He hadn't, of course. Said anything. He'd made a noise that he shouldn't, for a thought he probably shouldn't have even let out, and even more increasingly -- as Victor curled around him, as he could feel Victor's heart against part of his forehead and cheek, and Victor's chest expand both against his face and under his arm -- he didn't want to have to put it into words. Not again, or not now.
That second's reaction where he didn't think Victor needed him to sleep. Victor who could fall asleep on tatami mats, or a plane, who said he napped during the competition days when everyone else in the world was pacing, stretching, practicing their arms, and trying not to do anything like panic. The idea had escaped as a preposterous sound against Victor's newest topic to embellish and exaggerate.
Except --
(and this reminder, as though he's been anywhere, at all, all night to forget, even for a second)
-- Victor has looked exhausted since he arrived, hasn't he? Hadn't he thought before he even threw himself into Victor's arms at the airport? Hadn't he thought it in the car, and even in this room at least once or twice. That Victor seemed tired, from the pale hair on the top of his head, all through way through how he moved. He had. Yuri had thought it, and Victor had looked it, and, maybe, if Yuri's hand tightens a little on Victor's shirt it's at the striking idea of it being him, too.
Maccachin was the larger part of that, but Maccachin had been good for the last day, and still he hadn't slept through that? Even though Yuri's mother would have doted on Victor and understood entirely if Victor had slept this whole day after worrying with him, beside them, here or at the vet, until they knew everything was alright. It was a wave, confused and cold and warm, splashing over his skin, making him hold on to Victor, making him want to curl in even closer.
This idea that he was any part of Victor's last few nights once he was gone.
The way Victor had been. Wrapped up in every other stress. But an aching absence, more present than seemed possible.
Yuri looked up confused when Victor pulled back, taking the warmth of his shirt and his skin, putting space between where Yuri had been and Victor's chest had. It had him looking up and blinking, through eyes that hadn't been in the slightest open a second ago. Victor's three words creasing the line of his mouth where he wished he could sigh and it was headed more toward a frown. He didn't want to explain --
But Victor's follow-up flat foots Yuri's thoughts entirely, making him swallow hard at the fast, hard reminder of the car. The car where he hadn't said a lot, because he'd slept more than been awake on that drive. He knows even before he can ask the question what he means, that Victor means the one thing he probably mangled most of all. Saying those few words across a car, nothing like any dream or plan or idea Yuri had turned over in his hotel bed, or in the snow.
Nothing exciting, or declarative, or special.
Overwhelmed with Victor back, and overwhelming in his head, and a mess, squeaked out. Looking back, no matter his intentions, it seemed even that had gone exactly like most things he tried.
It's already out, though. It's the only thought between Yuri's tensing muscles and warming face. He already said that. Victor already heard it, knows he said it. But. Even beyond that. With the lingering want to already not be even these half inches from where he'd been pressed a minute ago, just the reminder of those words, of that idea makes him swallow, a little harder and dryer than expected even.
At least it's dark? Yuri's gaze kept moving between Victor's face formed in the shadows and the pillow beside his head. It feels foolish, to try and own those words. It feels more true, than earlier, than the car, the airport, the hotel bed.
Like it paints who he is in the dark, more than the shape of his skin. Or the distance he's come. Like it leaves him exposed and unprotected, even more in this darkness of Victor's room.
But it would be futile not to respond, wouldn't it? It was already said.
Yuri swallows. Once. Twice. Pulling a breath in his nose, that seems so much slower than the pace picking up in his own chest, as his gaze start upward, drop down, and drift upward toward the end again. "Мне тебя не хватает"
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Date: 2017-09-22 12:05 pm (UTC)He hadn't, of course. Said anything. He'd made a noise that he shouldn't, for a thought he probably shouldn't have even let out, and even more increasingly -- as Victor curled around him, as he could feel Victor's heart against part of his forehead and cheek, and Victor's chest expand both against his face and under his arm -- he didn't want to have to put it into words. Not again, or not now.
That second's reaction where he didn't think Victor needed him to sleep. Victor who could fall asleep on tatami mats, or a plane, who said he napped during the competition days when everyone else in the world was pacing, stretching, practicing their arms, and trying not to do anything like panic. The idea had escaped as a preposterous sound against Victor's newest topic to embellish and exaggerate.
Except --
(and this reminder, as though he's been anywhere, at all, all night to forget, even for a second)
-- Victor has looked exhausted since he arrived, hasn't he? Hadn't he thought before he even threw himself into Victor's arms at the airport? Hadn't he thought it in the car, and even in this room at least once or twice. That Victor seemed tired, from the pale hair on the top of his head, all through way through how he moved. He had. Yuri had thought it, and Victor had looked it, and, maybe, if Yuri's hand tightens a little on Victor's shirt it's at the striking idea of it being him, too.
Maccachin was the larger part of that, but Maccachin had been good for the last day, and still he hadn't slept through that? Even though Yuri's mother would have doted on Victor and understood entirely if Victor had slept this whole day after worrying with him, beside them, here or at the vet, until they knew everything was alright. It was a wave, confused and cold and warm, splashing over his skin, making him hold on to Victor, making him want to curl in even closer.
This idea that he was any part of Victor's last few nights once he was gone.
The way Victor had been. Wrapped up in every other stress.
But an aching absence, more present than seemed possible.
Yuri looked up confused when Victor pulled back, taking the warmth of his shirt and his skin, putting space between where Yuri had been and Victor's chest had. It had him looking up and blinking, through eyes that hadn't been in the slightest open a second ago. Victor's three words creasing the line of his mouth where he wished he could sigh and it was headed more toward a frown. He didn't want to explain --
But Victor's follow-up flat foots Yuri's thoughts entirely, making him swallow hard at the fast, hard reminder of the car. The car where he hadn't said a lot, because he'd slept more than been awake on that drive. He knows even before he can ask the question what he means, that Victor means the one thing he probably mangled most of all. Saying those few words across a car, nothing like any dream or plan or idea Yuri had turned over in his hotel bed, or in the snow.
Nothing exciting, or declarative, or special.
Overwhelmed with Victor back, and overwhelming in his head, and a mess, squeaked out.
Looking back, no matter his intentions, it seemed even that had gone exactly like most things he tried.
It's already out, though. It's the only thought between Yuri's tensing muscles and warming face. He already said that. Victor already heard it, knows he said it. But. Even beyond that. With the lingering want to already not be even these half inches from where he'd been pressed a minute ago, just the reminder of those words, of that idea makes him swallow, a little harder and dryer than expected even.
At least it's dark? Yuri's gaze kept moving between Victor's face formed in the shadows and the pillow beside his head.
It feels foolish, to try and own those words. It feels more true, than earlier, than the car, the airport, the hotel bed.
Like it paints who he is in the dark, more than the shape of his skin. Or the distance he's come.
Like it leaves him exposed and unprotected, even more in this darkness of Victor's room.
But it would be futile not to respond, wouldn't it? It was already said.
Yuri swallows. Once. Twice. Pulling a breath in his nose, that seems so much slower than the pace picking up in his own chest, as his gaze start upward, drop down, and drift upward toward the end again. "Мне тебя не хватает"