Victor's voice is smooth and calm, the way it's been the greatest percent of the day so far. As much as it grabs his attention, and he does listen, it feels like something in the breeze just out of touch, too, when he's making sure that he, and they, far enough out of the way of the gate to not be in the way of the skaters behind him, or their coaches coming to them, too.
He's never loved this part. The part between. When everything is waiting. Counting down. The clock both too fast and too slow.
Yuri changes back out of his outfit and looks around nearby to make sure he hasn't dropped anything, before thinking he's ready to just let Victor drag him away from wherever he's going to for the next while. Like he's this small boat caught up in Victor's undertow, tethered to the sound of his voice, walking something that looks like steadily, even though it feels like he'll just be bobbling the whole time. Even now. Standing still.
Flawless. He needs to be flawless. That thought caught on his fingers when he's stepping out of the locker room. The others out here in small groups. Familiar faces, colors, and emblems readying themselves. But ... not Victor? Yuri looked at all the faces, again, but there was no urge to go anywhere else. Victor said here. He might have been pulled away by someone, but Yuri could just wait. All he had was waiting now anyway. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting.
All of it pinpricks on the back of his eyelids. The hold of his shoulders. The awareness of his weight shifting in during walking steps.
Instead, he dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone, while walking back toward the main waiting area. Pulling up his feed and scrolling, distractedly. Glad for a moment to just pause, breathing, not told what to do, where to go, given a new barrage of questions, and hating it all at once. The conflicted wash of a mess. Until his own face slides across the screen. Catapulting his boat into the deep end without a second's warning, the bottom of the boat gone entirely in less than a breath.
Because it's there in front of him. The thing he's been trying to shove back, shove aside, brush off the tendrils of. His hand might be shaking. Or maybe it's his whole body. (Making the whole thing seem in movement more than stuck.) Eyes darting around those gathered with him. (Victor's muscles back, and his arm around Yuri.) Finding the source of this - this - this sudden - (His own face, askew glasses, wide eyes, flushed face) "Phichit-kun!"
There's a shrill note of panicked dread, shock, embarrassment flaring upward in his mouth, his voice. (Victor's eyes, glassy and slit, looking barely focused, warningly against whatever's distracted him.) He's with the other two from last night even, though Yuri isn't sure how he crossed the room or even has legs anymore. (His own face, looking shocked at the taking of the picture ... and not so much ... the everything ... the all of it. Phichit-kun's half-cut expression of amazement. Victor.)
"Yuri!" It sounds excited, and then chagrin, when his gaze is bouncing back and forth between Yuri's face and Yuri's phone in Yuri's hand. Back and forth and back and forth, like a ping-pong ball, while Yuri is certain the feeling in his hand is gone. (It has more than 3,000 likes already. Had he even opened his phone since waking up? Where else could it be already?) "Oh! Ah!" Phichit was rubbing at his hair. "Gomen! I couldn't stop myself from sharing it online!"
The other two next to him, the same ones who came last night, are grumbling at Phichit while Yuri is certain his head is about to just snap from his neck and roll down his shoulder like a weighted ball. This isn't. It wasn't. It didn't. Not like this. Not like it looks like. Like he and Victor were. It wasn't like. His mind can't even grasp enough to add. Flickers. Distorted. Stopping before starting. No traction. There's oil under his shoes. How many people have seen this. Already. Today. This morning. Here.
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Date: 2017-04-02 03:07 pm (UTC)He's never loved this part. The part between. When everything is waiting. Counting down. The clock both too fast and too slow.
Yuri changes back out of his outfit and looks around nearby to make sure he hasn't dropped anything, before thinking he's ready to just let Victor drag him away from wherever he's going to for the next while. Like he's this small boat caught up in Victor's undertow, tethered to the sound of his voice, walking something that looks like steadily, even though it feels like he'll just be bobbling the whole time. Even now. Standing still.
Flawless. He needs to be flawless. That thought caught on his fingers when he's stepping out of the locker room. The others out here in small groups. Familiar faces, colors, and emblems readying themselves. But ... not Victor? Yuri looked at all the faces, again, but there was no urge to go anywhere else. Victor said here. He might have been pulled away by someone, but Yuri could just wait. All he had was waiting now anyway. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting.
All of it pinpricks on the back of his eyelids. The hold of his shoulders. The awareness of his weight shifting in during walking steps.
Instead, he dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone, while walking back toward the main waiting area. Pulling up his feed and scrolling, distractedly. Glad for a moment to just pause, breathing, not told what to do, where to go, given a new barrage of questions, and hating it all at once. The conflicted wash of a mess. Until his own face slides across the screen. Catapulting his boat into the deep end without a second's warning, the bottom of the boat gone entirely in less than a breath.
Because it's there in front of him. The thing he's been trying to shove back, shove aside, brush off the tendrils of. His hand might be shaking. Or maybe it's his whole body. (Making the whole thing seem in movement more than stuck.) Eyes darting around those gathered with him. (Victor's muscles back, and his arm around Yuri.) Finding the source of this - this - this sudden - (His own face, askew glasses, wide eyes, flushed face) "Phichit-kun!"
There's a shrill note of panicked dread, shock, embarrassment flaring upward in his mouth, his voice. (Victor's eyes, glassy and slit, looking barely focused, warningly against whatever's distracted him.) He's with the other two from last night even, though Yuri isn't sure how he crossed the room or even has legs anymore. (His own face, looking shocked at the taking of the picture ... and not so much ... the everything ... the all of it. Phichit-kun's half-cut expression of amazement. Victor.)
"Yuri!" It sounds excited, and then chagrin, when his gaze is bouncing back and forth between Yuri's face and Yuri's phone in Yuri's hand. Back and forth and back and forth, like a ping-pong ball, while Yuri is certain the feeling in his hand is gone. (It has more than 3,000 likes already. Had he even opened his phone since waking up? Where else could it be already?) "Oh! Ah!" Phichit was rubbing at his hair. "Gomen! I couldn't stop myself from sharing it online!"
The other two next to him, the same ones who came last night, are grumbling at Phichit while Yuri is certain his head is about to just snap from his neck and roll down his shoulder like a weighted ball. This isn't. It wasn't. It didn't. Not like this. Not like it looks like. Like he and Victor were. It wasn't like. His mind can't even grasp enough to add. Flickers. Distorted. Stopping before starting. No traction. There's oil under his shoes. How many people have seen this. Already. Today. This morning. Here.
How many of them think he and Victor have been --