Victor is laughing and waving like this was all just another part of the show. Like Yuri's heart isn't still pounding in his ears, while his body catches up with him. Victor's hand staying in his, almost not letting go, even when he's going to need both of them. Until he does. Leaving Yuri's hand, finally fully adrift, to handle his skates, and then to be pushed with him into the seat, Victor pressed beside him.
Scores being up, and Yuri squints at the screen. His points, his rank, and -- he feels it slam his heart, the somehow still stumbling, beating, startle-stopping-never stopping thing -- at the same time as Victor suddenly throws his arms beack around Yuri. Victor's head against his, hair and cheek and voice an excited exclamation, and Yuri can't tell if he's about to start laughing.
The whole world feels impossible and somehow it's all still so real.
He's in Second. He's in Second. Silver. He's going to Russia.
Victor ( Victor pressed against him, like he was yesterday, this part is normal)
kissed him. (That part is not.)
Those words snapping him from that thought. Victor. Victor proud of him, and he turns catching a hand on one of the arms around him. Suddenly important, suddenly isistent, having to know, what he'd had to know originally. Before the whole world turned upside, that whole world still twisting, clenching, when Victor's face is not even inches from his, and the rest won't stop even for this, but he needs to know even more.
With those numbers, with that rank, with Victor as the person behind every question that will come about his ending. "It was -" They will all ask about it. About him. Assuming. About. Victor, who never knew. Who he never asked. Never trained for that with. Never even once implied he'd considered, because he never had, until that second. Never even thought about it before he was doing it. "Was it okay?"
Because it won't matter. None of the cheering, singing with his blood, filling up his head and the arena. None of the things those people might say. Any interviews, any comments online to any and all video coverage and still frames and fan vids. None of it will ever matter if Victor says otherwise.
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Date: 2017-04-10 07:40 pm (UTC)Scores being up, and Yuri squints at the screen. His points, his rank, and -- he feels it slam his heart, the somehow still stumbling, beating, startle-stopping-never stopping thing -- at the same time as Victor suddenly throws his arms beack around Yuri. Victor's head against his, hair and cheek and voice an excited exclamation, and Yuri can't tell if he's about to start laughing.
The whole world feels impossible and somehow it's all still so real.
He's in Second. He's in Second. Silver. He's going to Russia.
( Victor pressed against him,
like he was yesterday, this part is normal)
(That part is not.)
Those words snapping him from that thought. Victor. Victor proud of him, and he turns catching a hand on one of the arms around him. Suddenly important, suddenly isistent, having to know, what he'd had to know originally. Before the whole world turned upside, that whole world still twisting, clenching, when Victor's face is not even inches from his, and the rest won't stop even for this, but he needs to know even more.
With those numbers, with that rank, with Victor as the person behind every question that will come about his ending. "It was -" They will all ask about it. About him. Assuming. About. Victor, who never knew. Who he never asked. Never trained for that with. Never even once implied he'd considered, because he never had, until that second. Never even thought about it before he was doing it. "Was it okay?"
Because it won't matter. None of the cheering, singing with his blood, filling up his head and the arena. None of the things those people might say. Any interviews, any comments online to any and all video coverage and still frames and fan vids. None of it will ever matter if Victor says otherwise.