You know that, Victor says, starting to frown, and Yuri's knows he didn't, isn't sure even hearing it, that he does.
Which makes it even stupider, doesn't it?
Having said that out loud, having given that obviously, he didn't, that he hadn't, at least not entirely, not enough to not need to make that point, contradicting Victor's words, shouldn't have said, when he could have been silent and it could have passed without making a show out of his newest foolishness. Of holding on to whatever he could still have, whatever Victor had to give him, or not give him, said was true for him, or not true for him, even from so very far away, and losing his direction without Victor nearby.
Except, skate. Except, win.
Except he hadn't had those until it was almost too late, had he?
"Oh," is quiet. It's own kind of abashed note of being corrected, like a child, or a student, his still in that respect, too.
Not that Yuri's certain his voice needs to give the heat flushing warmer in his face any help at this point. For believing, for not knowing, or not questioning, not jumping to it like it was a conclusion. A basic lie, to pretend everything was okay. Like Victor wasn't gone. Like Maccachin wasn't hurt, possibly dying. Like Yuri wasn't alone.
Even the idea that one sentence from anyone, even Victor, could stop Yuri or Yuri's head from worrying then. Even Victor present hadn't helped in China until after he'd ended up yelling and crying. That even from winning.
Why couldn't he do any of this well? Gracefully? Sanely? Like everyone else?
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Date: 2017-08-27 01:30 pm (UTC)You know that, Victor says, starting to frown, and Yuri's knows he didn't, isn't sure even hearing it, that he does.
Which makes it even stupider, doesn't it?
Having said that out loud, having given that obviously, he didn't, that he hadn't, at least not entirely, not enough to not need to make that point, contradicting Victor's words, shouldn't have said, when he could have been silent and it could have passed without making a show out of his newest foolishness. Of holding on to whatever he could still have, whatever Victor had to give him, or not give him, said was true for him, or not true for him, even from so very far away, and losing his direction without Victor nearby.
Except, skate. Except, win.
Except he hadn't had those until it was almost too late, had he?
"Oh," is quiet. It's own kind of abashed note of being corrected, like a child, or a student, his still in that respect, too.
Not that Yuri's certain his voice needs to give the heat flushing warmer in his face any help at this point. For believing, for not knowing, or not questioning, not jumping to it like it was a conclusion. A basic lie, to pretend everything was okay. Like Victor wasn't gone. Like Maccachin wasn't hurt, possibly dying. Like Yuri wasn't alone.
Even the idea that one sentence from anyone, even Victor, could stop Yuri or Yuri's head from worrying then.
Even Victor present hadn't helped in China until after he'd ended up yelling and crying. That even from winning.
Why couldn't he do any of this well? Gracefully? Sanely? Like everyone else?