But started, it won't stop, there's no handrail, no brake, no pause, no breath. His shoulders start shuddering up and down, and the sobs slide up his chest, in painful gasps for air that do nothing to displace the pain or the shame that floods him, while tears flood out of his eyes like he's somehow, without warning or any knowledge of it, been on the brink of just falling apart, like this, this whole time.
The pain that has no name, no shape, just sudden swelling void, wraps itself around Victor's face, Victor's voice, Victor trying to move closer to him, even though Victor just gave him an exit, an excuse to not try, acknowledgement of not being good enough without even going out there, that stalemate offer to take no responsibility for Yuri himself and this weakness that belonged to no one but him. Told him to take Victor down instead of himself. Like that wasn't already the problem. That wasn't already what he was doing. And just to hear it out loud --
He's talking, but Yuri can't hear it, feels like parts of him are screaming and cracking from that single sentence more than any of the applause from seconds ago, from the hours from this morning or last night. Those were simple stage shows before Victor. "I'm used to being blamed for his own failures!"
It's weak and it's loud and feels like it wouldn't be loud enough if he shouted it and it echoed in the whole place. He knows that better than he knows anything else. He'd gone home on it. To Detroit. To Hasetsu. But this -- This was. He could hardly even contain the idea, and in words, the tears just kept falling, his voice shaking even as they thrust out. "But this time I'm anxious because my mistakes would reflect on you, too!"
On Victor. Victor. Victor who'd done nothing but show up and give him everything, teach him everything, try to help with everything. Victor who was untouchable and perfect, who was graceful and happy, and everything he'd ever imagined, and then more, on top of it, and Victor just wanted him to sully every bit of that with his own failure like it was ever Victor's. Victor who shouldn't have even been here to being with, and who he'd given every reason not to want to be here.
Nothing holding, that comes flying out, too. "I've been secretly wondering if you wanted to quit!"
Even when he knows it's wrong -- thinks, prays, desperately wills against the pain. Because Victor has never.
Not once. Not a look or a word. Never yelled this morning, or months ago. Ever. Never a single threat or word. Until. Now.
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The pain that has no name, no shape, just sudden swelling void, wraps itself around Victor's face, Victor's voice, Victor trying to move closer to him, even though Victor just gave him an exit, an excuse to not try, acknowledgement of not being good enough without even going out there, that stalemate offer to take no responsibility for Yuri himself and this weakness that belonged to no one but him. Told him to take Victor down instead of himself. Like that wasn't already the problem. That wasn't already what he was doing. And just to hear it out loud --
He's talking, but Yuri can't hear it, feels like parts of him are screaming and cracking from that single sentence more than any of the applause from seconds ago, from the hours from this morning or last night. Those were simple stage shows before Victor. "I'm used to being blamed for his own failures!"
It's weak and it's loud and feels like it wouldn't be loud enough if he shouted it and it echoed in the whole place. He knows that better than he knows anything else. He'd gone home on it. To Detroit. To Hasetsu. But this -- This was. He could hardly even contain the idea, and in words, the tears just kept falling, his voice shaking even as they thrust out. "But this time I'm anxious because my mistakes would reflect on you, too!"
On Victor. Victor. Victor who'd done nothing but show up and give him everything, teach him everything, try to help with everything. Victor who was untouchable and perfect, who was graceful and happy, and everything he'd ever imagined, and then more, on top of it, and Victor just wanted him to sully every bit of that with his own failure like it was ever Victor's. Victor who shouldn't have even been here to being with, and who he'd given every reason not to want to be here.
Nothing holding, that comes flying out, too. "I've been secretly wondering if you wanted to quit!"
Even when he knows it's wrong -- thinks, prays, desperately wills against the pain. Because Victor has never.
Not once. Not a look or a word. Never yelled this morning, or months ago. Ever. Never a single threat or word. Until. Now.