Tired of Feeling Never Enough

The still clear joy of that simple, but blinding, smile shifts, again, while he's watching, thumb still brushing the muscle in his cheek, as Victor's smile turns toward a far more familiar one. He doesn't know when he started knowing exactly how to tell where it was going, Victor's face, before it got there. Maybe he didn't realize it until this second. When he knows, in the fingers pressed against his cheek and all the way down to his toes, that Victor is about to try and say something funny.

Which he does. It even comes with the surge of a laugh in his tone.
Like this is all Yuri's fault and Yuri's doing. Victor didn't windmill him over.
Like Victor is still half on top of him, beaming brighter than Yuri's ever seen.

That he is not reason for the smile he can feel pulling back the corners of his own mouth. The strain in the muscles of his own cheek, and there's a barely there shake of his head, gaze flitting away from Victor, and his antics, and right back. Smile never wavering. Cheeks still this unaccountable faint warmth, that at least isn't the inferno they'd been when Victor dropped him on his back on his bed.

"Yes." There's the bare almost hesitation,
right on the first vowel, before it steadies.

Voice tilting, a little, though his smile isn't. "Several things."