The last thing Yuri is expecting -- pillow clutched up to his face, letting those words fall out in the silence, small enough to be lost, to just evaporate in the silence and the darkness pressing into his closed eyes and filling the small room, where this admission of weakness already too early could be eaten by all of these things, an old, open sore but still unseen by anyone else -- is for the door to suddenly go flying fast open, light flooding in everywhere, the silence filling with Victor's voice.
To look up and see the disorienting sight of Victor giving little jumps back and forth, with his small black swim shorts, a white towel draped over his head and shoulders, complaining -- and asking for a bath? -- while Chris is standing in the doorway to one side of him and just a little behind, running his hand up through his hair, looking amused about all of this, asking, "Yuri, can you make coffee, too?"
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The last thing Yuri is expecting -- pillow clutched up to his face, letting those words fall out in the silence, small enough to be lost, to just evaporate in the silence and the darkness pressing into his closed eyes and filling the small room, where this admission of weakness already too early could be eaten by all of these things, an old, open sore but still unseen by anyone else -- is for the door to suddenly go flying fast open, light flooding in everywhere, the silence filling with Victor's voice.
To look up and see the disorienting sight of Victor giving little jumps back and forth, with his small black swim shorts, a white towel draped over his head and shoulders, complaining -- and asking for a bath? -- while Chris is standing in the doorway to one side of him and just a little behind, running his hand up through his hair, looking amused about all of this, asking, "Yuri, can you make coffee, too?"