That doesn't seem to help, even though Yuri repeats his own words back to him. They sound sharp, even whispered, like Yuri can't believe what an idiot he is, how obvious it should be why he's unhappy. He'd meant to reassure, but he'd gotten it wrong, and he's already unsure of what else to say or do when Yuri shakes his head and says that.
That Victor didn't have to help them. "I didn't ––"
Paused, and drawn off, because maybe he didn't mean to help them, the media, the people talking, but he supposes he did, whether that was his intention or not. "I wasn't trying to help them, I was just ..."
Trying to help me is how that sentence ends, but he pauses with it, again, even feeling the words like marbles in his mouth, because there's something wrong in there, too. Something that feels off, something that niggles at the back of his brain and sounds like Yakov, suddenly and alarmingly.
That man thinks only of himself!
Which he'd fought against all last night, trying to make sure Yuri felt safe and happy and protected, trying to make sure he didn't railroad Yuri's wants and fears for what he wanted.
Trying to think. About someone else.
And then Yuri had fallen asleep, and it's like all his restraint had gone out the window. He hadn't meant to help them the ambiguous Them Yuri means, but he had only helped himself.
How Yuri would feel about it hadn't even crossed his mind.
It's a thought that leaves him aghast, a cold hard chill shivering across his skin and up into his hair, lifting it like he's just noticed a pair of eyes watching him from out of the corner. "I didn't think of it like that, I was just ..."
Thoughtless? Selfish? The juggernaut he'd been trying so hard not to be?
Unable to finish that thought with anything other than "...happy."
It feels lame. It feels like an excuse. It feels like he should have known better, and he should have. How stupid can he be in a single twenty-four hour period?
Even as he's lifting a hand, helpless, to card into his hair. "I didn't think there was any harm in a few comments saying so."
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Date: 2017-05-17 02:49 am (UTC)That Victor didn't have to help them. "I didn't ––"
Paused, and drawn off, because maybe he didn't mean to help them, the media, the people talking, but he supposes he did, whether that was his intention or not. "I wasn't trying to help them, I was just ..."
Trying to help me is how that sentence ends, but he pauses with it, again, even feeling the words like marbles in his mouth, because there's something wrong in there, too. Something that feels off, something that niggles at the back of his brain and sounds like Yakov, suddenly and alarmingly.
That man thinks only of himself!
Which he'd fought against all last night, trying to make sure Yuri felt safe and happy and protected, trying to make sure he didn't railroad Yuri's wants and fears for what he wanted.
Trying to think. About someone else.
And then Yuri had fallen asleep, and it's like all his restraint had gone out the window. He hadn't meant to help them the ambiguous Them Yuri means, but he had only helped himself.
How Yuri would feel about it hadn't even crossed his mind.
It's a thought that leaves him aghast, a cold hard chill shivering across his skin and up into his hair, lifting it like he's just noticed a pair of eyes watching him from out of the corner. "I didn't think of it like that, I was just ..."
Thoughtless? Selfish? The juggernaut he'd been trying so hard not to be?
Unable to finish that thought with anything other than "...happy."
It feels lame. It feels like an excuse. It feels like he should have known better, and he should have. How stupid can he be in a single twenty-four hour period?
Even as he's lifting a hand, helpless, to card into his hair. "I didn't think there was any harm in a few comments saying so."
Because he's an idiot. And Yakov was right.