Date: 2017-04-02 05:19 am (UTC)
theglassheart: By Existentially (Our lives are stories)
Yuri follows somewhere in the middle of the bunch, frustrated he can't do it, again. One more time. Ten more times. (Even if ten is far too many to still manage the performance and rebound, too. He's aware. Point notwithstanding.) He bends down to wipe the accumulated snow on his blades off, hooking the guards on, and there's Victor waiting. Water and tissues. His jacket, and badge.

Asking that question as the world's gravity suddenly shifts from fluid silkiness to hard, clunky stillness.

"Good," sounds less than just Good,
more like a repetition of Victor's own chosen word.
Unhelpfully so, when Yuri saddles it with, "I guess."

Especially as he's glancing back over his shoulder. The look of the practice carved ice evoking such a torn feeling of not enough, not enough, not enough. He's not done yet. But not knowing if he means right now. Or the salchow. Or Eros, itself. Or in practice. Or later today. Or. Or. He doesn't know. It's just there. Not enough. Not enough. Not enough. Not done yet.

Except he'll have awhile now. Hours to wait. Hours to fill. Hours to fret.
Hours to warm-up everywhere but the ice now.
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勝生 勇利, Katsuki Yūri

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