sets his phone down and goes to brush his teeth. There are two more pirozhki in the bag, and they won't keep until tomorrow, but they'll do for a snack before bedtime while he checks his skates and his costumes for any last-minute problems that might need fixing. Once he's rinsed out his mouth and smoothed his hair down, he glares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. 'All right, suck it up and just fucking do it already,' he mutters to himself.
Wallet, keycard, necktie in hand. Time to go have his ass roasted.