I don't know, spending a night on the streets might teach him that having to wash his own damn dishes isn't so bad after all.

[ Yuri huffs out a breath, shifting to sit up again, dragging his fingers through his hair. Behind him, a rather familiar looking oversized tiger can be seen listing against the headboard of his bed. ]

I'm not afraid. I know a thing or two about hard work.

[ He was almost tempted to show the other his feet; the bandages, the blisters and calluses, the still open sores that speak of hard work and determination and being completely unafraid of pushing himself in his sport, not stopping because of a little pain. He doesn't, though. Without context, they're probably just really ugly feet. ]