Yuri? is in his mouth to ask, when Yuri is silent, and silent, and silent. Staring at their hands, before beginning to curl in on himself like he's about to cry, like there's a terrible pain in his stomach. Shoulders collapsing, head tucking forward, and his name is in Victor's mouth with a worried edge to the two familiar syllables, before it's replaced by what?
Also placed on his tongue like a marble, balancing there, before becoming a cannonball and rolling down Victor's throat, crushing everything in its path and landing in his gut. A reflex that's almost followed by did you say? because for a second he doesn't think he heard Yuri.
And then he doesn't think he heard Yuri right.
Yuri doesn't speak Russian. He's picked up a few words here and there, but he's not up to more than the most basic of phrases. It isn't possible that he's speaking it now.
Just like it's not possible he said that, right now. Here, in the car. With Victor driving. A phrase he'd have no reason to know, to have at the ready without having his phone and a translator app out and at the ready.
Which means it might actually be a dream, this car ride. If Yuri's suddenly speaking Russian, it has to be a dream, right? He's still asleep, dreaming of their reunion, dreaming of a way where it would be possible for Yuri to know that, to say it, to say it here, now. Barely above a whisper, but the car is quiet with the music even low, and Victor's almost positive that none of this is real after all. No Maccachin, no Yuri, just him alone, dreaming of the two living things he loves the most in this world.
But his arm is getting a little strained from having his hand pulled towards the passenger seat, and it's all so detailed for a dream: the cars passing by, the ads on the radio in between the songs, and Yuri.
Yuri, trying to pull in on himself like he's embarrassed, like he doesn't want Victor to hear, but if this is real, and he did say that ––
That bowling ball in his stomach suddenly dousing itself with petrol and lighting itself on fire, sending a gout of heat burning through Victor's system, blushing up his throat and into his cheeks and along his arm until it feels like Yuri has to feel like the hand held between his is on fire.
Yuri. Saying that. Saying that in Russian, which means Yuri must have looked it up, must have memorized it, must have had it there, something he's been wanting to say. Now mumbling it into the dark, but giving it life, giving it sound, giving it to Victor, and the only reason Victor doesn't pull off the road right this second in order to gather Yuri into his arms is the fact that there's no shoulder here to pull onto.
It's in his voice, though. He can hear it. This utter feeling of being washed away, and away, and away.
(It's everything he's been feeling ever since he left the Star Hotel.)
Hand tightening into a grip that's probably too hard, but he doesn't know how to gentle it, doesn't know how to stop this love from being so painful, how else to express the way it feels like Yuri has cracked his chest right open and it's Victor's idiotic, selfish, unworthy, helpless heart cradled there instead of his hand.
His voice gone suspiciously thick and low, and what is there to say, when all he wants to do is show?
But he has to. Say this. Yuri's being so brave. Even four words a struggle, that sounded almost reluctant, while Victor's feel like they can't ever actually mean anything like what he needs them too. "I need you with me, too."
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Date: 2017-07-28 03:34 am (UTC)Also placed on his tongue like a marble, balancing there, before becoming a cannonball and rolling down Victor's throat, crushing everything in its path and landing in his gut. A reflex that's almost followed by did you say? because for a second he doesn't think he heard Yuri.
And then he doesn't think he heard Yuri right.
Yuri doesn't speak Russian. He's picked up a few words here and there, but he's not up to more than the most basic of phrases. It isn't possible that he's speaking it now.
Just like it's not possible he said that, right now. Here, in the car. With Victor driving. A phrase he'd have no reason to know, to have at the ready without having his phone and a translator app out and at the ready.
Which means it might actually be a dream, this car ride. If Yuri's suddenly speaking Russian, it has to be a dream, right? He's still asleep, dreaming of their reunion, dreaming of a way where it would be possible for Yuri to know that, to say it, to say it here, now. Barely above a whisper, but the car is quiet with the music even low, and Victor's almost positive that none of this is real after all. No Maccachin, no Yuri, just him alone, dreaming of the two living things he loves the most in this world.
But his arm is getting a little strained from having his hand pulled towards the passenger seat, and it's all so detailed for a dream: the cars passing by, the ads on the radio in between the songs, and Yuri.
Yuri, trying to pull in on himself like he's embarrassed, like he doesn't want Victor to hear, but if this is real, and he did say that ––
That bowling ball in his stomach suddenly dousing itself with petrol and lighting itself on fire, sending a gout of heat burning through Victor's system, blushing up his throat and into his cheeks and along his arm until it feels like Yuri has to feel like the hand held between his is on fire.
Yuri. Saying that. Saying that in Russian, which means Yuri must have looked it up, must have memorized it, must have had it there, something he's been wanting to say. Now mumbling it into the dark, but giving it life, giving it sound, giving it to Victor, and the only reason Victor doesn't pull off the road right this second in order to gather Yuri into his arms is the fact that there's no shoulder here to pull onto.
It's in his voice, though. He can hear it. This utter feeling of being washed away, and away, and away.
(It's everything he's been feeling ever since he left the Star Hotel.)
Hand tightening into a grip that's probably too hard, but he doesn't know how to gentle it, doesn't know how to stop this love from being so painful, how else to express the way it feels like Yuri has cracked his chest right open and it's Victor's idiotic, selfish, unworthy, helpless heart cradled there instead of his hand.
His voice gone suspiciously thick and low, and what is there to say, when all he wants to do is show?
But he has to. Say this. Yuri's being so brave. Even four words a struggle, that sounded almost reluctant, while Victor's feel like they can't ever actually mean anything like what he needs them too. "I need you with me, too."