If it were anyone other than Victor, Yuri would say that he was fine. He can feel it, like it’s existing right there to the side of him in his own mind. He would probably even jump back, and try to deny any implication to the contrary, with his hands raised and his voice probably louder than it needed to be.
But it isn’t anyone else.
It’s just Victor, walking, talking, next to him. Victor, hand on Yuri’s shoulder, directing him.
There isn’t a reason to do anything more, or less, than nod quietly. Something that is assent, and maybe even more than it. Maybe actually is agreement without argument. Especially when he thinks for a moment about his own bed in his own house, after a week and half in hotels, and it’s a thought that makes him feel more tired than the plane alone could even.
But it doesn’t stop him from stressing, even normal, “After.”
He still wants to see it first. He needs to. He wouldn’t change his mind about coming home, when he had, that he had — he can’t help looking to his side, to Victor at his side, just the profile of his face as he’s walking, at the thought, and Yuri’s not sure he could walk away, could have chosen to stay, even after what Yurio did, at all at this second, not even for a gold medal.
Which isn’t exactly a safe thought, or one he should be having here, is it? Yuri picks something else, far safer. Back to what Victor said.
“Maybe I’ll sleep through all of tonight and tomorrow.”
It’s not something that’s likely to happen, being allowed to sleep in that long, through even half of a day, but it feels like it would be so easy to finally sleep. Maybe really sleep. Being back home, and Victor back in the same country, same city, same house. Maybe he could finally, actually, sleep. Between those and if he could keep himself from falling into fretting over the weekend, replaying the recordings from yesterday, to pull apart every worst step.
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Date: 2017-07-23 03:58 am (UTC)If it were anyone other than Victor, Yuri would say that he was fine. He can feel it, like it’s existing right there to the side of him in his own mind. He would probably even jump back, and try to deny any implication to the contrary, with his hands raised and his voice probably louder than it needed to be.
But it isn’t anyone else.
It’s just Victor, walking, talking, next to him.
Victor, hand on Yuri’s shoulder, directing him.
There isn’t a reason to do anything more, or less, than nod quietly. Something that is assent, and maybe even more than it. Maybe actually is agreement without argument. Especially when he thinks for a moment about his own bed in his own house, after a week and half in hotels, and it’s a thought that makes him feel more tired than the plane alone could even.
But it doesn’t stop him from stressing, even normal, “After.”
He still wants to see it first. He needs to. He wouldn’t change his mind about coming home, when he had, that he had — he can’t help looking to his side, to Victor at his side, just the profile of his face as he’s walking, at the thought, and Yuri’s not sure he could walk away, could have chosen to stay, even after what Yurio did, at all at this second, not even for a gold medal.
Which isn’t exactly a safe thought, or one he should be having here, is it?
Yuri picks something else, far safer. Back to what Victor said.
“Maybe I’ll sleep through all of tonight and tomorrow.”
It’s not something that’s likely to happen, being allowed to sleep in that long, through even half of a day, but it feels like it would be so easy to finally sleep. Maybe really sleep. Being back home, and Victor back in the same country, same city, same house. Maybe he could finally, actually, sleep. Between those and if he could keep himself from falling into fretting over the weekend, replaying the recordings from yesterday, to pull apart every worst step.