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pretty as a picture

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"What are these?"

It was a stupid question because the stack of photos on the table was clearly a stack of photos. Yuri had never seen these though, not in any of the albums Grandpa had on his shelves. Yuri recognized him easily enough even if it had been – he turned the photo around to check if there was a date – fifty years since these had been taken.

"I found them in the attic," Grandpa said, handing a cup of tea to Yuri. "I'd completely forgotten I still had those."

The younger Grandpa had an arm around another young man's shoulders. They looked close and they looked happy. Yuri's brain quickly acknowledged the shirtlessness of Grandpa, refused to think about it any further, and focused on the half-naked stranger.

On the hot half-naked stranger with his lean muscles and chiseled jawline and wet swim trunks that left very little to imagination. Yuri would've looked twice if he'd seen a guy like that walking on the street. He was, in fact, staring right now and hoping like hell that Grandpa would miss the sudden blush on his cheeks.

Grandpa leaned over his shoulder. "Oh, you know him. That's your coach. Yakov was quite a looker back then, wasn't he?"

Yuri's brain screeched to a halt and froze in horror. He let go of the photos like they were burning.