Yuri doesn't say anything, and doesn't say anything, and doesn't say anything. Only stares at him, wide-eyed, with a flush of pink growing brighter at the tops of his cheeks, like he's forgotten how to speak, or how his mouth even works. Paused in a caught breath, eyes tracking across Victor's face, and Victor's sure he should probably be concerned instead of delighted by this turn of events. Shouldn't he? Wouldn't that be the kind thing to be?
But he's selfish. So selfish. Wants the giddy realization that Yuri is stuck on him, on his face, is looking at him like he was hit by a car named Victor. People have been staring at him for as long as he can remember, since even before he was first the Junior World Champion and then took the senior division by storm, and he's used to it. Used to the lingering glances, the whispers, the blushes. It's useful, and he enjoys it: is well aware of how he looks and how effective it can be, has a lifetime of evidence to support his vanity.
Yuri has never looked at him like this before. Yuri had remained the one person he wanted to affect who stayed unaffected, never seemed to notice anything about him other than his physical presence taking up space somewhere near Yuri, in his way or next to him or always just behind him.
Nothing like this. Like he can't look away. Like he's forgotten how to breathe as much as how to speak, and Victor's smile is probably getting a little too smugly delighted as comprehension sifts in, as Yuri finally finds a few words that don't sound like anything he actually means. "Am I?"
He wants to flirt, wants to push that look, whatever it was Yuri was just thinking, feeling: shove it higher and harder. "Should I move?"
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But he's selfish. So selfish. Wants the giddy realization that Yuri is stuck on him, on his face, is looking at him like he was hit by a car named Victor. People have been staring at him for as long as he can remember, since even before he was first the Junior World Champion and then took the senior division by storm, and he's used to it. Used to the lingering glances, the whispers, the blushes. It's useful, and he enjoys it: is well aware of how he looks and how effective it can be, has a lifetime of evidence to support his vanity.
Yuri has never looked at him like this before. Yuri had remained the one person he wanted to affect who stayed unaffected, never seemed to notice anything about him other than his physical presence taking up space somewhere near Yuri, in his way or next to him or always just behind him.
Nothing like this. Like he can't look away. Like he's forgotten how to breathe as much as how to speak, and Victor's smile is probably getting a little too smugly delighted as comprehension sifts in, as Yuri finally finds a few words that don't sound like anything he actually means. "Am I?"
He wants to flirt, wants to push that look, whatever it was Yuri was just thinking, feeling: shove it higher and harder. "Should I move?"