"No." And "No," wildly, again, the next second, pulling back even more, more than a little over the precarious edge of the bed, like the first two weren't enough, weren't clear enough. even as he's shaking his head. By which he means yes. Yes -- no is the answer. Yes -- no, he can't. Not now. It hardly feels like he can breathe, no less speak, no less act.
There's no room left for that. There's no one who wouldn't be watching. No less space or ability he could ever pretend everything is normal and all that's happened. He skated Yuri on Ice and happened to somehow look like that doing it. Beautiful, it had called him, and he didn't look bad in the shot. But it's the word that never stuck.
And Victor is staring at him confused, like maybe he's gone crazy. Again. Again, again, again. Not even a day after he had last time.
Except he can't. His chest is tight and tightening still. His throat is dry. His eyes are pricking at the edges. (And still some part of him is registering it was true. Victor is beautiful. Even sitting in the shadows, face painted by the light of his phone between them. Even the shadows lay gentle on him, like nothing but the softest of caress of those features is allowed even by the softening of night toward dawn, and the pain in Yuri's chest only gets so much more sharper, suffocating, denied already.)
"It wasn't bad enough they already thought we were sleeping together right before the Cup started?" It's the wrong words, the wrong point, and it's the one that comes out first, crescendo's from something not quite forgotten, able to forget, that wasn't even true. Never true. Not even good enough, enough enough, not for Victor, not for the world, not when it could have been offered, but not to Yuri, amd not for that when all of this got to this place.
No one would question it, this, these, Victor, and everyone who was everyone would have a hundred thoughts, questions, opinions about it. Like every step of Victor renouncing the season, coaching Yuri, appearing with Yuri at the Championship and the GPF Qualifier. There were always a million people with an opinion of what they'd lost, what Yuri'd taken from them.
And now there was this on top of it? Thrown to them, like it was just another piece to be? How much of this doesn't he understand everytime he thinks he's started to understand anything?
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Date: 2017-05-16 04:08 pm (UTC)There's no room left for that. There's no one who wouldn't be watching. No less space or ability he could ever pretend everything is normal and all that's happened. He skated Yuri on Ice and happened to somehow look like that doing it. Beautiful, it had called him, and he didn't look bad in the shot. But it's the word that never stuck.
And Victor is staring at him confused, like maybe he's gone crazy.
Again. Again, again, again. Not even a day after he had last time.
Except he can't. His chest is tight and tightening still. His throat is dry. His eyes are pricking at the edges. (And still some part of him is registering it was true. Victor is beautiful. Even sitting in the shadows, face painted by the light of his phone between them. Even the shadows lay gentle on him, like nothing but the softest of caress of those features is allowed even by the softening of night toward dawn, and the pain in Yuri's chest only gets so much more sharper, suffocating, denied already.)
"It wasn't bad enough they already thought we were sleeping together right before the Cup started?" It's the wrong words, the wrong point, and it's the one that comes out first, crescendo's from something not quite forgotten, able to forget, that wasn't even true. Never true. Not even good enough, enough enough, not for Victor, not for the world, not when it could have been offered, but not to Yuri, amd not for that when all of this got to this place.
No one would question it, this, these, Victor, and everyone who was everyone would have a hundred thoughts, questions, opinions about it. Like every step of Victor renouncing the season, coaching Yuri, appearing with Yuri at the Championship and the GPF Qualifier. There were always a million people with an opinion of what they'd lost, what Yuri'd taken from them.
And now there was this on top of it? Thrown to them, like it was just another piece to be?
How much of this doesn't he understand everytime he thinks he's started to understand anything?