There really isn't any winning, is there? Wasn't he just telling himself that?
Just three or four seconds ago, before he was having to try and help Victor stay on his feet, which Victor scoffed at even the lightest thing he could think to say, scoffed at his needing to say something, inability to not try and help, as though he couldn't need help, and certainly not Yuri's help, and then started, and went about muttering a retort under his breath, like Yuri had been the one to insult the pride and honor he had for himself, or his country, or who knows what.
His having skills. Or a hoard of gold medals.
Or any fully present inability to keep anything straight. Which was, of course, Yuri's fault.
At least it's all in English this time? He doesn't even know it that's a plus or a minus. Like maybe Victor wants him to be able to hear it this time when he contradicts Yuri once again. There's something a little sterner as well as a little more than just stung in his tone, when he stops walking to ask, as obvious for being heard as it is having heard, "Do I need to make it a promise?"
"Do you need to be able to make me run the stairs or do a hundred sit-ups?"
Or -- but Yuri can't bring his throat or his mouth to form the rest bubbling up his head.
Even just to promise he can and that if Victor commands it there, he'll stop talking altogether and just leave him alone. Stop trying to help. Would it matter? Should it matter? If he can just say anything that would get Victor to agree to just walk a little further, drink some water, go to the hotel. Because he'd do it. The wind is blowing the ends of his hair, chill air starting to steal the edges of his ears, the tip of his nose, and he knows, he knows more than he should, that he would.
If it would help, somehow, someway, anywhere, even Victor's pride, but especially Victor's state, he'd do it.
He'd run the length of every floor on the building, before even considering going to sleep.
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Just three or four seconds ago, before he was having to try and help Victor stay on his feet, which Victor scoffed at even the lightest thing he could think to say, scoffed at his needing to say something, inability to not try and help, as though he couldn't need help, and certainly not Yuri's help, and then started, and went about muttering a retort under his breath, like Yuri had been the one to insult the pride and honor he had for himself, or his country, or who knows what.
His having skills. Or a hoard of gold medals.
Or any fully present inability to keep anything straight. Which was, of course, Yuri's fault.
At least it's all in English this time? He doesn't even know it that's a plus or a minus. Like maybe Victor wants him to be able to hear it this time when he contradicts Yuri once again. There's something a little sterner as well as a little more than just stung in his tone, when he stops walking to ask, as obvious for being heard as it is having heard, "Do I need to make it a promise?"
"Do you need to be able to make me run the stairs or do a hundred sit-ups?"
Or -- but Yuri can't bring his throat or his mouth to form the rest bubbling up his head.
Even just to promise he can and that if Victor commands it there, he'll stop talking altogether and just leave him alone. Stop trying to help. Would it matter? Should it matter? If he can just say anything that would get Victor to agree to just walk a little further, drink some water, go to the hotel. Because he'd do it. The wind is blowing the ends of his hair, chill air starting to steal the edges of his ears, the tip of his nose, and he knows, he knows more than he should, that he would.
If it would help, somehow, someway, anywhere, even Victor's pride, but especially Victor's state, he'd do it.
He'd run the length of every floor on the building, before even considering going to sleep.