If Yuri were a cat, he could not jump higher than he suddenly flails into the air above his bed. Blanket all around him, going every which way, as though it's not Victor's smooth ringing voice, but a huge bucket of snow that Victor just tossed on top of him. He knows he's late. Too late. The sun is higher than it should be. He hasn't run. He didn't even get out of bed.
(He hasn't even been asleep. Just so tired.
Beyond his muscles. In his head. So tired. Given up.)
Shock slamming guilt, embaremssment and confusion, when he's on his hands and knees, blanketed. "The o-ocean?"
That's even more surreal. That Victor doesn't even look angry, look annoyed. He's not even using the voice he does then, when he's done something wrong for the umpteenth time in a row, or he's refused to give Victor the answer to a question containing more than five words and only just enough not to be an absolutely embaressment of himself. And he has. He knows he's done wrong. The worst wrong yet. The one where he basically stayed down, asked for it end and stop leading up to the end, without thinking about it like that until just now when it's alive in his shock.
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(He hasn't even been asleep. Just so tired.
Beyond his muscles. In his head. So tired. Given up.)
Shock slamming guilt, embaremssment and confusion, when he's on his hands and knees, blanketed. "The o-ocean?"
That's even more surreal. That Victor doesn't even look angry, look annoyed. He's not even using the voice he does then, when he's done something wrong for the umpteenth time in a row, or he's refused to give Victor the answer to a question containing more than five words and only just enough not to be an absolutely embaressment of himself. And he has. He knows he's done wrong. The worst wrong yet. The one where he basically stayed down, asked for it end and stop leading up to the end, without thinking about it like that until just now when it's alive in his shock.
And yet ... ? Victor is ... ? The ocean ... ?