Gloved hands covering his face. (He knows the ending of this.) Shoulders hunched. (He knows Yuri will be looking towards him, reaching for him.) He can't look. If he looks at Yuri now, that crack is going to explode into a million brilliant shards of glass, and he won't be able to stop the wild sobs that are clawing at his chest, his throat. He can't breathe.
You have to do the opposite of what people expect. He'd said that. Told Yuri and Yurio that they had to learn how to surprise and delight, by doing the unexpected. He'd said. He'd said. He'd said.
He'd said don't you want to come with me? and Yuri had never answered.
He'd said little piggy can't enter the rink until he drops some body fat, still swallowing cold anger, taking satisfaction in being cruel.
He'd said seduce me with everything you have more times than he can count. Had never added like you did before because it was never needed, and it was never appropriate. Because Yuri had said no, no, no, no. A million no's. Wanting everything Victor could give except that. And Yuri had been afraid of losing him.
But Yuri had said. And all this time, it was only Victor, even if he couldn't understand why: after the banquet, nothing. After a year, nothing. Nothing until that video, that he'd thought was a message in a bottle, a love letter written across thousands of miles, but wasn't. Coming to terms with adjusted expectations, and feeling all right with it most days, in the same way he could get used to not being able to breathe or see.
It was only him. He blurred the lines. He knew that, that it wasn't real, that when Yuri relaxed and fell into a pile on the floor with him and Maccachin, it was just a game, it was just because he was comfortable with them. Yuri never touched him like that, the way he did on the dance floor. Yuri never looked at him like that, the way he had from that slim silver pole, all challenge and invitation and desire, unless it was at the start of Eros, Victor's own perfect vehicle of torture. Reliving that night again and again. He'd thought –– he was sure ––
But this. His jump. Yuri's pose. It's as clear as his dance floor challenge, as certain as his request for Victor to come visit him. No matter how the audience cheers, it was for him alone. It couldn't be anything else.
Hands dropping, but he can't look at Yuri, or else this careful clarity is going to break all over again. Taking off from his spot like a shot, arms pumping, coat flapping out behind him as he runs, heart sprinting out in front of him, tugging him impatiently along. Unable to run fast enough. Unable to run back to that moment, when he should have kissed Katsuki Yuri in front of God and everyone. Unable to take back two years of being wrong.
There's only now. Breath rasping. Heart leaping. The thud of his shoes against concrete. Catching himself on the open gate of the rink, and pausing before he can finally look, and it makes him glad he didn't before, because Yuri is radiant. Thrilled, running towards him with open arms and a brilliant face lit with joy and accomplishment, and there's nothing to do. Nothing else he could do. No other answer. No other way to show Yuri how he feels, how Yuri made him feel, how he can't think and he can't breathe and his head is spinning somewhere in the clouds while his heart makes a suicidal attempt to burst straight through his ribcage to reach Yuri.
Impossible to wait for Yuri to come to him, when Victor should have done this all along.
Throwing himself at Yuri, arm wrapping around his shoulders, fingers sinking into his hair. His weight and momentum pushing them back. Seeing surprise widen those eyes, before his own slide closed. The whole world screaming to a halt, and he can't hear anything except the wild thunder of his own pulse.
The collision of this kiss the final strike that shatters his heart into shimmering powder, jolts him harder than hitting the ice ever could, but he doesn't feel it, can't feel anything but the hummingbird sprint of his heart against Yuri's chest, and the relief of two years' worth of uncertainty and frustration and despair all exploding at once.
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Date: 2017-04-10 02:19 pm (UTC)Gloved hands covering his face. (He knows the ending of this.) Shoulders hunched. (He knows Yuri will be looking towards him, reaching for him.) He can't look. If he looks at Yuri now, that crack is going to explode into a million brilliant shards of glass, and he won't be able to stop the wild sobs that are clawing at his chest, his throat. He can't breathe.
You have to do the opposite of what people expect. He'd said that. Told Yuri and Yurio that they had to learn how to surprise and delight, by doing the unexpected. He'd said. He'd said. He'd said.
He'd said don't you want to come with me? and Yuri had never answered.
He'd said little piggy can't enter the rink until he drops some body fat, still swallowing cold anger, taking satisfaction in being cruel.
He'd said seduce me with everything you have more times than he can count. Had never added like you did before because it was never needed, and it was never appropriate. Because Yuri had said no, no, no, no. A million no's. Wanting everything Victor could give except that. And Yuri had been afraid of losing him.
But Yuri had said. And all this time, it was only Victor, even if he couldn't understand why: after the banquet, nothing. After a year, nothing. Nothing until that video, that he'd thought was a message in a bottle, a love letter written across thousands of miles, but wasn't. Coming to terms with adjusted expectations, and feeling all right with it most days, in the same way he could get used to not being able to breathe or see.
It was only him. He blurred the lines. He knew that, that it wasn't real, that when Yuri relaxed and fell into a pile on the floor with him and Maccachin, it was just a game, it was just because he was comfortable with them. Yuri never touched him like that, the way he did on the dance floor. Yuri never looked at him like that, the way he had from that slim silver pole, all challenge and invitation and desire, unless it was at the start of Eros, Victor's own perfect vehicle of torture. Reliving that night again and again. He'd thought –– he was sure ––
But this. His jump. Yuri's pose. It's as clear as his dance floor challenge, as certain as his request for Victor to come visit him. No matter how the audience cheers, it was for him alone. It couldn't be anything else.
Hands dropping, but he can't look at Yuri, or else this careful clarity is going to break all over again. Taking off from his spot like a shot, arms pumping, coat flapping out behind him as he runs, heart sprinting out in front of him, tugging him impatiently along. Unable to run fast enough. Unable to run back to that moment, when he should have kissed Katsuki Yuri in front of God and everyone. Unable to take back two years of being wrong.
There's only now. Breath rasping. Heart leaping. The thud of his shoes against concrete. Catching himself on the open gate of the rink, and pausing before he can finally look, and it makes him glad he didn't before, because Yuri is radiant. Thrilled, running towards him with open arms and a brilliant face lit with joy and accomplishment, and there's nothing to do. Nothing else he could do. No other answer. No other way to show Yuri how he feels, how Yuri made him feel, how he can't think and he can't breathe and his head is spinning somewhere in the clouds while his heart makes a suicidal attempt to burst straight through his ribcage to reach Yuri.
Impossible to wait for Yuri to come to him, when Victor should have done this all along.
Throwing himself at Yuri, arm wrapping around his shoulders, fingers sinking into his hair. His weight and momentum pushing them back. Seeing surprise widen those eyes, before his own slide closed. The whole world screaming to a halt, and he can't hear anything except the wild thunder of his own pulse.
The collision of this kiss the final strike that shatters his heart into shimmering powder, jolts him harder than hitting the ice ever could, but he doesn't feel it, can't feel anything but the hummingbird sprint of his heart against Yuri's chest, and the relief of two years' worth of uncertainty and frustration and despair all exploding at once.
Finally.