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The sound of his voice

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   Otabek could feel all the energy that they were spreading on the stage, located just under them. The bass just started, with tiny little fingers slipping on it with reddish nails, cracked from all this effort, crimson, savage and fluffy hair on which all the lights were spreaded, lips on the microphone, staining the meshy fiber. On his high black heels, under the pink light, the vocalist was standing, black and pure, angel's hair as white as snow ; he could have been satan himself or God -Otabek still couldn't decide- with his charming moves, his liquor lips shining from there. The drum player was as extra as the two others, black eyeshadow under his eyes, lipstick giving to his lips this shadowish shape, undetermined, while his perfectly geled hair was as static as greek statues that the Kazakh boy have only seen in museums. There was just one pure pleasure to his eyes, someone who gave him all the chills in the world, who gave him love, faith, hope, lust and so much more. He could easily touch his feet, as Jesus did to Judas, but he wasn't sure of who would save or demolish the other, he didn't tried because he knew how intrusive it could be, how his golden angel from Russia hated being touched, how this creature was pale and fragile, shaking his golden and curled head while playing the guitar, lips pressed against the microphone -how many times Otabek have dreamt of being that microphone, how many times he desired being his guitar ? He never really counted-. He could see all the sweat drops on his forehead, slipping on his little pointy nose, while his cheeks were as pink as flushy roses in the morning ; he wished he was closer -but he couldn't-, he wished he coud smell his scent, pure and exhausted, from his lips skipped one « Oh » as the sliver boy started his song, followed by the only girl in the squad, on her heels too. He wasn't able to take his eyes from him, looking at his crop top with a tiger on it, at his milky stomach which he would adore, angel's ringlets were layingback while his left hand stared scratching the strings of the instrument. Only once -what a graceful moment!- he saw his eyes laying on him, he knew it never was on purpose but he felt special ; that was crazy : how a grown man of twenty years old could be fangriling over a seventeen years old boy, playing guitar, bad boy, with all the world ? Otabek hadn't any fucking clue about this, his heart neither ; he suddenly felt much more better, butterflies in his stomach as he thought that he will be able to speak to him, right in the eye, after the show. Sara pulled his sleeve ; he almost forgot he was here with her, the only girl wearing earplugs at a concert, scared as fuck because she had her camera around her neck, being as careful as with a newborn, moving slowly, stuck to Otabek's side while looking on the stage, feeling dizzy because of the scent of cigarets in the room ; she wasn't very well and he knew that but he couldn't help : JJ wanted this interview and there was no discussion. He could only feel sorry for her, giving her a little smile, catching her hand, before looking again at his god, at the one who could kill him here and now without becoming his mortal enemy, with a figure of a pin-up, with a figure of a doll. He bite his pink lips, closing his eyes, feeling his guitar, living with his guitar ; Otabek knew the interview would be as long as short for him, trying to escape the lust and desire. The older man, with his slender hand caught the little jaw, forcing him to face him while singing, the blonde gave him that look, the look of a murderer, the look of a player, the look that Otabek wanted to deserve one day ; then, his hand migrated to his shoulder, dramatic look, going down, looking at him while his blonde angel lowered his head at him : « Oh dear diary, I met a boy » ; hell if Yuri was that boy Otabek would die for him now, ripping his diary, kissing him hard, pulling his body against his, kissing each part of the angel who was stepping in front of him. And the last notes killed him, while the purest voice whispered, lips touching only the microphone, softly, gently : « Hit me with your sweet love and steal me with a kiss»

Viktor and the Diamonds. A simple group name, Viktor and them, but for Otabek it was much more, it was the only and one Diamond, the yellow one, the one who looked like a sunflower in summer, like a daffodil in spring, it was Yuri and the others. He practiced this moment so many times in front of his mirror, imagining the diamond replying with a graceful smile, a stunning one, which would drive him blind with all his light, surrounded by some misty colors, and even the music didn't counted at all, it was just his laugh that he dreamt about, he dreamt a lot lately, a lot about him.

- So you are the interviewer, asked the silver man, cutting him from his thoughts, putting a hand on his shoulder ; he was still a bit smaller than him -maybe mire than a bit- and the expensive perfume came into his nostril as he nodded. Good, we were waiting for you for soooo long, he complained as if it was Otabek's fault that their bodyguards were such fuckers, annoying, and asking for papers and papers.

He and Sara followed the man who came to pick them up from there, into their room, the room. It was more or less as he imagined it, full of lights around the gigantic mirror circled by lightbulbs, he saw the ash haze floating in the air, some shot glasses on the table near a bottle of alcohol -a Poliakov, it was certain-. Mila was fluffing her hair, braiding it, undoing braids and doing it again and again, Georgi was sitting in the luxurious seat, velvet, and fluffy cushions. Yuri was laying on the couch, his feet on the top of it, a phone in hand, not even looking at the guest coming in their room, as if he didn't care ; but Otabek did. Mila looked in the mirror, eyes already filled with some magical beverage, clapping his hand while getting up.

- You're so cute, she squeaked while looking at Sara, getting carefully closer, looking at her with that beautiful smile and finally reaching the interviewers. Vikky, do you think I can keep her ? Say yeas, pleaaase, she begged while takin Sara's hand in hers.

It will be the longest interview in my life, thought Otabek while sighing secretly.

- Mila, darling, sit down, calm down, and we will discuss about it later, said Viktor with a smile, removing the russian star's hand from Sara's -who was literally dying-.

- Baba's already drunk, it was the softest voice he never heard, sharp like knives, without even bothering looking at them but still stuck to his smartphone. She will be no use for this interview, sorry but Mila's a fucking mess.

- Yuri, said Georgi slapping his thighs after leaving his seat ; you're really a fucker. Get up, we need some space, and your tiny legs are like... Bothering a bit. Sorry for that, he said looking at the two strangers, totally lost in the situation.

- You better be sorry for your fucking ass Georgi, you will pay for everything you did, Yuri threatened him, putting his smartphone on the little table in front of the couch as he sat legs crossed on it.

Otabek knew Yuri was rough, but he was rougher than he imagined : that was even better. Viktor walked them to the couch on which Yuri was sitting, Sara still blushing, hand shaking as he was pulling closer her camera, and Otabek still trying to not crack, not stare at Yuri as he did during the whole concert, but he couldn't resist looking at these chapsticked lips -he loved cherry chapstick, he heard that- glowing like a plump fruit on a sunny tree, and then he saw his turquoise eyes, looking right into his, frozen eyes, russian eyes.

- So, you will stare at me like a fucking creep, or do you have question, he asked, raising his blonde eyebrow while speaking -and that was fucking cute-.

- I have questions, he answered as cold headed as he could but that was definitely not easy with these delicious lips near him -and Sara, trembling like a leaf-, he took from his pocket a paper on which he had a billion of question he always wanted to ask them, things that he shouldn't have write at all. Won't ask you the casual « Hey, how are you ? », because I can really imagine that is annoying as hell...

- True, Georgi replied as Mila sat on his lap, giggling a little bit. Drink water, for God's sake !

- I'm really okay, she replied index in the air, serious face. And I will only feel better when this beautiful lady will give me her number at the end of the interview.

- Stop flirting Baba, Yuri said dully, rolling his eyes as Viktor showed him to calm down.

- Why not a boys bandOtabek continued as if nothing happened and Sara was perfectly ok.

- Because we needed some... Fun, Viktor replied, looking at Mila, winking at Sara. Look at her, without this redhead we would die because of the blonde savage, the stoic man, or because of me... Impossible.

- You are a real fuckeryou know that, ViktorGeorgi asked with a sight. Seriously we needed some, he stopped himself, looking at Mila's back, nevermind.

Deinitely not my day, I swear.

- Okay then, Otabek was trying hard to not look at Yuri, but he had a million questions for him, he wanted to know everything from his favorite colour -which he knew was pastel pink- to his shoe size. Where did you start playing, I mean, he stopped himself for a while, we all know the story about the garage and all that stuff but... When and how, his question wasn't as clear as it seemed on his paper « Ask Yuri on how he joined the band of older russians ».

- Good one, nobody asked me how I ended with all those seniors : finally a good question ma, Yuri looked at him with malicious eyes. They don't want to admit it, but they begged me to join the band.

- Yeah, you threatened Mila saying that you would kill here reputation on Instagram if we would not let you in, Georgi interrupted, while Mila was pouring herself a glass of water that Viktor brought on the table.

- … She had to be careful about what she did for God's sake, I'm not her mother, plus you needed a guitarist, he looked at Otabek sighing with despair, the were really sucking at the bar where I saw them...

- The real question is : what were you doing in a bar at fourteen, Vikor asked, curling his hair around his finger, smiling at him.

Otabek couldn't follow the stream of consciousness, they were nearly forgetting that Sara was taking some photographs and Otabek recording all. Yuri ended up swelling his cheeks, reddish, crossing his arms, like a child pouting. Otabek found him more sweet, and looking at him shaking his golden head while Georgi was laughing, Viktor joking and Mila getting little by little sober ; he was looking like an angel in disguise surrounded by mortals, a halo around his blonde head

- You wanna my number too, boy, Yuri asked, looking at him half smiling.

And that was the moment Otabek knew, he had to take this chance.

Chapter Text

… But he failed. He just smiled back, facing him trying to not show him how much he was impressed by him, how much he wanted to touch his shiny hair, how much he wanted to touch his lips with his, how much he wanted to kiss him, he shook his head, rolled his eyes as if he was just annoyed by this question -smartass Altin, really, he will think you think he's a little child-.

-  I was just lost in my thoughts, I'm sorry, he replied, looking him right in the eye, the blonde only raised his eyebrow, puffing a bit and looked at Mila.

-  Whatever, I think she will have her number anyway, he murmured, winding a lock of hair around his index, then he took his smartphone, as casually as always.

-  Last question, Otabek dared to ask while Sara was trying to take some photographs of this encounter ;  but not least :  do you watch any youtubers, and if you do, who ?

This question was dedicated to Yuri before all, Otabek was curious about what he listened to, he dreamt about a Yuri listening to classical music, earphones on his golden hair, raising his perfect hand to the sky, smiling -with this beautiful smile he managed to imagine-, enjoying each moment, each sound, devouring them, loving them, adoring them.

-  I'm not into youtubers, answered Viktor, a glass of water in hand, legs crossed, a precious aura around him.  None of us is...  Maybe this little one is more or less fond of some, he said showing with his chin the younger member of the group who rose his head, sighing loudly.

-  Yeah, I'm the more « modern » of us, not a big surprise for oldies like you, he said, a smirk drawn on his face, a childish face trying to throw them off balance :  but he failed.  Hem.  Yeah, I'm following some youtubers more or less, but nothing basic like video games or all that stuff, I'm really not into it, he said fingers under his jaw like in a painting, like precious women in a literary salon.  I'm listening to new voices, some of them are reaaaly good, like this dj, DJ K, he's really awesome.

Otabek's heart missed a heartbeat.  The one, the only and infamous Yuri Plisetsky listened to his mixtapes, and believed that he was, I'm quoting « really awesome ?  If he didn't record that, he would think that it was all his imagination, but it wasn't.  He just stared at him, like a dumb boy, listening for the second time to the same story and neither getting the point this second time.  Yuri face seemed annoyed, his shoulders moved up, closed his eyes for a bit, his eyelashes were so long, like cat's moustaches, one near another, and looked at him again.

-  Yeah, I knew that wouldn't ring a bell, what did I expected from a journalist, these words just hurt Otabek's heart like a billion of arrows flying right in the middle of this red organ that just beated for him, bleeding softly, softly just to let him die slowly, like in the song.  It's not usual, but hell I will talk about another artist a little bit, because the guy needs really to be listened to and that's such a pity that he's still anonymous in the music world.

-  Somebody gets emotional right here, whispered Mila, still sitting on Georgi's lap, but now having all her attention on their little friend.  There is one thing that he doesn't say to you, let's keep this secret because he wants to look like a grown man who's only seventeen, she said to provoke him as he just yelled « Fuck you, you're only two years older », sentence that she ignored.  He's frustrated as hell because the guy has his face covered ;  how many fucking times I heard him swearing on his phone « The fucker could show his face, just a little bit, we need to have a face to put this talent on !  ».

-  You are definitely dead, he said to her, enhancing every word in his sentence, fire burning in his eyes, showing her his middle finger.  And you, he continued pointing his index at Otabek then at Sara, you have the right to just not write it in your magazine, or I swear to God you are over.

That was the most awkward thing that happened to him :  being threatened by Yuri Plisetsky about not saying that he just wanted to see his face which he was just actually seeing, live, close.  He wanted to say to him that he was this boy, that he was DJ K, that he always loved his guitar solos, that he adored the way his fingers slipped over the strings ;  bu he knew it would sound fake and weird, so he just nodded calmly, having his look on his lap and his notebook.

-  Can I just take a picture of you all together, standing just in this corner, Sara asked softly, like a little child afraid of being ignored.  The light is perfect there.

-  Did you hear the cutie, Mila asked getting up putting some order in her messy hair ;  the light is perfect there and we need to have a beautiful photo of us, and I'm not doubting her talents so if the photo sucks it'll be your fault.  Get up, quick boys ;  she said like a mother gathering her children while walking in the corner of the room.

Georgi followed her -not without mumbling something in russian-Viktor just smiled et stood in front of them, finally sitting on the floor, legs crossed, both of his hands under his chin like a perfect queen while the red haired girl put her red nails on her hip striking a pose at his left and Georgi just casually stood, arms crossed on his right.  Otabek could hear Yuri breathing as he got up, putting himself in the middle, tongue off, despair on his face, his right eye hidden by the golden hair.  Otabek stood behind Sara, smiling, looking at the scene as the flash appeared and Sara looked at the result, whispering « Perfect »,  while smiling to thank them.



   When Otabek get home this night, he fell on his blankets like a dead body, but as happy as if he had seen God himself.  He couldn't stop him from asking them a selfie -a group one, never being too weird in front of Yuri-, and now looking at it, back on his sheets, looking at those pretty eyes in the corner, shining like a pair of stars in the sky, his soft lips -that he only could touch on the screen- so glossy, siren's hair, siren's voice as dangerous as beautiful, he thought that his job was amazing just for those moments.  Closing his eyes, he remembered how his secret lover qualified him « awesome » and even « talented » -but those were Mila's words- ;  a little dj like him doing music just for fun, just to have something that could someday link him with his lover, to give him the impression he was close, head on his shoulder, the soft breath on his neck, kissing him softly to die.  He fell asleep, he never dreamt about more lust, about more passion, about more love ;  the beautiful snow body from Moscow, shining in the sunlight, biting Otabek's lips a little bit, while smiling, kissing him, running his perfect hands in the night of his hair.  He pulled him closer, as if he never wanted to let him go, as if this dream was too real, kissing his body, loving him more than anybody else.  Waking up, the worst wakeup he never had.  He felt dizzy, as if all he lived the past night wasn't true.  It was sunday, sun was already here, waiting for him to close the curtains and dreaming again but then he remembered JJ wanting his interview now.  What a surprise, the it group was in town for a moment, he couldn't miss a chance to publish something about them and why not sending Otabek to see them -JJ was the greatest friend ever- ;  so he rose to his bathroom to get clean after the night and all that happened to him while sleeping to finally sit in front of his computer to write the interview, and send it to JJ with the record -on which he cut the part on which Mila exposes the poor little blonde in front af the boy he sees as amazing without knowing it- ;  and when the mail was finding his way to JJ's mailbox, listening again and again to Yuri's voice answering him, he felt gifted by the gods thanks to his little muse and from nowhere started playing something, unplanned, a soft clinking as the Christmas bells, a powerful bass, a pocket of sand shaken in front of the microphone ;  feeling the rhythm, earphones on his still wet hair, biting his lip when something wasn't as good as he planned :  at the end everything sounded as perfect as his little blonde muse.  It was three in the afternoon, and he still haven't eaten but he was too excited to publish what he did ;  for once he didn't record the process, it would be just too obvious for Yuri to find out that he was DJ K with his soft voice behind him, plus he didn't wanted to be a creep -in fact, he actually sort of was-.  He wanted to publish the video with his logo, the simplest he could ever find, golden and blue, as in Altin and Kazakhstan, shiny letters surrounded by a blue circle.  He put the mess up, arranged a few things and let the video load when he grabbed something to eat.  The title was something really important to him, almost more important than the music itself, he tapped on the keyboard a few letters, erased them, wrote something, deleted it, and finally the title showed up Bad at love.  He really was, he was a perfect mess since he broke up with his first lover, the Kazakh girl that seemed as soft as a cloud but showed herself as an storm in disguise, a tornado that ripped a part of Otabek's heart away, in a certain way he never wanted to fall in love again, but he was here, crushing on this boy he barely knew from his screen.  How pathetic Altin.  He published it, as always, getting a few likes from the ones knowing his double life -JJ was such a fanboy, that was true, he was the best fanboy friend ever-, those who just appreciated his music and that was all.  Seeing the sun calling him endlessly, he decided to go to the park that was situated near his apartment and so he did ;  for few hours he sat there, on the bench, eyes closed, enjoying sun, birds, sounds that might inspire him but something disturbed him in his pocket, Sara, he sighed while looking at his smartphone's screen, ;  still he opened the message -which was in fact a screenshot from Yuri's twitter-.

« Don't you dare to not reply to his invitation, I'm kind and stuff but if you don't answer him I'll kill you Altin. »

He couldn't believe, that was much more that he could ever imagine :  Yuri Plisetsky just shared his music, with one caption « If DJ K sees this, one message to him :  call me anytime you want I'll sing to this or play the guitar.  #blessedtoday #goodshit #Plisetskyapproves »

He could die in peace now, Sara could kill him right now and it would have been the best day in his life.