There's no surprise when Victor says he has no clue what to do with a crying person. With Yuri. Like this. He's not the first. He's like everyone else in that -- Phichit and Celestino and Minako and his family -- and Yuri can't even fault that. Even when it feels inescapably and suffocatingly alone. Like he's screaming now and still, no one can hear him. Not even Victor.

But there's no restraint, no charity, no patience, no ability to even breathe when Victor throws out that question.

A joke of a response, so out of the field, it that has him shouting again, before he can stop himself.

A "NO!", his voice is loud and breaking sound in the emptiness of the garage, when anger and horror and helplessness and desperate disbelief and terrified loneliness are all one ocean, shifting and shining and stabbing through him and through his tears. When he's never needed anything more than -- "Just have more faith than I do that I'll win!"

Just believe. Just believe what he couldn't, when everything that was his belief, and his self, was slipping through his grasp, splintereed and shattered. It didn't even. It didn't have to be words if Victor had none. It just had to be him. "You don't have to say anything!" Didn't have to make it up. Didn't have to find some magical cure. Because there wasn't one. This couldn't be fixed. "Just stand by me!"

He just had to stay. Just stay anyway. Just believe anyway. Just make every voice wrong.