Victor apologizes, right across the image of Yuri picturing them. Some rink, with a shape he doesn't know and a background he doesn't know, with lights hanging from somewhere that he doesn't know how work, like low stars, or gleaming fireflies suspended in the sky. With Victor at his side, skating probably in public circles, is what it sounds like, even though neither of them -- well, at least, Yuri hasn't done that except in laps in so long it seems childhood distant.
It takes some of the light out of it those words. Snuffs them delicately like the night sky becomes a drop cloth.
While Victor suddenly picks up his chopsticks and starts changing it. That it could just be like everything else. It didn't have to be anything. It didn't have to be ... a date. Just an outting. Just like everywhere else in Japan Victor had drug him, erstwhile company and even amused companion, because it was hard to stay forlorn long in the face of Victor unwavering adoration for everything new.
Instead he goes back to the food, and he starts talking about Yuri's hip and his jumps for tomorrow, and it's all Yuri can take really. He's trying. He is, and everytime he thinks for a second he has something, everything slides, and everytime he thinks he has the next thing, it all slides again. It's not even like the ice is slippery, it's like the ground won't stop moving, and Victor won't stand still long enough to let him.
He doesn't even entirely know where it comes from, but by the time Victor is on his jumps, he says, "Don't do that."
He's not even certain if Victor's done talking, but he doesn't want to listen. To know how Victor can just switch back and forth so easily. Like it's nothing. How he can listen to of these sudden jarring topic changes, trying to following, when it feels like his feet (his heart) are three back, whining about being drug from that spot with the lights, or by the door, and maybe he wasn't ready every single time Victor said or did something, but it didn't mean he wanted it to suddenly get shoved away the next second, too, before he might be.
"I know I'm not doing ... well at any of this," if anything it sounds more irritated than apologetic. At himself, at Victor's sudden change of scene and topic, right as he thought for a second. Might have finally, just for a second, been able to try and see it Victor's way. Barely.
Insane. Impossible. And somehow ... Victor wanted him. Wanted him there.
And then just took it away again, less than a minute and half later. Because of him.
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Date: 2017-04-20 04:19 am (UTC)It takes some of the light out of it those words. Snuffs them delicately like the night sky becomes a drop cloth.
While Victor suddenly picks up his chopsticks and starts changing it. That it could just be like everything else. It didn't have to be anything. It didn't have to be ... a date. Just an outting. Just like everywhere else in Japan Victor had drug him, erstwhile company and even amused companion, because it was hard to stay forlorn long in the face of Victor unwavering adoration for everything new.
Instead he goes back to the food, and he starts talking about Yuri's hip and his jumps for tomorrow, and it's all Yuri can take really. He's trying. He is, and everytime he thinks for a second he has something, everything slides, and everytime he thinks he has the next thing, it all slides again. It's not even like the ice is slippery, it's like the ground won't stop moving, and Victor won't stand still long enough to let him.
He doesn't even entirely know where it comes from, but by the time Victor is on his jumps, he says, "Don't do that."
He's not even certain if Victor's done talking, but he doesn't want to listen. To know how Victor can just switch back and forth so easily. Like it's nothing. How he can listen to of these sudden jarring topic changes, trying to following, when it feels like his feet (his heart) are three back, whining about being drug from that spot with the lights, or by the door, and maybe he wasn't ready every single time Victor said or did something, but it didn't mean he wanted it to suddenly get shoved away the next second, too, before he might be.
"I know I'm not doing ... well at any of this," if anything it sounds more irritated than apologetic.
At himself, at Victor's sudden change of scene and topic, right as he thought for a second.
Might have finally, just for a second, been able to try and see it Victor's way. Barely.
Insane. Impossible. And somehow ... Victor wanted him. Wanted him there.
And then just took it away again, less than a minute and half later. Because of him.