His response to that hazard of raised options next, while Victor persists in whatever tangent he's fallen on, is even less verbal for how clear it is in his head. He’s never had a brother, but he has a sister and he knows who he counts as his friends, even if they are few.
He’s not certain it would go well to say he isn’t certain Victor is even of the latter. The way they’ve come at this. How far apart they are. How little Yuri has managed to navigate whatever was already on the table in front of him. It's too tight in his chest. Not even pain just tightness, like admitting the confusion of even what they are, on the back of having no clue why for everything, would just be worse
Insult on top of so many other ones. Not even certain he could make it form into a sentence. A single word.
(Who is he to even say that, think that? Who in this world wouldn't call themselves Victor's friend if they could?)
But then Victor says the last part, with a smooth voice, the huff of an easy joke and before Yuri know's it he's up, looking at Victor horrified, and the word No won't stop coming out of his mouth, while it explodes everywhere inside him. Is bouncing from side to side to side inside his body, inside his head.
Because. It's not a joke. This isn't what he wants.
He doesn't want to be pretended to. Like a child who couldn't handle the world.
Like - Like - Like he couldn't handle who Victor was on Victor's terms, so he'd - just change himself. That easy.
"I want you to stay who you are, Victor!" He doesn't want Victor to be someone he isn't, when Yuri is already trying his hardest to figure how to take all of his understanding of Viktor Nikiforov and translate that into just Victor, here, in Hasetsu, here, with him, and he knows he's slow, slower than Yurio would be, or anyone else on the ice with Victor even, but he doesn't want lies. He doesn't want to be acted to, like an audience given cue cards.
He might not deserve this chance, whatever it is, however its happening, while Victor talks to him about them and not about leaving. It's sick, befuddled relief, and panic all clashing together. It would be dynamic and so loud on a piano. Screeching thunder. It makes his stomach and his lower back sore, and his eyes drop. Because he doesn't deserve it, even as it swells with dangerous relief and a blossom of such guilt.
Trying, to reach deeper, to pull out the things that true. That should be said. Explained. No matter how stupid.
"I've always looked up to you." Yuri looked down and away, his world on a replay. He'd shown that so badly, hadn't he? Shown everything but that? He'd won, but he couldn't handle anything else but the ice, but the forward momentum of everything there. Celestino's call, Victor's exercises, trying to get back the piece written. He'd hardly given Victor his full attention when not practicing, and maybe not full honesty ever. Maybe not even now, but he was trying. Trying to at least open his mouth. Trying to say why, as it rushed up.
"I ignored you because I didn’t want you to see my shortcomings." Because it would be easier to fail anywhere else but here wouldn't it? It was worse to be left for who he was than even just because he wasn't a good enough skater, wasn't it? The scores had already told him the latter enough times last year, he had video footage of it...but to have Victor tell him the other, too?
But Victor was still here, sitting below him, him and Maccachin, looking up with those cool, clear eyes. The colors of the ocean so close to them, so vibrant in his face, while he watched, and still, still, still had no single wrinkle or weight on his expression that said the knife was coming for Yuri, for his life, for this strange new life where Victor was his coach, for anything he'd done wrong already.
He needed to do better with that. To find a way to get to where that was. At least show up.
Not give up. Not give up at all, if Victor wasn't giving up on him. "I’ll make it up to you with my skating!"
no subject
He’s not certain it would go well to say he isn’t certain Victor is even of the latter. The way they’ve come at this. How far apart they are. How little Yuri has managed to navigate whatever was already on the table in front of him. It's too tight in his chest. Not even pain just tightness, like admitting the confusion of even what they are, on the back of having no clue why for everything, would just be worse
Insult on top of so many other ones. Not even certain he could make it form into a sentence. A single word.
(Who is he to even say that, think that? Who in this world wouldn't call themselves Victor's friend if they could?)
But then Victor says the last part, with a smooth voice, the huff of an easy joke and before Yuri know's it he's up, looking at Victor horrified, and the word No won't stop coming out of his mouth, while it explodes everywhere inside him. Is bouncing from side to side to side inside his body, inside his head.
Because. It's not a joke. This isn't what he wants.
He doesn't want to be pretended to. Like a child who couldn't handle the world.
Like - Like - Like he couldn't handle who Victor was on Victor's terms, so he'd - just change himself. That easy.
"I want you to stay who you are, Victor!" He doesn't want Victor to be someone he isn't, when Yuri is already trying his hardest to figure how to take all of his understanding of Viktor Nikiforov and translate that into just Victor, here, in Hasetsu, here, with him, and he knows he's slow, slower than Yurio would be, or anyone else on the ice with Victor even, but he doesn't want lies. He doesn't want to be acted to, like an audience given cue cards.
He might not deserve this chance, whatever it is, however its happening, while Victor talks to him about them and not about leaving. It's sick, befuddled relief, and panic all clashing together. It would be dynamic and so loud on a piano. Screeching thunder. It makes his stomach and his lower back sore, and his eyes drop. Because he doesn't deserve it, even as it swells with dangerous relief and a blossom of such guilt.
Trying, to reach deeper, to pull out the things that true. That should be said. Explained. No matter how stupid.
"I've always looked up to you." Yuri looked down and away, his world on a replay. He'd shown that so badly, hadn't he? Shown everything but that? He'd won, but he couldn't handle anything else but the ice, but the forward momentum of everything there. Celestino's call, Victor's exercises, trying to get back the piece written. He'd hardly given Victor his full attention when not practicing, and maybe not full honesty ever. Maybe not even now, but he was trying. Trying to at least open his mouth. Trying to say why, as it rushed up.
"I ignored you because I didn’t want you to see my shortcomings." Because it would be easier to fail anywhere else but here wouldn't it? It was worse to be left for who he was than even just because he wasn't a good enough skater, wasn't it? The scores had already told him the latter enough times last year, he had video footage of it...but to have Victor tell him the other, too?
But Victor was still here, sitting below him, him and Maccachin, looking up with those cool, clear eyes. The colors of the ocean so close to them, so vibrant in his face, while he watched, and still, still, still had no single wrinkle or weight on his expression that said the knife was coming for Yuri, for his life, for this strange new life where Victor was his coach, for anything he'd done wrong already.
He needed to do better with that. To find a way to get to where that was. At least show up.
Not give up. Not give up at all, if Victor wasn't giving up on him. "I’ll make it up to you with my skating!"