There is only one bed.
Yuri has read enough fanfiction in his life to know exactly how this goes: Otabek won't care. He'll push past him into the room, look and shrug, dropping his bag to the ground by the television stand before throwing himself onto the bed for a nap. He'll be perfectly fine sharing and Yuri will wake up in the middle of the night with Otabek curled against his back mid-sleep, seeking out warmth.
A nightmare. A disaster, one that plucks at Yuri's being as he stands in the doorway, fingers white-knuckled against the doorframe.
"Yura?"
Yuri is too old for the butterflies in his stomach, for the way it ties into knots at the thought of the singular mattress. His heart wants, pulling tight at the thought, feelings sinking in deep to spoil his core.
A distraction, teased Yuuri the first time he was caught staring. Never thought I'd see the day. Pork Cutlet still teases him relentlessly, which Yuri doesn't have time for. He's in his twenties, the downfall of his skating career. Every day is a step closer to retirement and Yuri refuses to entertain things like crushes.
"I—it's nothing." He steps into the room, his gut curdling. His exercise bag is heavy enough to thud when he drops it to the ground.
Otabek sweeps into the room quietly, eyes shifting to the bed. He pauses, head tilted, and says, "Oh, I—" A frown, just a small one. A line creases his brow. "I would have thought that Victor would've booked a double."
Yuri turns to him, mouth agape. "Wait, Victor booked the room?" Suddenly, things make sense. Yuuri knows which means Victor knows—which is odd. Victor isn't the type to keep this sort of thing clammed up. He definitely would've been relentless in bothering Yuri about it.
"Suspicious," he murmurs, tapping his chin.
"What is?"
"Don't worry about it." Yuri pauses. "Want me to call the front desk? I'm sure they can move around—"
"No." Otabek's response comes so quickly that it surprises Yuri. And he must realize the urgency of his voice because Otabek turns awkward, rubbing at his neck. "I just mean…there's no need, right? The hotel is busy with the conference and it's king-size. Plenty of room to share."
Oh, he knew it. Otabek so rarely complains, taking punches as they go. They'd roomed together exclusively for years, ever since he came to train with Yuuri. And Yuri tries to ignore it, tries to look past the clear attraction. He isn't a fool. Otabek isn't some steel-coated man with eyes for women.
There's a reason that Yuri's heart beats wildly when they brush their fingers, or Otabek's grazing touches linger just a little too long.
"Just don't fucking hog the sheets. I've seen you wrapped up like a burrito before."
Otabek laughs, a deep and curling sound. Yuri just sighs, resigned, mentally preparing himself for a long night of insufferable, accidental boners.
#
Just like a fanfiction, Yuri wakes in the night swathed in sweltering heat.
Otabek is curled against his back, an arm loose around Yuri's waist like a dead weight. He smells like shower gel and expensive cologne. His face is pressed against the back of Yuri's neck, his breath warm, pulling up gooseflesh with every exhalation.
Unlike fanfiction, it is comfortable. Yuri so rarely takes a step back and allows moments for himself. For him, it's up at dawn, skating in the forefront of his mind. Training, diet, exercise, Pork-Bun and his husband—but rarely anything else.
He steals a lot of moments with Otabek in private. Lunches and dinners as they try out the local cuisine. Moments in the hotel room watching shitty television in languages they don't understand, knees knocking together as they needle each other and joke around.
Otabek is comfort, something that Yuri never finds unless he's with his Grandpa, and as the years crawl by, he just falls more in love.
"Is this alright?" Otabek's voice surprises him. Yuri wasn't aware that he'd been awake.
Yuri could give a thousand reasons why it isn't but none of them would be correct. Instead, he just presses back, sinking against Otabel's body, and says, "Yeah." Please.
Otabek says nothing else, he just tightens his arm around Yuri's waist, fingers pressed against the flat of his stomach over his shirt. Tangles their legs together wordlessly and nuzzles the back of Yuri's neck with his nose. It's chaste enough for Yuri to want more. Maybe Otabek needs this too, whatever lays thick between them.
Yuri falls asleep to the gentle rhythm of Otabek's chest rising and falling against his back.