He pauses at the crook of Yuri's shoulder, at those words. At Yuri's arm tightening around him, hand at the back of his head, and that strange tight quality to his voice, like he's upset and doesn't want to show it, or disagrees but doesn't want to argue.
His immediate reaction to push up and negate even the possibility of it ever happening. Hurt Yuri? Never doesn't seem like a strong enough word. The very idea horrifies him to his very core. Just seeing that look on Yuri's face, earlier, that guarded wariness like he suddenly didn't know what to expect, suddenly realized who he was in this room with, froze him straight down to his gut. It's impossible, ludicrous. He wants to dive straight into defensive agreement, say of course, and I would never, never.
But he can't, can he? Hadn't he, already, just today, proven that statement wrong?
Hadn't he opted to hurt Yuri in the garage? Hadn't he made the decision to crush Yuri's fragile heart, hadn't he done it on purpose?
Maybe it was with the intent of helping him in the long run. Maybe it was the first and only time he ever made that choice, opted for that decision. Maybe it will never happen again.
But he still did it.
Temple and cheek settling on the pillow Yuri's using, nose just brushing that curve where the line of his neck disappears into his shoulder. Does he even deserve the certainty in Yuri's voice? "I never want to hurt you."
That he can say, promise. He knows it would be impossible to say he'll never, not when he's such a flawed person and he makes so many mistakes, and he's made so many already, with Yuri, and even with the best of intentions he's likely to fail. But he never wants to. Not ever. Not if he can ever stop it. "Not on purpose, and not by accident, either."
Not just because he's being selfish, self-absorbed, thinking only of himself and what he wants. "I would never be able to forgive myself if I hurt you because I was being thoughtless."
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His immediate reaction to push up and negate even the possibility of it ever happening. Hurt Yuri? Never doesn't seem like a strong enough word. The very idea horrifies him to his very core. Just seeing that look on Yuri's face, earlier, that guarded wariness like he suddenly didn't know what to expect, suddenly realized who he was in this room with, froze him straight down to his gut. It's impossible, ludicrous. He wants to dive straight into defensive agreement, say of course, and I would never, never.
But he can't, can he? Hadn't he, already, just today, proven that statement wrong?
Hadn't he opted to hurt Yuri in the garage? Hadn't he made the decision to crush Yuri's fragile heart, hadn't he done it on purpose?
Maybe it was with the intent of helping him in the long run. Maybe it was the first and only time he ever made that choice, opted for that decision. Maybe it will never happen again.
But he still did it.
Temple and cheek settling on the pillow Yuri's using, nose just brushing that curve where the line of his neck disappears into his shoulder. Does he even deserve the certainty in Yuri's voice? "I never want to hurt you."
That he can say, promise. He knows it would be impossible to say he'll never, not when he's such a flawed person and he makes so many mistakes, and he's made so many already, with Yuri, and even with the best of intentions he's likely to fail. But he never wants to. Not ever. Not if he can ever stop it. "Not on purpose, and not by accident, either."
Not just because he's being selfish, self-absorbed, thinking only of himself and what he wants. "I would never be able to forgive myself if I hurt you because I was being thoughtless."