It's not cruelty to believe Victor didn't think about something. That he got so excited (subject aside, subject prone to shift with the wind) that he forgot to think. That he got so happy, he forgot about Yuri (even if he was happy about Yuri)? It doesn't make sense ... and somehow that makes absolute sense. The kind of sense that is only Victor.
The kind of sense where Victor forgot about what time it was all the time. Forgot when the buses and trains stopped running, while still two cities away. Forgot he'd already eaten enough for three people when the next shining thing existed on a counter or advertisement. Forgot that no one had a bathing suit and then went running into the waves anyway. Forgot where they were supposed to turn to find a new restaurant, several times, while needing to have Yuri answer every question about buildings, and nicknacks, and signs, and seasons, and everything he could see still three-quarters of a year in.
With Victor, it's not the same how with someone else it would be not caring.
Victor just ... forgets things. Whatever the most important, exciting things to him aren't.
Yuri's not sure he wants to tangle with the snarl of any part of that circling loop. Victor was so happy about him (and how is that real?) that Victor forgot about him (and how is that real?). It doesn't help to eye that spinning circle. What he likes even less, and wants to stop even more, is Victor apologizing. Victor's plaintive tone. Raw in the darkness. The sudden sharp wail in his chest when Victor's hand in the air had dropped back to own leg without touching Yuri.
Yuri's mouth has given a thousand more apologies than the wind knew what to do with, and he's done something two days running that suddenly had Victor apologizing. Victor who said he'd stepped down, take the brunt of the fall, if Yuri didn't make the platform. Victor who was so happy, so lucky, he just wanted to tell everyone he didn't know, who didn't know him. (Not really? Not the real him under the gold and lights?)
Nothing much makes enough sense, except it's wrong, too. Victor just apologizing. Again. Frantic for the words to mean something. Do something. For them to change into gold in the air, or do something to Yuri. Something that isn't making his heart and stutter frantically at both the wrongness of it, and something like the slow thaw of dizzying (but still wary) relief.
He wants to just tip like a small mountain, or crumple like a ball of paper and bounce, and either way, just push himself against Victor. Bury himself. When relief feels just as damning and just as desperate. What did he say. What did he do. What does he say and do now, when Victor is even more desperate for an answer to his apologies than when he'd been saying Yuri's name over and over, worried, wanting him to explain. He doesn't know that there are more words. He's not mad. He's just tired all over. In some new way.
But his gaze, looking down, lands on Victor's hand again. The one on Victor's knee. That Victor raised, almost reaching out, only to drop. Maybe Yuri could not just throw himself into Victor's arms, even if most of him just wanted to be there, again, somehow. Something that seemed trapped in last night, before waking, before dreams, before falling asleep even. But. It takes a second. A breath in. A steady of his spine. Before he does. He reaches out and picks up Victor's hand with both of his. The back of his palm and below his wrist.
Trying not to let himself think too hard and hesitate, Yuri pulled it up, while curling slightly forward. Until he could place Victor hand against his head. Palm against his cheek, finger clumsy against his ear and what must be the absolute mess of his hair. Close his eyes and try, try so hard, just for a second to just repeat it to himself. Without any of the questions. The biting thoughts. The snide whispers. The upended feelings. The panic. The despair.
Victor didn't mean for it to hurt. Victor had been happy. Victor was sorry.
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Date: 2017-05-17 05:03 am (UTC)The kind of sense where Victor forgot about what time it was all the time. Forgot when the buses and trains stopped running, while still two cities away. Forgot he'd already eaten enough for three people when the next shining thing existed on a counter or advertisement. Forgot that no one had a bathing suit and then went running into the waves anyway. Forgot where they were supposed to turn to find a new restaurant, several times, while needing to have Yuri answer every question about buildings, and nicknacks, and signs, and seasons, and everything he could see still three-quarters of a year in.
With Victor, it's not the same how with someone else it would be not caring.
Victor just ... forgets things. Whatever the most important, exciting things to him aren't.
Yuri's not sure he wants to tangle with the snarl of any part of that circling loop. Victor was so happy about him (and how is that real?) that Victor forgot about him (and how is that real?). It doesn't help to eye that spinning circle. What he likes even less, and wants to stop even more, is Victor apologizing. Victor's plaintive tone. Raw in the darkness. The sudden sharp wail in his chest when Victor's hand in the air had dropped back to own leg without touching Yuri.
Yuri's mouth has given a thousand more apologies than the wind knew what to do with, and he's done something two days running that suddenly had Victor apologizing. Victor who said he'd stepped down, take the brunt of the fall, if Yuri didn't make the platform. Victor who was so happy, so lucky, he just wanted to tell everyone he didn't know, who didn't know him. (Not really? Not the real him under the gold and lights?)
Nothing much makes enough sense, except it's wrong, too. Victor just apologizing. Again. Frantic for the words to mean something. Do something. For them to change into gold in the air, or do something to Yuri. Something that isn't making his heart and stutter frantically at both the wrongness of it, and something like the slow thaw of dizzying (but still wary) relief.
He wants to just tip like a small mountain, or crumple like a ball of paper and bounce, and either way, just push himself against Victor. Bury himself. When relief feels just as damning and just as desperate. What did he say. What did he do. What does he say and do now, when Victor is even more desperate for an answer to his apologies than when he'd been saying Yuri's name over and over, worried, wanting him to explain. He doesn't know that there are more words. He's not mad. He's just tired all over. In some new way.
But his gaze, looking down, lands on Victor's hand again. The one on Victor's knee. That Victor raised, almost reaching out, only to drop. Maybe Yuri could not just throw himself into Victor's arms, even if most of him just wanted to be there, again, somehow. Something that seemed trapped in last night, before waking, before dreams, before falling asleep even. But. It takes a second. A breath in. A steady of his spine. Before he does. He reaches out and picks up Victor's hand with both of his. The back of his palm and below his wrist.
Trying not to let himself think too hard and hesitate, Yuri pulled it up, while curling slightly forward. Until he could place Victor hand against his head. Palm against his cheek, finger clumsy against his ear and what must be the absolute mess of his hair. Close his eyes and try, try so hard, just for a second to just repeat it to himself. Without any of the questions. The biting thoughts. The snide whispers. The upended feelings. The panic. The despair.
Victor didn't mean for it to hurt. Victor had been happy. Victor was sorry.