He sighs, hair falling into his eyes, even as his free hand comes up to cover the one Yuri's got flat against his chest. It's hard to keep everything straight: what Yuri's saying, what Victor's saying. What he should, and shouldn't. Competition starts tomorrow.
But. "It was supposed to be the story."
A new one, for him: old hat for everyone else. All those things he'd acted out, on the ice, without knowing how they actually felt, relying on music and choreography and the few flings he'd had here and there, that had never measured up to the way he loved to skate or his need to surprise.
(He can still surprise people.)
"The story ... любовь с первого взгляда."
Like Cinderella. Except he's blinking in sudden light, now, and there's a glass door, not slipper, in the way, that he has to let go of Yuri's hand to push at, even though his fingers and palm feel numb when they press against the door. "We're here."
The hotel. The room. Almost. But Yuri said they're going together, so that's fine.
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But. "It was supposed to be the story."
A new one, for him: old hat for everyone else. All those things he'd acted out, on the ice, without knowing how they actually felt, relying on music and choreography and the few flings he'd had here and there, that had never measured up to the way he loved to skate or his need to surprise.
(He can still surprise people.)
"The story ... любовь с первого взгляда."
Like Cinderella. Except he's blinking in sudden light, now, and there's a glass door, not slipper, in the way, that he has to let go of Yuri's hand to push at, even though his fingers and palm feel numb when they press against the door. "We're here."
The hotel. The room. Almost. But Yuri said they're going together, so that's fine.