There's only a single sound in the room, Victor taking a breath that sounds so sharp and disbeliving it makes Yuri's own heart ache in response, before Victor suddenly all but tackles him. Yuri only has a second to wonder if Victor's already forgotten about the edge of the bed now, before those arms are around him tight. Before he forgets himself. Or more doesn't care.

About the edge of the bed, or the idea of falling, and anything but Victor diving into him.

Just the need to meet that collision, his arms slide around Victor's and hug him impossibly tight right back. Warm and solid, almost still not solid enough. While Victor bounces from one extreme to the other and Yuri almost wants to huff a laugh, which makes no sense, because it's not funny. None of this is funny, and Victor's words aren't either.

It's stupid. It's deeply over dramatic. Yuri'd roll his eyes, if they weren't shut tight in Victor's shoulder. Tight as Yuri is pressed against Victor. Has his arms stretched far as they can be around Victor's neck and shoulders, finger sunk into that soft night-dark fabric over the solidness of muscle and bone right below it.


Yuri doesn't want to take Victor's phone. He just wants Victor.

Yuri doesn't want the whole world to know it's real. He wants to.