It's dizzying. Those first few seconds. The world is a wash of confused brilliance and his entire body throbbing everywhere, as waves and waves of cheering hit him just as physically as everything in his body pushing outward, while his mouth is gasping air, like he just broke the surface of the ocean.
Things are already being thrown down around him, and he, or his body, or some fluid amalgam between those two, knows what to do next. Slide to the side, one foot behind the other, against the toe pick, and throw his open his arms. Accepting the cheer that just seems to go on and on. And on. Dizzying dots. Heart in his throat. His eyes. The whole audience a blur of movement and colors and screaming. Everything is. More than normal.
His hands still high, with that roar, as he goes sliding toward the open gate waiting for him.
Where Victor -- isn't?
But he isn't hard to find, when Yuri's confused gaze swings to one side and he can spot the rapidly approaching and clarifying brown of his jacket. It means his fingers can clutch the top of the wall and he can let those ragged breaths still demanding to stuff air into his lungs, into the phantom and cement of his body, win for a few longer seconds.
The world is still a roar of sound, but everything narrows, floods, around Victor. Victor. Breathless with the high. (The crash that's already started.) His face more numb than aware of the stretch that had been a smile, that needed more. Even floundering in and out of the focus of his vision, of his thoughts, of his body winded beyond belief. Good enough for the pandemonium of the room, the excrucriating pace of his heart, but not certain where Victor would start this time.
What might have been wrong. (Whether it was good enough for him.)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
zaluzianskya and ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
skylark_photos
no subject
Date: 2017-04-04 04:06 pm (UTC)Things are already being thrown down around him, and he, or his body, or some fluid amalgam between those two, knows what to do next. Slide to the side, one foot behind the other, against the toe pick, and throw his open his arms. Accepting the cheer that just seems to go on and on. And on. Dizzying dots. Heart in his throat. His eyes. The whole audience a blur of movement and colors and screaming. Everything is. More than normal.
His hands still high, with that roar, as he goes sliding toward the open gate waiting for him.
Where Victor -- isn't?
But he isn't hard to find, when Yuri's confused gaze swings to one side and he can spot the rapidly approaching and clarifying brown of his jacket. It means his fingers can clutch the top of the wall and he can let those ragged breaths still demanding to stuff air into his lungs, into the phantom and cement of his body, win for a few longer seconds.
The world is still a roar of sound, but everything narrows, floods, around Victor. Victor. Breathless with the high. (The crash that's already started.) His face more numb than aware of the stretch that had been a smile, that needed more. Even floundering in and out of the focus of his vision, of his thoughts, of his body winded beyond belief. Good enough for the pandemonium of the room, the excrucriating pace of his heart, but not certain where Victor would start this time.
What might have been wrong. (Whether it was good enough for him.)