Yuri's doesn't need absolute focus for the expression he wants to make just at the sound of Victor going from appearing like he might be laughing at him, to actually laughing at him and his expense. It makes the sharp cold sharper and colder, pushes it hard further and further into the places it had started, and maybe it's good that it does. Dousing torches on its path, continuing with the absolution of breathing deeper and everything else in him slowing.
It's a nauseatingly unsettling thing.
Going back to feeling so quickly unbalanced, this way, too. In the wash of his head, his chest.
One question followed by another, in that laughter, as though Victor doesn't get it, or he's going to pretend that he doesn't and make Yuri have to spell out everything different from where he's standing and Victor is, all over again, like a child reciting the first piecemeal sentences in a new language. Again. When he's already managed the little of a retort a few seconds late to what he couldn't said more than the half-minute before.
He's not even sure which of those thoughts in worse. Yuri's mouth presses, and there's another breath out of his nose again, and even almost something toward, but never reaching, a third of rolling his eyes. He can't even tell if it's at Victor or at himself. "This."
What an unspecific English word to means everything in this room, in these few feet of them, touching so much, of the last few seconds, minutes. Foolishness. He needed to stop getting lost in it, whatever it was and however, that worked. There's a shrug -- or mayhap, something like a shrug that works almost not at all like one while laying on the bed, while bracketed by Victor. Parroting Victor's own words, stapled like an excuse that he needed the same as the command for Yuri to do so. "Breathing."
While Victor looked, honest as the sun above him, like he didn't have a single problem with that in the smallest. Not while he was telling Yuri, and not while he was rearranging himself around Yuri, and not while laughing at Yuri.
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Date: 2017-05-10 12:25 pm (UTC)It's a nauseatingly unsettling thing.
Going back to feeling so quickly unbalanced, this way, too. In the wash of his head, his chest.
One question followed by another, in that laughter, as though Victor doesn't get it, or he's going to pretend that he doesn't and make Yuri have to spell out everything different from where he's standing and Victor is, all over again, like a child reciting the first piecemeal sentences in a new language. Again. When he's already managed the little of a retort a few seconds late to what he couldn't said more than the half-minute before.
He's not even sure which of those thoughts in worse. Yuri's mouth presses, and there's another breath out of his nose again, and even almost something toward, but never reaching, a third of rolling his eyes. He can't even tell if it's at Victor or at himself. "This."
What an unspecific English word to means everything in this room, in these few feet of them, touching so much, of the last few seconds, minutes. Foolishness. He needed to stop getting lost in it, whatever it was and however, that worked. There's a shrug -- or mayhap, something like a shrug that works almost not at all like one while laying on the bed, while bracketed by Victor. Parroting Victor's own words, stapled like an excuse that he needed the same as the command for Yuri to do so. "Breathing."
While Victor looked, honest as the sun above him, like he didn't have a single problem with that in the smallest.
Not while he was telling Yuri, and not while he was rearranging himself around Yuri, and not while laughing at Yuri.