Victor questioning him, what he says, what he does, that happens regularly enough not to blink at it except when fluster, but not agreeing, and not even just saying he doesn't ... saying he still misses Yuri, right now. While they are right here. While Victor is this close, with his hand against the side of Yuri's head, with Yuri more than not still an ungraceful, uncentered pile mostly in his lap. He's not expecting it. He's not even sure his heart knows how to hold the idea. How Victor keeps saying things he's not sure anyone in the world really says, until Victor has now.
The reaction is as confusing as a number of the other things Victor's said tonight. If it was anything more than sounds dissipated into the air, Yuri would collect it and corral it. The words and these feelings. The hiccup of surprise. The bruise of relief. The strange possessive warmth. The guilt for not making it better, and for liking a little. That Victor missed him. Even a little.
Even if he doesn't need to miss him right now. Even if there's nowhere else Yuri could go. Would go. Wanted to be.
He has to wonder if his heart knows how to take any of this, when Victor goes on, adding more to it than the already overwhelming admission that he's missing Yuri, right here, right now. Adding to it that he doesn't think he could take it happening again, and it just seems to put even more oomph behind every feeling that had roused it's head for his first one. Along with the one where it will, won't it? When they're done. Done, for real.
Yuri doesn't want that here, right now. Sitting between them. Pulling him back. He wants to give into that ache in his chest that just wants to reach out. That justs wants to touch Victor's face, even the side of his head like Victor is touching his, wants to pull him back in close, right against him. Wants to say a thousand words, or even ten, to soften the signs of Victor's honesty in his expression. Drag back his careless smile, and his flippant, flirty, bluntness that, also, makes it hard to talk and breathe.
It's not his face -- now when Yuri feels like every muscle around his sternum tenses toward cement, dragging inward toward a void, for movement, like a pane of glass trembling and threatening to shatter -- but he reaches up, slowly, to find Victor's forearm, of the hand in his hair. "You will be."
He would. For so many days still. Even if it was so many fewer coming than had gone, there was still so much to do, to practice and to decide. He'd be skating most of the days of the next month, with Victor at the boards or right beside him. Where Yuri needed him, too. He did. He knew that even more now, too. It was different. Without Victor there, everything was different. He needed Victor there. With him.
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Victor questioning him, what he says, what he does, that happens regularly enough not to blink at it except when fluster, but not agreeing, and not even just saying he doesn't ... saying he still misses Yuri, right now. While they are right here. While Victor is this close, with his hand against the side of Yuri's head, with Yuri more than not still an ungraceful, uncentered pile mostly in his lap. He's not expecting it. He's not even sure his heart knows how to hold the idea. How Victor keeps saying things he's not sure anyone in the world really says, until Victor has now.
The reaction is as confusing as a number of the other things Victor's said tonight. If it was anything more than sounds dissipated into the air, Yuri would collect it and corral it. The words and these feelings. The hiccup of surprise. The bruise of relief. The strange possessive warmth. The guilt for not making it better, and for liking a little. That Victor missed him. Even a little.
Even if he doesn't need to miss him right now.
Even if there's nowhere else Yuri could go.
Would go. Wanted to be.
He has to wonder if his heart knows how to take any of this, when Victor goes on, adding more to it than the already overwhelming admission that he's missing Yuri, right here, right now. Adding to it that he doesn't think he could take it happening again, and it just seems to put even more oomph behind every feeling that had roused it's head for his first one. Along with the one where it will, won't it? When they're done. Done, for real.
Yuri doesn't want that here, right now. Sitting between them. Pulling him back. He wants to give into that ache in his chest that just wants to reach out. That justs wants to touch Victor's face, even the side of his head like Victor is touching his, wants to pull him back in close, right against him. Wants to say a thousand words, or even ten, to soften the signs of Victor's honesty in his expression. Drag back his careless smile, and his flippant, flirty, bluntness that, also, makes it hard to talk and breathe.
It's not his face -- now when Yuri feels like every muscle around his sternum tenses toward cement, dragging inward toward a void, for movement, like a pane of glass trembling and threatening to shatter -- but he reaches up, slowly, to find Victor's forearm, of the hand in his hair. "You will be."
He would. For so many days still. Even if it was so many fewer coming than had gone, there was still so much to do, to practice and to decide. He'd be skating most of the days of the next month, with Victor at the boards or right beside him. Where Yuri needed him, too. He did. He knew that even more now, too. It was different. Without Victor there, everything was different. He needed Victor there. With him.