Too drunk for, too dizzy for, when Yuri looks up, and his eyes widen, and their lips nearly brush ––
But he misses it, and in the next blink, Yuri's ducked out from his arms to search around the floor, apologizing (again) as if he has anything to be sorry about (again), as if this isn't all Victor.
Victor, and his inability to let go of one glimmering night.
Victor, and how he'd pined through fifteen months like a lovesick teenager, latching on to any small piece of news, even after Yuri disappeared from skating.
Victor, and how he'd given up everything for a second chance, because he'd thought that video meant something more than it did.
Victor, and Victor's foolish heart, that even now won't stop aching, even as his hands fall to his sides and his head keeps spinning in a cheap facsimile of the way Yuri turned his world upside-down at the banquet in Sochi.
(He'd tried. He had.
Even if maybe he should have tried harder. Cut these feelings out of himself entirely.
He'd thought he was doing so well. They've grown so close. He's loved coaching Yuri.
But this was still sitting there,
barely hidden,
all along.)
Softly: "Мне жаль."
No, wait. It takes a second to catch up, because it feels so much more natural, but it wasn't right. "Sorry."
no subject
Too drunk for, too dizzy for, when Yuri looks up, and his eyes widen, and their lips nearly brush ––
But he misses it, and in the next blink, Yuri's ducked out from his arms to search around the floor, apologizing (again) as if he has anything to be sorry about (again), as if this isn't all Victor.
Victor, and his inability to let go of one glimmering night.
Victor, and how he'd pined through fifteen months like a lovesick teenager, latching on to any small piece of news, even after Yuri disappeared from skating.
Victor, and how he'd given up everything for a second chance, because he'd thought that video meant something more than it did.
Victor, and Victor's foolish heart, that even now won't stop aching, even as his hands fall to his sides and his head keeps spinning in a cheap facsimile of the way Yuri turned his world upside-down at the banquet in Sochi.
(He'd tried. He had.
Even if maybe he should have tried harder. Cut these feelings out of himself entirely.
He'd thought he was doing so well. They've grown so close. He's loved coaching Yuri.
But this was still sitting there,
Softly: "Мне жаль."
No, wait. It takes a second to catch up, because it feels so much more natural, but it wasn't right. "Sorry."
Again.