Yuri shifts, hair pressing soft against Victor's neck and chin, and Victor loosens his arms a little to let him move, but the first four words don't really make any more sense for being heard more clearly, until Yuri clarifies them with a tiny three word question that has Victor blinking into the dimness of the room. Was it ...
Yes. No. If it hadn't been for the flip, how much longer would he have gone? How much longer could he have gone, thinking he was fine and that this was all he needed, to be Yuri's coach and friend and confidante, champion and companion?
But Yuri did it. His jump. His flip. And it was a message, wasn't it? It had seemed so clear at the time, but now that he has to explain it to Yuri –– and he's suddenly, sharply aware that all this might actually hinge on how well he explains it –– it all seems muddied and difficult to parse. There's nothing for it but to answer, though, as honestly and clearly as he can, so: "I kissed you because of the flip."
Which is true. Even if now, he's not sure he read it correctly, is horrified at the thought that he might have just slapped his own interpretation on it and tackled Yuri without permission or desire, but he swallows it down, thinking back to that moment, his surprise, the way his blood had run cold and then scalding, the way the ground dropped out from under his feet. "I thought it was a ... message."
A confession. Like this one. Like Yuri's version of Stay Close to Me. There's a rueful puff of breath from his nose, and his mouth has gone dry, but his voice stays even and low, the way it might if this was a different sort of night and a different sort of embrace and there were a pillow beneath his head instead of Yuri's rumpled hair. "That you ... loved me, too." Except even loved isn't the right word: that Yuri trusted him, wanted him. That Victor hadn't been wrong all those months ago, or over a year ago. "But it wasn't –– it's not ––"
Searching for these words is harder. Even now, he doesn't want to confess to that year and a half he spent angry and hurt and unable to stop thinking about an uncaring Japanese skater who had blithely wandered in and out of his life, idly taking his heart and soul and joy along with him, as if for kicks. "But I already felt this way. I have for a ... a long time. That didn't, doesn't, have anything to do with the flip. But it was my jump, and you ..."
He trails off, and this time can't pick up the thread again, but there's a hunch pulling at his shoulders, uncertain and uncomfortable, because. Well.
Saying it out loud, it sounds stupid. All of it.
What a threadbare reason to lose his mind and kiss someone who wasn't expecting it and probably didn't want it.
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Date: 2017-04-14 07:41 pm (UTC)Yes. No. If it hadn't been for the flip, how much longer would he have gone? How much longer could he have gone, thinking he was fine and that this was all he needed, to be Yuri's coach and friend and confidante, champion and companion?
But Yuri did it. His jump. His flip. And it was a message, wasn't it? It had seemed so clear at the time, but now that he has to explain it to Yuri –– and he's suddenly, sharply aware that all this might actually hinge on how well he explains it –– it all seems muddied and difficult to parse. There's nothing for it but to answer, though, as honestly and clearly as he can, so: "I kissed you because of the flip."
Which is true. Even if now, he's not sure he read it correctly, is horrified at the thought that he might have just slapped his own interpretation on it and tackled Yuri without permission or desire, but he swallows it down, thinking back to that moment, his surprise, the way his blood had run cold and then scalding, the way the ground dropped out from under his feet. "I thought it was a ... message."
A confession. Like this one. Like Yuri's version of Stay Close to Me. There's a rueful puff of breath from his nose, and his mouth has gone dry, but his voice stays even and low, the way it might if this was a different sort of night and a different sort of embrace and there were a pillow beneath his head instead of Yuri's rumpled hair. "That you ... loved me, too." Except even loved isn't the right word: that Yuri trusted him, wanted him. That Victor hadn't been wrong all those months ago, or over a year ago. "But it wasn't –– it's not ––"
Searching for these words is harder. Even now, he doesn't want to confess to that year and a half he spent angry and hurt and unable to stop thinking about an uncaring Japanese skater who had blithely wandered in and out of his life, idly taking his heart and soul and joy along with him, as if for kicks. "But I already felt this way. I have for a ... a long time. That didn't, doesn't, have anything to do with the flip. But it was my jump, and you ..."
He trails off, and this time can't pick up the thread again, but there's a hunch pulling at his shoulders, uncertain and uncomfortable, because. Well.
Saying it out loud, it sounds stupid. All of it.
What a threadbare reason to lose his mind and kiss someone who wasn't expecting it and probably didn't want it.