Victor says that word again and it feels like it hammers against Yuri's ears and his breastbone all at once. Hard. Too hard. That word shouldn't even be allowed in Victor's mouth, to even and he's saying it again, calm and cool (except there's something about Victor's eyes that Yuri doesn't think is anything like cool and calm), like he's trying to gently explain to Yuri exactly what it is that people do who are ashamed. How shame works. Or hiding.
Like Yuri is not intimately aware of pretty much everything about shame. Being it. Feeling that everything about yourself isn't worth anyone near you.
It feels like a reprimand to turn those words over. People hide things their ashamed of. Like there's only one way, and it involves either being ashamed of Victor, of last night, of the very little and so much that happened, of everything hurting somehow, or the naked light of day, and feeling like this. Ice and hurt and shock, and shame.
Okay. Yes, there's shame. It's in there. But it's not Victor he's ashamed of. It's never Victor. Victor is everything good in his life. That hasn't gone yet.
And, without any warning, last night, he'd become even more.
"It does. It matters." That's feeble, and even more, it's maybe not even allowed. Now.
But it does. It matters. He doesn't even know how to put it into words. Thoughts. He feels so much smaller. So much less real. Cold and small, with his shoulders sagged. There are so many things that aren't him and aren't Victor mixed into all of it, everywhere in his head, suddenly, and he wasn't even sure he'd even gotten anywhere near that him and Victor being real, being still.
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Date: 2017-05-16 08:21 pm (UTC)Like Yuri is not intimately aware of pretty much everything about shame.
Being it. Feeling that everything about yourself isn't worth anyone near you.
It feels like a reprimand to turn those words over. People hide things their ashamed of. Like there's only one way, and it involves either being ashamed of Victor, of last night, of the very little and so much that happened, of everything hurting somehow, or the naked light of day, and feeling like this. Ice and hurt and shock, and shame.
Okay. Yes, there's shame. It's in there.
But it's not Victor he's ashamed of. It's never Victor.
Victor is everything good in his life. That hasn't gone yet.
And, without any warning, last night, he'd become even more.
"It does. It matters." That's feeble, and even more, it's maybe not even allowed. Now.
But it does. It matters. He doesn't even know how to put it into words. Thoughts. He feels so much smaller. So much less real. Cold and small, with his shoulders sagged. There are so many things that aren't him and aren't Victor mixed into all of it, everywhere in his head, suddenly, and he wasn't even sure he'd even gotten anywhere near that him and Victor being real, being still.