Millions and millions of plays and stories, operas and ballets, tv shows and movies were not written about this as something perfect and magical, when it all went right, for that to sound like it made any extra sense. Even if those are all just stories, like all the stories they weave and spin, mining for three or five perfect minutes on the ice, or to entertain themselves with off of it, it still feels stupid.
Like it makes even less sense the whole world is dedicated to these things if everyone in them feeling stupid and useless is normal. Yuri tries his best not to huff a note of complaint at the combination of the unhelpful words and the even less helpful tangle of his brain trying to pull that apart, injecting too much and too little. A million things he doesn't know, from his parents to the world around him.
Things he'd never though he'd really have to worry about. Even if that just increased how different he was.
It's even harder not to sigh at the last suggestion. One thing? How was he supposed to choose one thing? His thoughts were like fish, swimming under the water, scattering at a shadow and flying from him to hide in the shadows, when his lips tried to form this much, and when it didn't work they just schooled themselves back in, tumbling one over another in the space of his head.
He lifts his hand when it comes the opposite edge, staring at Victor beneath him, at the dangerous edge of consideration, and it's stupid, what does half an inch really matter. How few millimeters thick is the thin shirt that's been under his fingers. Maybe it all has to happen at once, maybe there isn't any other way. Crossing a line that feels so solid, even when he can't point to it existing, but only by moving a few breaths, a few millimeters.
"I don't like it." Yuri's voice is quiet, even in the silence of the room, when his fingers land softly against Victor's pale skin. "I don't want to feel like--" Tracing only the tips of themselves up the side of Victor's throat. "--I can't." He can feel his heart in his chest, like each word and touch is carving a layer of skin off the top of his heart. Handing off something he might never get back, that it would hurt to watch burn. "Again."
Except it's not just that, is it? It's not that simple. Because there's a whole world of people that's still true of.
And only one who isn't as true of as it is for anyone else. There's a moment his teeth are against his lip. Then. "With you." It wasn't perfect. He was never perfect, and he knew there were still more times that he couldn't talk than he could.
That he got quiet, and he couldn't put together his head for a normal day, no less a day like today. But the idea of losing the ones he had, the more than he'd ever had in his life before these. Losing all the pieces that had come together, that made him try so hard, even right now, against the tension in his chest and the danger of the silence all around him. He wasn't sure he could lose the little he'd grown to be so glad for, so reliant on, for anything. Even this, whatever this was.
Then, hated, just a little, how little of him seemed prepared to have a clear feeling agreement to that. To not wanting to lift his fingers away, not wanting to let go of what he had yesterday, and not wanting to stop this, stop pressing slowly down the soft pale line of Victor's skin, watching his own fingers like he might forget to breathe entirely if he had to stop touching Victor now.
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Like it makes even less sense the whole world is dedicated to these things if everyone in them feeling stupid and useless is normal. Yuri tries his best not to huff a note of complaint at the combination of the unhelpful words and the even less helpful tangle of his brain trying to pull that apart, injecting too much and too little. A million things he doesn't know, from his parents to the world around him.
Things he'd never though he'd really have to worry about. Even if that just increased how different he was.
It's even harder not to sigh at the last suggestion. One thing? How was he supposed to choose one thing? His thoughts were like fish, swimming under the water, scattering at a shadow and flying from him to hide in the shadows, when his lips tried to form this much, and when it didn't work they just schooled themselves back in, tumbling one over another in the space of his head.
He lifts his hand when it comes the opposite edge, staring at Victor beneath him, at the dangerous edge of consideration, and it's stupid, what does half an inch really matter. How few millimeters thick is the thin shirt that's been under his fingers. Maybe it all has to happen at once, maybe there isn't any other way. Crossing a line that feels so solid, even when he can't point to it existing, but only by moving a few breaths, a few millimeters.
"I don't like it." Yuri's voice is quiet, even in the silence of the room, when his fingers land softly against Victor's pale skin. "I don't want to feel like--" Tracing only the tips of themselves up the side of Victor's throat. "--I can't." He can feel his heart in his chest, like each word and touch is carving a layer of skin off the top of his heart. Handing off something he might never get back, that it would hurt to watch burn. "Again."
Except it's not just that, is it? It's not that simple. Because there's a whole world of people that's still true of.
And only one who isn't as true of as it is for anyone else. There's a moment his teeth are against his lip. Then. "With you."
It wasn't perfect. He was never perfect, and he knew there were still more times that he couldn't talk than he could.
That he got quiet, and he couldn't put together his head for a normal day, no less a day like today. But the idea of losing the ones he had, the more than he'd ever had in his life before these. Losing all the pieces that had come together, that made him try so hard, even right now, against the tension in his chest and the danger of the silence all around him. He wasn't sure he could lose the little he'd grown to be so glad for, so reliant on, for anything. Even this, whatever this was.
Then, hated, just a little, how little of him seemed prepared to have a clear feeling agreement to that. To not wanting to lift his fingers away, not wanting to let go of what he had yesterday, and not wanting to stop this, stop pressing slowly down the soft pale line of Victor's skin, watching his own fingers like he might forget to breathe entirely if he had to stop touching Victor now.