Those fingers tighten gently and Victor says his name, and Yuri's mouth presses. His eyes sting slightly, and he looks up, to look down, blinking. Refusing. Teeth pressing through lips pressing together. Trying to find something. Anything. Even with the photos. Even if it was clear and obvious, that they were kissing in the photo, before the picture's caption and Victor's own cut for use response. Even if, even it, even it. It —
“It was private.” His eyes flick through the darkness, toward Victor, because it sounds wrong. It’s the wrong word, and it’s not: “Not a secret.” Not. He hadn’t. Even if he wished hard that it could be now, suddenly, so much, now that it felt like was everywhere else but right here, between them. “Just—“
Not a secret. Not private. “Personal.”
Except that was wrong, too, and he shifts. Agitated. Breath catching in his teeth. Right, but wrong, in the same way private was right, but wrong. The second one made it sound like it was just his, and it wasn’t just his. He hadn’t thought it was just his. Which becomes.
“It was just—“ He pauses, looking up, shaking his head, with nothing else coming up, having to swallow, feeling overwhelmingly stupid and childish and uneducated in everything he'd been suddenly drug into, for the word coming. For the fact it’s wrong, and he’s wrong. Again. “—just ours.”
And now it wasn’t.
Now a world of people, a whole world, anyone with the internet, or access to the news, had it. More than just another picture on some street, where Victor had apologized to for kissing him front of some small, forgotten crowd. Instead, it was confirmed by Victor, in front of millions. Billions. The whole world.
A world with opinions and questions, and assumptions, who would start making and leaving comments on all them, about things Yuri hadn’t even gotten to sit here to figure out and know he had questions about or wanted to know or do or learn. When most of him was only back to his old favorite: wanting to know how to vanish into thin air again.
no subject
“It was private.” His eyes flick through the darkness, toward Victor, because it sounds wrong. It’s the wrong word, and it’s not: “Not a secret.” Not. He hadn’t. Even if he wished hard that it could be now, suddenly, so much, now that it felt like was everywhere else but right here, between them. “Just—“
Not a secret. Not private. “Personal.”
Except that was wrong, too, and he shifts. Agitated. Breath catching in his teeth. Right, but wrong, in the same way private was right, but wrong. The second one made it sound like it was just his, and it wasn’t just his. He hadn’t thought it was just his. Which becomes.
“It was just—“ He pauses, looking up, shaking his head, with nothing else coming up, having to swallow, feeling overwhelmingly stupid and childish and uneducated in everything he'd been suddenly drug into, for the word coming. For the fact it’s wrong, and he’s wrong. Again. “—just ours.”
And now it wasn’t.
Now a world of people, a whole world, anyone with the internet, or access to the news, had it. More than just another picture on some street, where Victor had apologized to for kissing him front of some small, forgotten crowd. Instead, it was confirmed by Victor, in front of millions. Billions. The whole world.
A world with opinions and questions, and assumptions, who would start making and leaving comments on all them, about things Yuri hadn’t even gotten to sit here to figure out and know he had questions about or wanted to know or do or learn. When most of him was only back to his old favorite: wanting to know how to vanish into thin air again.