Yuri's teasing him, but Yuri's still running his hand over Victor's head and slipping his fingers through Victor's hair, so Victor's going to call it a win. "It helps me."
Because he's selfish about this, and has been since the second it first exploded in his chest, so long ago it feels like a separate lifetime, such a short time ago it feels like he blinked and two years flipped by like someone skimmed through the book holding them. He's not the same person he was before, and he used to hate that, but now he doesn't. Now, he thinks he prefers being the kind of person who Yuri can tease, the kind of person who can hug Yuri and not be pushed away, who gets to see everything the world doesn't. Everything past the mental weakness they still throw at him, like those words are darts and Yuri's fragile heart is the target. Everything past the talent that paints beauty and music on the ice, only tainted by those same uncertainties.
He gets to see the work Yuri puts in. How training soothes him. The person who runs to the Ice Castle, or to Minako's ballet studio, or, sometimes now, to Victor's room, to work through all the thoughts running around his head. This person, who laughs at Victor's antics as often as he laughs at Maccachin's, who is full of more warmth and love and affection and humor than any interview or program or profile could ever show. His Yuri. The one no one else in their world sees.
How could he be anything but selfish? Is it so impossible to understand?
He's dragged them both towards the center of the mattress, and that's good enough, but notgood enough, because Yuri's been toying with his hair and letting him hold on, and Victor has to shift enough to push up and find his neck, his jaw, his cheek to kiss.
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Date: 2017-04-30 03:59 pm (UTC)Yuri's teasing him, but Yuri's still running his hand over Victor's head and slipping his fingers through Victor's hair, so Victor's going to call it a win. "It helps me."
Because he's selfish about this, and has been since the second it first exploded in his chest, so long ago it feels like a separate lifetime, such a short time ago it feels like he blinked and two years flipped by like someone skimmed through the book holding them. He's not the same person he was before, and he used to hate that, but now he doesn't. Now, he thinks he prefers being the kind of person who Yuri can tease, the kind of person who can hug Yuri and not be pushed away, who gets to see everything the world doesn't. Everything past the mental weakness they still throw at him, like those words are darts and Yuri's fragile heart is the target. Everything past the talent that paints beauty and music on the ice, only tainted by those same uncertainties.
He gets to see the work Yuri puts in. How training soothes him. The person who runs to the Ice Castle, or to Minako's ballet studio, or, sometimes now, to Victor's room, to work through all the thoughts running around his head. This person, who laughs at Victor's antics as often as he laughs at Maccachin's, who is full of more warmth and love and affection and humor than any interview or program or profile could ever show. His Yuri. The one no one else in their world sees.
How could he be anything but selfish? Is it so impossible to understand?
He's dragged them both towards the center of the mattress, and that's good enough, but not good enough, because Yuri's been toying with his hair and letting him hold on, and Victor has to shift enough to push up and find his neck, his jaw, his cheek to kiss.
But not letting go. Why would he ever.