Different doesn't have to be bad. Those words wing around the space in his head, hazy space, hazy shadows, hazy filled everything, like they are seeking purchase, but don't know where or how to land. When it makes him think about Victor showing up in Hasestu, and when he moved to Detroit. How the beginning of both was harder than he knew what to do with it, but hadn't been terrible once some of that was worked through.
Even if Detroit had ended mostly in darkness and slinking home, and this thing with Victor. It wasn't over yet, but it's ending, no matter how well the next few weeks went, was so close it hurt to think about even without this. With this -- with Victor in his lap, rearranging himself even closer, even more against what part of Yuri he could reach -- it feels end more winding. How much worse could that be already than the other. How often did he worry about crashing at the end no matter how hard he, or they, tried.
At least it had a steady, unwavering progression. A reliable line of expectations and dates to check off. The season. This doesn't feel steady, doesn't feel unwavering, doesn't feel like what he should do is clear anywhere.
But neither had been figuring out what to do with Victor originally. Not even, if he was being honest, meeting Phichit had been way back when.
He's not always right. There's a lot of times the last thing in the world that's right is him, or his thoughts.
It's not like he wants this to be bad. Like he wants to know, to have more than imagine every worse ending. Right?
Not when he tilts his head, looking at his fingers, against Victor's skin and the frame of the silver shore of his hair, as they brush the back of his jaw. The round of the line the leads to the bottom of his ear, before stopping. Before lifting, a little hesitant just to set down again at the top of it, and trace around the curl of his ear in a gentle line, catching Victor's hair, so soft against his fingers and pressing them back behind his ear, away from his cheek.
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Date: 2017-04-29 12:35 pm (UTC)Even if Detroit had ended mostly in darkness and slinking home, and this thing with Victor. It wasn't over yet, but it's ending, no matter how well the next few weeks went, was so close it hurt to think about even without this. With this -- with Victor in his lap, rearranging himself even closer, even more against what part of Yuri he could reach -- it feels end more winding. How much worse could that be already than the other. How often did he worry about crashing at the end no matter how hard he, or they, tried.
At least it had a steady, unwavering progression. A reliable line of expectations and dates to check off. The season.
This doesn't feel steady, doesn't feel unwavering, doesn't feel like what he should do is clear anywhere.
But neither had been figuring out what to do with Victor originally.
Not even, if he was being honest, meeting Phichit had been way back when.
He's not always right. There's a lot of times the last thing in the world that's right is him, or his thoughts.
It's not like he wants this to be bad. Like he wants to know, to have more than imagine every worse ending. Right?
Not when he tilts his head, looking at his fingers, against Victor's skin and the frame of the silver shore of his hair, as they brush the back of his jaw. The round of the line the leads to the bottom of his ear, before stopping. Before lifting, a little hesitant just to set down again at the top of it, and trace around the curl of his ear in a gentle line, catching Victor's hair, so soft against his fingers and pressing them back behind his ear, away from his cheek.