He doesn't know what he was expecting when he turns around. Which one is worse? Is it the one where Victor hasn't moved a step, or the one where Victor has, and Victor hasn't stopped moving, hasn't stopped at all, and he's going to be half undressed already by the time Yuri does get to looking at him again? It's not like it's not an image his brain doesn't have full fodder for given Yu-topia and Victor nonchalance with his own public nudity.
Whatever it was -- whatever conflicted, convoluted, each side not right, not enough, not okay somehow, suddenly -- it isn't this. It isn't Victor standing there, still dressed, with his hand on his neck, while all of those details pale, blurring, burning away, forgotten, for this stricken look on Victor's face. For the careful way, almost plaintive way Victor says those first two words, his name, and the only thing he can think, drastic and suddenly, is that anything in the world is better than Victor's pity for his own ignorance.
He isn't expecting the next words. Of anything else in the world. Anything Victor could say about him, his ignorance in all of this, it's not that. It makes him blink. It makes his heart stumble. Hard. Heavy. Slaming into the wall. Into his chest. Into confusion, and a confused denial of reaction in his head, in his chest, so loud it shuts out everything for a blistering blast of certain.
Because that's not -- it's -- even if --
"I'm not." It's on his mouth, before he can even make it clear in his head.
Because it's reckless and desperate and certain, there's no tremble to those words, and the idea of being afraid of Victor is tantamount to not breathing, to his heart not beating. Oh, he was afraid of a lot of things. So many. Countless things. Sometimes it seemed like there were millions between the moment he opened his eyes and the moment he closed them, and Victor's name was attached to some of them -- especially the fear of disappointing him, in any way, in every way, even among those, maybe but not always daily -- but not Victor.
Not Victor himself. Not Victor. Not in so long. Not in so many months now. And something terrible, and just faintly pained is snaking up into his heart.
Because. Is he? Suddenly, is he? Because nothing, nothing is okay, anymore, if he lost that.
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Date: 2017-04-14 03:32 pm (UTC)Whatever it was -- whatever conflicted, convoluted, each side not right, not enough, not okay somehow, suddenly -- it isn't this. It isn't Victor standing there, still dressed, with his hand on his neck, while all of those details pale, blurring, burning away, forgotten, for this stricken look on Victor's face. For the careful way, almost plaintive way Victor says those first two words, his name, and the only thing he can think, drastic and suddenly, is that anything in the world is better than Victor's pity for his own ignorance.
He isn't expecting the next words. Of anything else in the world. Anything Victor could say about him, his ignorance in all of this, it's not that. It makes him blink. It makes his heart stumble. Hard. Heavy. Slaming into the wall. Into his chest. Into confusion, and a confused denial of reaction in his head, in his chest, so loud it shuts out everything for a blistering blast of certain.
Because that's not -- it's -- even if --
"I'm not." It's on his mouth, before he can even make it clear in his head.
Because it's reckless and desperate and certain, there's no tremble to those words, and the idea of being afraid of Victor is tantamount to not breathing, to his heart not beating. Oh, he was afraid of a lot of things. So many. Countless things. Sometimes it seemed like there were millions between the moment he opened his eyes and the moment he closed them, and Victor's name was attached to some of them -- especially the fear of disappointing him, in any way, in every way, even among those, maybe but not always daily -- but not Victor.
Not Victor himself. Not Victor. Not in so long. Not in so many months now.
And something terrible, and just faintly pained is snaking up into his heart.
Because. Is he? Suddenly, is he? Because nothing, nothing is okay, anymore, if he lost that.