His dreams, if he could remember them, would not surprise him: The ballroom. The ice. Being home in Russia. Someone yelling, that might be Yakov, or might be him, or might be Yuri, or might be the cloudy mass of people on the other side of the rink walls, in the seats, watching him.'
And Yuri, of course. It's a strange and relieving night when he doesn't dream about Yuri, about the programs they're working on, about walking together, talking together. Yuri on the ice. Yuri on the ballroom floor. Yuri pressed all along his skin, saying things he never would, Yuri's smile, and hands, and mouth.
Dreams he's not proud of, but wouldn't chase away any more than he can't.
But whatever he was dreaming goes directly out of his head the second his eyes blink open, sleepy and only half-seeing, but it's just enough: enough to feel a shift in the bed next to him, Yuri slipping away, under a blanket lifting up, and no. That's not all right.
It isn't even a thought process, only a reflex: reaching for Yuri's side, and finding the top of his arm, with fingers that are a little too tired to be strong or anything other than just there. "Stay."
All of it happening in a blur of still-asleep, and he never really breaks the surface, but it's just the most natural thing in the world to shift and loop his arm around Yuri and push his face into Yuri's shoulder and simply slide back into whatever he wasn't dreaming from there.
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And Yuri, of course. It's a strange and relieving night when he doesn't dream about Yuri, about the programs they're working on, about walking together, talking together. Yuri on the ice. Yuri on the ballroom floor. Yuri pressed all along his skin, saying things he never would, Yuri's smile, and hands, and mouth.
Dreams he's not proud of, but wouldn't chase away any more than he can't.
But whatever he was dreaming goes directly out of his head the second his eyes blink open, sleepy and only half-seeing, but it's just enough: enough to feel a shift in the bed next to him, Yuri slipping away, under a blanket lifting up, and no. That's not all right.
It isn't even a thought process, only a reflex: reaching for Yuri's side, and finding the top of his arm, with fingers that are a little too tired to be strong or anything other than just there. "Stay."
All of it happening in a blur of still-asleep, and he never really breaks the surface, but it's just the most natural thing in the world to shift and loop his arm around Yuri and push his face into Yuri's shoulder and simply slide back into whatever he wasn't dreaming from there.