He's such an idiot. If he could sink into the carpet, or the wall, if there were anything else he could do, he probably would. Except he can't. Victor is drunk, and looking up when he says he's sorry twice -- first in Russian, and then again in English -- he looks so sad, again. Yuri hates that even more. Maybe everything.
Yuri pushed himself back up, pushing the things that had come half out of the wallet back in it. The card in his hand, still slightly trembling, making himself step toward the door, and say, "It's okay."
It is okay. It is. They're here. He has the key. He's just an idiot, an absolute idiot, and Victor is drunk. Not that it changes the fact Victor happens to be .. is .. Victor. That he can't finish that thought without his cheeks just staying hot, just proves it more. He's an idiot. A child. Twenty-three, and a child, and an absolute idiot.
(Victor is the still-current reigning champion of the skating world. A Living Legend. A universally agreed upon International Sex Symbol. Even as his coach, who exists in Yuri's personal space more than anyone ever has. Even drunk, deciding none of the space left was Yuri's anymore either, or maybe forgetting it existed at all, because he's drunk.)
At least the door chimes, the light turning green, and the door opens under his fingers, on an ink-black room. He'd like to just find the darkest corner of it and curl up there, but he can't yet. He slides the card back into Victor's wallet, keeping the one in one hand, one foot pressed against the open door at the bottom, and he reached out for Victor's arm again. "Come on. We made it."
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Yuri pushed himself back up, pushing the things that had come half out of the wallet back in it. The card in his hand, still slightly trembling, making himself step toward the door, and say, "It's okay."
It is okay. It is. They're here. He has the key. He's just an idiot, an absolute idiot, and Victor is drunk. Not that it changes the fact Victor happens to be .. is .. Victor. That he can't finish that thought without his cheeks just staying hot, just proves it more. He's an idiot. A child. Twenty-three, and a child, and an absolute idiot.
(Victor is the still-current reigning champion of the skating world. A Living Legend. A universally agreed upon International Sex Symbol. Even as his coach, who exists in Yuri's personal space more than anyone ever has. Even drunk, deciding none of the space left was Yuri's anymore either, or maybe forgetting it existed at all, because he's drunk.)
At least the door chimes, the light turning green, and the door opens under his fingers, on an ink-black room. He'd like to just find the darkest corner of it and curl up there, but he can't yet. He slides the card back into Victor's wallet, keeping the one in one hand, one foot pressed against the open door at the bottom, and he reached out for Victor's arm again. "Come on. We made it."