Pliroy Week 2K17

Day #2 Prompt- Self Esteem/Confidence

When JJ received Yuri's call the day before, he expected a day of exploring Moscow and poking fun at the youth. He'd anticipated Yuri's tongue to lash words at him with the keen edge of a knife, and to laugh it off, knowing that Yuri never truly meant what he'd said.

He hadn't expected Yuri to have holed himself in his bathroom, refusing to come out. He hadn't anticipated to hear the younger boy crying softly on the other side of the door. Jean-Jacques Leroy wasn't the best at comforting, but this was his crush he was worrying about. He'd yet to confess, knowing the extent of homophobia in Russia and not wanting to put Yuri through that turmoil. For now, it was his cross to bear. So he'd keep his dramatic professions of love to himself. Until the time was right.

"Yuri, come on," JJ pleaded, jimmying the knob to the bathroom as he had been for the past fifteen minutes. The knob jiggled, but was unyielding as Yuri locked it beforehand.

"Nyet, Leroy. Go home," was the muffled reply.

"Please open the door, Yuri. I'm worried about you," he continued, scanning the open living area of Yuri's apartment for something he could use to unlock the door. Nothing was in sight, however, so the Canadian man leaned against the door in hopes his friend would let him in. What's got him locked in there?

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Ice Fairy. The New Viktor. Prima Ballerina. "My lady." Beautiful. Feminine. Girly.

These were the words that swam in the mind of Yuri Plisetsky as he stared at himself in the mirror. His long blonde hair was still slightly damp from his earlier shower and clung to his face in limp strands. He wasn't a child anymore, yet puberty still failed to rid him of the feminine appearance he felt plagued by. He wasn't a fairy. He was the Ice Tiger of Russia and demanded respect.

However, no matter what sort of bravado he put on, he was still "cute." He was a man. Men didn't have time to be cute. He wanted no part of femininity, nor did he want his male identity to be overshadowed by overzealous fans or sharp-worded critics who didn't understand just how much it hurt. He hated the way those stupid fans of his fawned over him as if he were a porcelain doll meant to exist for their pleasure. He hated being cooed over like he was a child, or a beautiful prize pet. He was none of that. Yet, every time he was alone, it was all he could dwell on. He didn't want to be seen as a child, or mistaken for a woman, nor called the "New Viktor."

He wanted to be himself.

He didn't realize he had scissors in hand until he gripped a sizeable section of his hair in his other hand. He brought the scissors to his saffron hair and paused, weighing his decision. With a heavy sigh, he closed the blades around the chunk of hair and with a dull snip, the lower half of the blonde silk fell to the floor lifelessly. Snip, snip snip. Blonde hair littered the sink, the floor, and Yuri's shirt. Silent tears fell down his face as he hacked away at his once proud mane of hair. Odd tufts stood up in all directions, and it was horribly uneven. But Yuri felt a piece of him come back. He felt in control of his emotions and himself for a brief moment. However, his anxiety spiked again when he heard the jovial voice of a certain Canadian man enter his apartment. Why the fuck did I give him my spare, he wondered as he lunged to lock the bathroom door. He forgot the two of them were going on a sightseeing trip in Moscow. Now, with the state of affairs his hair was in, there was no way he was leaving his home.

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"Just get the fuck out, Leroy."

A half-whispered plea floated to JJ across the door and he stilled his shaking of the doorknob. Never had he heard Yuri sound so plaintive. Yuri was always composed or angry, even in the face of a low score. He'd never witnessed any vulnerability from the younger male, and that concerned him. So, instead of getting the fuck out like the homeowner suggested, JJ slammed his shoulder into the door in an attempt to open it.