It’s the kind of exaggeration he should expect. But it’s too much.
His eyes snap open and he takes a sharp breath in as the idea — of Victor’s words changing his, making them longer, making them never end, not on edge of a cliff where the end keeps coming so much closer, and he had to taste it already and failed, fell, doesn't want to let go now — and he can’t keep his eyes from filling with his tears suddenly, or his heart filling with the sudden treacherous snippets of the idea.
Of never losing Victor.
(Of Victor never wanting to leave him.)
Of never having to count down another day.
A tear slips down the inside of one of his eyes, dripping to catch on the plastic of his glasses. Then, another. His breath shudders in his mouth, in his chest, his lungs and his body finally shaking with this. He can’t stop his fingers from digging into Victor’s loose coat and he tries to dig his head in more, forehead against Victor’s shoulder and face hidden further down, between them. Away from the people watching, but even away from Victor maybe.
Yuri feels like he’s losing the ability to tell exactly what he’s saying, what he wants to be saying, what he shouldn’t say. Because they’re talking about their partnership and the road ahead, and where they are still going. That Yuri can't lose him as his coach yet. He can’t keep his voice from shaking and catching, now even trying to keep on track, meaning it and still half-burned by, still stumbling because of, the world Victor made exist for one second.
“Let’s win the gold together at the Grand Prix Finale.”
no subject
It’s only five words, and it’s too much.
It’s the kind of exaggeration he should expect. But it’s too much.
His eyes snap open and he takes a sharp breath in as the idea — of Victor’s words changing his, making them longer, making them never end, not on edge of a cliff where the end keeps coming so much closer, and he had to taste it already and failed, fell, doesn't want to let go now — and he can’t keep his eyes from filling with his tears suddenly, or his heart filling with the sudden treacherous snippets of the idea.
Of never losing Victor.
(Of Victor never wanting to leave him.)
Of never having to count down another day.
A tear slips down the inside of one of his eyes, dripping to catch on the plastic of his glasses. Then, another. His breath shudders in his mouth, in his chest, his lungs and his body finally shaking with this. He can’t stop his fingers from digging into Victor’s loose coat and he tries to dig his head in more, forehead against Victor’s shoulder and face hidden further down, between them. Away from the people watching, but even away from Victor maybe.
Yuri feels like he’s losing the ability to tell exactly what he’s saying, what he wants to be saying, what he shouldn’t say. Because they’re talking about their partnership and the road ahead, and where they are still going. That Yuri can't lose him as his coach yet. He can’t keep his voice from shaking and catching, now even trying to keep on track, meaning it and still half-burned by, still stumbling because of, the world Victor made exist for one second.
“Let’s win the gold together at the Grand Prix Finale.”