He can't know that his parents have gone to bed or are still puttering around the Onsen, or even the floor beneath them.
He can't know if there are patrons, two floors beneath and in the actual springs itself or the inn portions, even if those last ones couldn't make it up to here, no matter how the floor seems like it might be translucent and everyone in the building and out might be able to see them. Victor can't actually know what he's claiming. He's been up here the whole time since they got back, too.
But he leaves that one alone, for words that displace and replace and repaint his response entirely, with others that make Yuri's heart clumsy. I just got you back. Like Victor was the one who lost him. Like that's something that's even possible. Like Victor could lose anything. Like he -- but that thought is broken into another hundred pieces when Victor leans back in, even with him twisted to look back.
Victor's burying himself back against Yuri's shoulder and neck. Again. Saying it. Saying it like Yuri had tried to. Making his heart flounder and ache. Those words, gorgeous and perfect, inflection and emotion that internet recording never had, and the way Yuri certainly couldn't have managed to get anywhere near saying as fluidly as Victor says them, quietly, into his shirt.
I missed you.
I need you.
How is he supposed to have anything to fight that?
How is he supposed to have anything in him but a confused wash, and an ache that he never could define where starts or stops, for himself, or for that idea. That it even might be true. That Victor is holding on to him and saying that. Saying stay with me and I just got you back and I miss you, I need you.
A small, strained whisper in the furthest back of his head still asking wasn't this all supposed to change Victor's mind? Or bring him to his senses, and Yuri doesn't want that. That thought. That idea, when Victor is this close, and Victor keeps finding more words that stuff himself like balloons and lights into the small cavity of Yuri's chest, and the even smaller space of his mess of a heart.
But he doesn't want that.
He doesn't want Victor to want him to be anywhere else. (Right?)
He can't lift his arms above the tightened ring of Victor's arms around him, to put his arms around Victor. Or, or something. But he can move them slightly, even awkwardly turned, to slide on arm, after a pause and press forward of movement, into movement, around Victor leaning into him. Leaning his head against the side and back of Victor's buried against him. A tumble of feelings at odds with any of the rest of his world, any world he's known.
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Date: 2017-08-18 03:54 pm (UTC)He can't know that his parents have gone to bed or are still puttering around the Onsen, or even the floor beneath them.
He can't know if there are patrons, two floors beneath and in the actual springs itself or the inn portions, even if those last ones couldn't make it up to here, no matter how the floor seems like it might be translucent and everyone in the building and out might be able to see them. Victor can't actually know what he's claiming. He's been up here the whole time since they got back, too.
But he leaves that one alone, for words that displace and replace and repaint his response entirely, with others that make Yuri's heart clumsy. I just got you back. Like Victor was the one who lost him. Like that's something that's even possible. Like Victor could lose anything. Like he -- but that thought is broken into another hundred pieces when Victor leans back in, even with him twisted to look back.
Victor's burying himself back against Yuri's shoulder and neck. Again. Saying it. Saying it like Yuri had tried to. Making his heart flounder and ache. Those words, gorgeous and perfect, inflection and emotion that internet recording never had, and the way Yuri certainly couldn't have managed to get anywhere near saying as fluidly as Victor says them, quietly, into his shirt.
I missed you.
have anything to fight that?
How is he supposed to have anything in him but a confused wash, and an ache that he never could define where starts or stops, for himself, or for that idea. That it even might be true. That Victor is holding on to him and saying that. Saying stay with me and I just got you back and I miss you, I need you.
A small, strained whisper in the furthest back of his head still asking wasn't this all supposed to change Victor's mind? Or bring him to his senses, and Yuri doesn't want that. That thought. That idea, when Victor is this close, and Victor keeps finding more words that stuff himself like balloons and lights into the small cavity of Yuri's chest, and the even smaller space of his mess of a heart.
But he doesn't want that.
He doesn't want Victor to want him to be anywhere else. (Right?)
He can't lift his arms above the tightened ring of Victor's arms around him, to put his arms around Victor. Or, or something. But he can move them slightly, even awkwardly turned, to slide on arm, after a pause and press forward of movement, into movement, around Victor leaning into him. Leaning his head against the side and back of Victor's buried against him. A tumble of feelings at odds with any of the rest of his world, any world he's known.