Yuri huffed softly at the 'Yura' he received in return, not bothering to correct him, as much as the little spiteful part of him wanted to. He wasn't as much of a bitchy hypocrite as he used to be, he supposed, but Otabek had always been a soft spot a mile wide for him. He didn't really have it in his heart to be truly mean to him without reason, even when he was hurt. When they were both hurt, judging by his next few words.
"...Right," he murmured, lowering the towel from his face and glancing down at the blood on it. It wasn't pouring, at least. He'd definitely seen worse from accidents like this and he was damn lucky it wasn't his leg, feeling slightly guilty that of all people, Otabek had been the one to see him eat ice. He blamed it on brand new skates, an unfamiliar rink and the distraction of being in this weird place instead of at home.
A shitty friend. Right. Another reminder of why he'd been upset in the first place, their dual inability to define any of this. Anything that had happened between them. "...I still don't like that you went home. Even with the injury, being away from choreographing puts you at a disadvantage," he murmured. "...But I get it. You're a good DJ. I just don't like that I won't be able to kick your ass at the Olympics."