It's not a chore to get up and walk to the bathroom. It's a little annoying to find himself reorienting to the pain again, with the quiet pressing in. He doesn't exactly feel like the silence is smothering him, but he's still not against the idea of putting the pillow over his head. Even once he's off the bed. He can at least carry the feeling of it, and the mental image of it.
He's not going to get to now any more than he did earlier. (But, maybe, when they go to bed and the lights are out...)
Water. He has a goal. Water. When the cup isn't that hard to find. Still sitting innocent and innocuous beside the bed where it was last left when he'd taken his pills and drained it of the water Victor had originally brought him. It doesn't matter that he's taken the painkillers. It still hurts, which somewhere means it hurts more than it hurts now, but it hurts like it always does, with a dash of angry reminder and coming the promise of more pain, training harder, even mid-qualifiers, on top of it.
He really shouldn't be leaning on the bathroom counter being momentarily glad for the distractions from it. That seems. He doesn't even know. Wrong. Rude. Discourteous. Belittling. Insulting. Especially when he's not the person here who'd have ever. Not for a distraction. Not ever before this night. Which does not play out well as a mirrored thought. His implication. The question of capability, and the inclusion of all too willing subjects, which could be found in the millions and who might not even care then.
He can tell himself that Victor wouldn't, not to him, but maybe it's a stretch and he's filling it drinking more of the water from his cup. Does he really have a clue about any of that. Except that Victor had said. Well. A lot of this, at this point. But those ones stuck, like he's lodged toepicks into Yuri's bones and let them there. Irremovable.
Telling Yuri what Yuri had done to him, as though it wasn't a thing those millions of people, who were very much not Yuri, would have probably actually tried hard to do. Make happen. Not simply be informed they'd done. He wasn't. He hadn't. He didn't. (But Victor said.) He drank more of his water and leaned on the counter with his good side, avoiding the mirror. Maybe a little too long, when the door sounds from not far away and is followed by Victor's voice sliding in to cut the silence of the rooms again.
Yuri finished his current swallow, and said, "In here."
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Date: 2017-04-28 02:49 am (UTC)He's not going to get to now any more than he did earlier.
(But, maybe, when they go to bed and the lights are out...)
Water. He has a goal. Water. When the cup isn't that hard to find. Still sitting innocent and innocuous beside the bed where it was last left when he'd taken his pills and drained it of the water Victor had originally brought him. It doesn't matter that he's taken the painkillers. It still hurts, which somewhere means it hurts more than it hurts now, but it hurts like it always does, with a dash of angry reminder and coming the promise of more pain, training harder, even mid-qualifiers, on top of it.
He really shouldn't be leaning on the bathroom counter being momentarily glad for the distractions from it. That seems. He doesn't even know. Wrong. Rude. Discourteous. Belittling. Insulting. Especially when he's not the person here who'd have ever. Not for a distraction. Not ever before this night. Which does not play out well as a mirrored thought. His implication. The question of capability, and the inclusion of all too willing subjects, which could be found in the millions and who might not even care then.
He can tell himself that Victor wouldn't, not to him, but maybe it's a stretch and he's filling it drinking more of the water from his cup. Does he really have a clue about any of that. Except that Victor had said. Well. A lot of this, at this point. But those ones stuck, like he's lodged toepicks into Yuri's bones and let them there. Irremovable.
Telling Yuri what Yuri had done to him, as though it wasn't a thing those millions of people, who were very much not Yuri, would have probably actually tried hard to do. Make happen. Not simply be informed they'd done. He wasn't. He hadn't. He didn't. (But Victor said.) He drank more of his water and leaned on the counter with his good side, avoiding the mirror. Maybe a little too long, when the door sounds from not far away and is followed by Victor's voice sliding in to cut the silence of the rooms again.
Yuri finished his current swallow, and said, "In here."