It's hard to entirely look at Victor head on after that first good, and especially at the warmth trying to push itself into his already and still flushed cheeks when Victor mirrors back his own words. Not just repeating that he'd wanted Yuri to stay, had asked Yuri to stay, but mirroring Yuri's own words about not wanting him to leave, and it should all be the same.
But it still all gets warm under his breast bone, and the bottoms of his glasses, and it's only a small glance back up and over to make sure at those words, like the sun was rising too hard, too fast right under his skin. A strange echo, and one that some still feels insanely impossible, even if Victor asked first, if Victor has just been kissing him. When it all feels like a strange, dizzy spin -- and one no one else might understand in the slightest -- but at least Victor is looking at the bed and not him.
Making Yuri take a second to catch up with where Victor had gone.
His words making this gargantuan leap from not wanting Yuri to leave to talk to going downstairs right after.
It takes a blink and a second to realize Victor's talking about the half-eaten piroz-katsu, half-forgotten on the bed. Reminding him, somewhere in the far back, ripple of his thoughts of his almost-entirely forgotten phone, and how it's probably still on Yurio's page. There really isn't that much time to think about it, though, before Victor's arms are sliding around his middle and he looks up not quite, but almost confused.
This face here. The one looking at him. All soft edges, and this beautiful, soft smile. This is why no one on the whole Earth would deny Victor something if they were under the receipt of this kind of look. It takes the warmth all muddled splatter in his chest and makes it a rope that is suddenly knotted all around his heart, making it stumble and flutter like he'd never known what his feet or gravity or the ground were for in the first place.
Not that getting past that is any much less confused. Victor asking about leaving, while wrapping his arms tighter on Yuri's waist. It seems the least sensible thing to go along with the question, but he doesn't want to point that out either. Doesn't want Victor to let go any more than he wants to leave, even if both are logically what should be done, too. Yuri nods, even if Victor leaving seems like the anthesis to letting himself get away with this.
But it stays at a silent nod, leaning in toward Victor's soft smile more than pulling away, more divesting himself from Victor's lap, still taking in this pleased and all too perfect expression on Victor's face, lest he open his mouth and somehow let his mouth change his mind, take it back, all of it, before Victor can even leave to come back.
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It's hard to entirely look at Victor head on after that first good, and especially at the warmth trying to push itself into his already and still flushed cheeks when Victor mirrors back his own words. Not just repeating that he'd wanted Yuri to stay, had asked Yuri to stay, but mirroring Yuri's own words about not wanting him to leave, and it should all be the same.
But it still all gets warm under his breast bone, and the bottoms of his glasses, and it's only a small glance back up and over to make sure at those words, like the sun was rising too hard, too fast right under his skin. A strange echo, and one that some still feels insanely impossible, even if Victor asked first, if Victor has just been kissing him. When it all feels like a strange, dizzy spin -- and one no one else might understand in the slightest -- but at least Victor is looking at the bed and not him.
Making Yuri take a second to catch up with where Victor had gone.
His words making this gargantuan leap from not wanting Yuri to leave to talk to going downstairs right after.
It takes a blink and a second to realize Victor's talking about the half-eaten piroz-katsu, half-forgotten on the bed. Reminding him, somewhere in the far back, ripple of his thoughts of his almost-entirely forgotten phone, and how it's probably still on Yurio's page. There really isn't that much time to think about it, though, before Victor's arms are sliding around his middle and he looks up not quite, but almost confused.
This face here. The one looking at him. All soft edges, and this beautiful, soft smile. This is why no one on the whole Earth would deny Victor something if they were under the receipt of this kind of look. It takes the warmth all muddled splatter in his chest and makes it a rope that is suddenly knotted all around his heart, making it stumble and flutter like he'd never known what his feet or gravity or the ground were for in the first place.
Not that getting past that is any much less confused. Victor asking about leaving, while wrapping his arms tighter on Yuri's waist. It seems the least sensible thing to go along with the question, but he doesn't want to point that out either. Doesn't want Victor to let go any more than he wants to leave, even if both are logically what should be done, too. Yuri nods, even if Victor leaving seems like the anthesis to letting himself get away with this.
But it stays at a silent nod, leaning in toward Victor's soft smile more than pulling away, more divesting himself from Victor's lap, still taking in this pleased and all too perfect expression on Victor's face, lest he open his mouth and somehow let his mouth change his mind, take it back, all of it, before Victor can even leave to come back.