i can't sleep and i miss your face [in my hands and in my knees]

By all rights, Ilia should've been exhausted on the evening of his World Championships short program, and yet, restlessness coursed through his veins as he looked out onto the Prague skyline. The phone pressed against his ear was cool to the touch as Ilia waited for Misha to pick up the call thousands of miles away, in Almaty. He'd tried to talk himself out of this, knowing Mikhail was most likely already asleep, that there was no real reason to facilitate a call this late in the night. It was not necessarily that Ilia thought his boyfriend would be mad – Misha seemed entirely incapable of anger – but rather that he didn't want to seem too codependent. Which he was. Just a little bit.