He's absolutely sure, in fact. Even without remembering that night, or knowing any of the specifics, he's absolutely, one hundred percent, bulletproof in his certainty that if he was frustrated at anyone, it wasn't Yuri. He hasn't been frustrated with Yuri in months: not since he came to Hasetsu, not since that morning on the beach. Frustrated about Yuri, maybe. Frustrated with his feelings, certainly. With himself, on a nearly daily basis.
But not with Yuri. Yuri has been everything Victor imagined he could be and more: has worked as hard as Victor could ever ask, and harder past that. Has a wealth of skill hiding just behind his insecurities and uncertainties that, when uncovered, flourishes into heart-breaking beauty.
More than that. He's funny. Sweet. Sensitive. Serious. Bright, beneath his poor opinion of himself. Victor cherishes those moments spent just sitting or walking or talking together, about anything and everything, feeling like just normal people without the weight of their world settling on their shoulders, as much as he burns when Yuri tosses him that sly glance at the start to Eros, as much as his heart aches during Yuri on Ice.
It's certainly possible, maybe even likely, that he was frustrated the other night. But not that it could have been with Yuri. "It was probably just with myself."
That's familiar, a known quantity. He's memorized that conversation with himself, his better angels and his selfish, petty demons, and he can believe it floated drunkenly to the surface with poor Yuri blaming himself the whole way. That's a thought that deserves apology, and he leans down to press a kiss where his fingers just were, right beneath Yuri's ear, while his hand smooths down the column of his neck, to his shoulder.
Pulling back with a faint smile, lifting a thumb to touch Yuri's temple. "You look tired."
Exhausted, really. Like he can barely keep his eyes open, blinking myopically at Victor even from through his glasses. "You should get some sleep."
Except that reminds him of something, too, and he pauses, thinking back, trying to follow the thread of that thought to ––
A sudden breaking dawn of a smile, brilliant and self-congratulatory. "Did you say you dreamed about me, before?"
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Date: 2017-05-08 12:56 pm (UTC)He's absolutely sure, in fact. Even without remembering that night, or knowing any of the specifics, he's absolutely, one hundred percent, bulletproof in his certainty that if he was frustrated at anyone, it wasn't Yuri. He hasn't been frustrated with Yuri in months: not since he came to Hasetsu, not since that morning on the beach. Frustrated about Yuri, maybe. Frustrated with his feelings, certainly. With himself, on a nearly daily basis.
But not with Yuri. Yuri has been everything Victor imagined he could be and more: has worked as hard as Victor could ever ask, and harder past that. Has a wealth of skill hiding just behind his insecurities and uncertainties that, when uncovered, flourishes into heart-breaking beauty.
More than that. He's funny. Sweet. Sensitive. Serious. Bright, beneath his poor opinion of himself. Victor cherishes those moments spent just sitting or walking or talking together, about anything and everything, feeling like just normal people without the weight of their world settling on their shoulders, as much as he burns when Yuri tosses him that sly glance at the start to Eros, as much as his heart aches during Yuri on Ice.
It's certainly possible, maybe even likely, that he was frustrated the other night. But not that it could have been with Yuri. "It was probably just with myself."
That's familiar, a known quantity. He's memorized that conversation with himself, his better angels and his selfish, petty demons, and he can believe it floated drunkenly to the surface with poor Yuri blaming himself the whole way. That's a thought that deserves apology, and he leans down to press a kiss where his fingers just were, right beneath Yuri's ear, while his hand smooths down the column of his neck, to his shoulder.
Pulling back with a faint smile, lifting a thumb to touch Yuri's temple. "You look tired."
Exhausted, really. Like he can barely keep his eyes open, blinking myopically at Victor even from through his glasses. "You should get some sleep."
Except that reminds him of something, too, and he pauses, thinking back, trying to follow the thread of that thought to ––
A sudden breaking dawn of a smile, brilliant and self-congratulatory. "Did you say you dreamed about me, before?"