London was strange, he supposed. A different strange than Moscow.

"Strange" in that, somehow, it managed to be both modern and archaic, blending together the two elements well, as well the sunset sky would fuse tangerine and gold.

As much as he would like to venture and see more of all the places his career permitted him to travel to, Yuri didn't really have that much time on his hands.

All of it went to perfecting his skills.

But, there was nothing wrong about it. At least for him. If it meant snagging the top spot for himself, then he was willing to sacrifice all of his precious time.

"Hmm, so the Final is going to be held here—for the first time," he muttered to himself, his mint green eyes busy with the headline his phone was flashing: GPF in London For The Very First Time!

Then it disappeared, replaced by a caller screen: Otabek was calling him.

He tapped the answer button. "What is it?"

Oi, Yuri. Where are you now?

"I'm here already, in London. Why?"

There was coughing on the other end, then: I mean, where are you exactly, in London?

At Otabek's inquiry, he fell silent and his mind went blank, as if stupefied. Now that he thought long and hard about it . . . he had been blindly walking inside the city with little attention to his location. Stupid.

He quickly glanced around him, seeking for a good indicator as to where he was—

And he stopped, his gaze falling onto the London Eye.

Then he replied, "I am here, near the London Eye. And I mean very near. Now, why?"

. . . Stay there. My sister will be there to pick you up, his rich voice buzzed through his phone. I can't go there myself right now. Something came up. And before Yuri could say more, the call had been dropped.

He expelled a sharp sigh, his thin brows knitting in confusion. His sister? His best friend had a sister?

He left the thought at that; it wasn't any of his business, anyway.

To pass time, he decided to take a few shots of the vicinity, and the famous attraction itself. Then he posted it on his Instagram, tagging it #london, #london eye, and #gpf. Seconds later, likes were pouring in, followed suit by a few comments:

OMG ur in london!

you should see the thames river!

Man you're so lucky

He put the gadget away, disinterested. He raised his arms above him and stretched, all the while yawning. This is going to be a long wait.

"Hey!" Was it just him, or was somebody calling him? He tuned his ears and waited.

There it was again—"Hey! Yuri!" And he heard his name, too.

Yuri directed his eyes forward, eyes shifting spot to spot, searching wherever the cries could have come from, until it settled on a figure who seemed to be . . . running towards him? But who—

"Oh, crap, a fan!" His face morphed into an expression of utter horror. Memories of his fangirls, Yuri's Angels—or so they were called—came flooding back. So did all of the endless pursuits, squealing and screaming, hiding behind dumpsters . . .

Taking hold of his luggage's handle, his feet came to life and carried him in a adrenaline-packed dash, away from whom he assumed to be his pursuer.

He heard the same cry again. "Hey! Yuri!" The Russian sprinted even faster.

Yuri raced past tourists and locals alike, bumping into some in the process—and receiving curses in return. Those that were fortunate, however, were swift enough to evade the escaping kid.

Yuri dared a glance behind him. His pursuer was nowhere to be found among the crowd.

He came to an abrupt halt, and nearly stumbled from the sudden loss of momentum. Perspiration dripped down his head, from his sweaty hair to his scarlet cheeks. Looks like I lost them.

He released the breath he didn't know he had been holding, effectively steadying his racing heart.

Just as he was about to move again, tight hands wrapped around his hand with vise-like grip, startling him greatly and triggering his defensive reflex. His arm jerked out, striking whoever was holding him captive.

"Ow!" he heard the captor cry, followed suit by an audible thud. Yuri took the chance to fully catch a glimpse of the person.

It was a girl.

The revelation rendered him unable to move and breathe properly.

His grandfather had always told him to never strike a girl, unless his intent was to defend himself. Yet here he was, with a girl writhing at his feet in pain, courtesy of him.

Without thinking he lowered himself to her level and assisted her in picking up all of what had fallen. A sepia-colored handbag and a pair of black, thick-rimmed spectacles, both lying ungracefully on the gray pavement. His disposition uncharacteristically sheepish, he asked her, "Are—are you . . . alright?"

The girl below didn't answer him immediately. Her hands were busily soothing her nose, where he assumed she had taken the worst of his hit. He waited, a mixture of guilt and and shame welling up in his stomach. Seconds later, she gingerly rose to her feet and let her hands drop to her sides, revealing her still-intact face. He emitted a relieved noise under his breath, thankful that he hadn't injured someone.

"Bloody hell, you have a strong hit," he heard her speak soon after. He stayed silent, not knowing what to make of her statement. Despite his forced silence, his rigid lack of motion and the kicked puppy look on his face made his discomfort glaringly obvious.

"Hey." She flashed him an assuring smile. "I'm fine—see?" She motioned for him to look at her again.

He adamantly refused, still shamefaced. And remembering that his hands were still holding her bag and her glasses, he promptly handed them to her. He grabbed the bags he had been neglecting that whole time and made a motion to leave, abandoning the stranger who stared after him with a dropped jaw.

"H-hey!" she hollered after him, not caring if she caught attention. "Hey, Yuri!"

Upon hearing his name did Yuri cease moving, with a gasp escaping his throat. Seeing the effect it had given, the girl continued. "You're supposed to come with me, you know. I'm Otabek's sister, the one who's supposed to pick you up!"

He twisted around to face her once more, surprise written all over his features. He came closer to her, his pace swift, but quickening by the second.

"You—you're her?" was all the came out of his mouth upon reaching her.

She nodded. "Aye," she responded, then gave him a look a wondering look. "He didn't show you what I look like?"

"No."

The girl scratched her head and sighed sharply. "That's what I thought. He's always been quite forgetful." She gave him an apologetic look. "Anyways, let's go. We're nearing noon, you know." She gently brushed past him, intent to lead him the way, but stopped abruptly as if she had forgotten something. "Oh, cripes!"

Yuri stopped as well. He raised a fine blond brow. "What?"

The stranger faced him, skin scarlet with embarrassment. "How silly of me, I forgot to introduce myself!" she said, before extending a hand out to him. "My name is Vitanya Clarke, but you can call me 'Nana.' I do figure skating, too."