Yuri's first beleaguered thought is that 'sitting' is not what Victor is doing. Victor is laying across half of his entire bed. It takes up a greater amount of space than Victor had sitting on his side of the dinner tray ... or even the same space Victor must have taken up while sitting with Yuri in his lap. A thought that somehow warms his face. Which must be stupid.
Still he slightly looks down, then nods, looking back up and stepping over toward the other side of the bed, around the end corner on that side. He can set down his cup on the floor on that side, making sure that it is balanced, and sit down on his -- this side of Victor's bed. The one he's been pretty much on since they got back to the room. Let go of the cup and sit down, curling one of his legs under him, and look at Victor sprawled out in front of him.
Surreal and watching him serenely behind those eyes that he'd gotten used to watching him, to think he knew what was behind and why, which all seems like someone picked it up and shook it. They are at once the familiar shades he's always woken up to and come back to, after every run, practice, performance, and something else. Again. Something like the sea. Shifting shades and shadows and he doesn't know what else anymore.
Only that he is watching, and everything about Victor the long graceful lines on his side. The curve of a shoulder, the curl of his arm and hand, and the press of his fingers on the bed, against his own head. It's a little much. Victor, like this, when it would never have been, even if they'd been here, just like this, exactly like this, earlier this morning (and something in him isn't sure it likes there being any shift to that now-broken ease between them, even in his head, especially in his own head).
He should say something, shouldn't he? But all of the words feel like they've flown off or dried up or drowned, and his eyes come down, to land on the ice pack again and at least he can do something about that. Can reach out and pick it up, making sure the towel is around it securely and place it against the space of his lower hip and upper thigh. There was no point in waiting on that, and it gave him another few seconds, even if all of those felt -- and were -- watched, too.
no subject
Still he slightly looks down, then nods, looking back up and stepping over toward the other side of the bed, around the end corner on that side. He can set down his cup on the floor on that side, making sure that it is balanced, and sit down on his -- this side of Victor's bed. The one he's been pretty much on since they got back to the room. Let go of the cup and sit down, curling one of his legs under him, and look at Victor sprawled out in front of him.
Surreal and watching him serenely behind those eyes that he'd gotten used to watching him, to think he knew what was behind and why, which all seems like someone picked it up and shook it. They are at once the familiar shades he's always woken up to and come back to, after every run, practice, performance, and something else. Again. Something like the sea. Shifting shades and shadows and he doesn't know what else anymore.
Only that he is watching, and everything about Victor the long graceful lines on his side. The curve of a shoulder, the curl of his arm and hand, and the press of his fingers on the bed, against his own head. It's a little much. Victor, like this, when it would never have been, even if they'd been here, just like this, exactly like this, earlier this morning (and something in him isn't sure it likes there being any shift to that now-broken ease between them, even in his head, especially in his own head).
He should say something, shouldn't he? But all of the words feel like they've flown off or dried up or drowned, and his eyes come down, to land on the ice pack again and at least he can do something about that. Can reach out and pick it up, making sure the towel is around it securely and place it against the space of his lower hip and upper thigh. There was no point in waiting on that, and it gave him another few seconds, even if all of those felt -- and were -- watched, too.