Even if Yuuri blinks a little at the sudden vehemence that comes with the next words, leading to the sudden spillage of tea from Yuri moving too fast, and it's not ... it's not that he doesn't understand. Sure, there's a part of him that wants to jump to the defense that even Victor would laugh at that as nonsense. Except that Victor laughs at everything ...
... and none of them are laughing about the fact Victor, even without competing, holds all the record lines in front of them. All. Of. Them. He'd laugh at that, too.
(Victor who isn't here. Victor who might not be laughing anymore.)
But Yuuri isn't. Doesn't. Not even Victor as his coach has changed that. Yuuri knows some things have changed, but at the base a lot of them might not have, too. He's still himself, even three-quarters through this year that has been full of more surprises than expectations. It's what he thinks Victor would do that comes to mind, more present than his own pattern for quiet.
To let it peter out. To let it be dismissed.
The admonishments always cut deeper.
(How can someone who can't motivate others motivate himself?
How can someone who can't motivate others motivate himself?
How can someone who can't motivate others motivate himself?)
There's a press of his lips, searching the rim of his cup, a second, before, "Victor wouldn't agree."
"If he had he wouldn't have choreographed your piece, or given you the music." He would have been the worst traits they all known he can be. Flightly, forgetful, dismissive of what doesn't interest him to pay attention to. "He'd say--" What would he say? What would he tell Yuuri, if he was sitting here at this table, trying to pick him up?
"--that it doesn't matter what other say. It's only you out there on the ice. Only you who can show them who you truly are."
no subject
holds all the record lines in front of them. All. Of. Them. He'd laugh at that, too.
(Victor who isn't here.
Victor who might not be laughing anymore.)
But Yuuri isn't. Doesn't. Not even Victor as his coach has changed that. Yuuri knows some things have changed, but at the base a lot of them might not have, too. He's still himself, even three-quarters through this year that has been full of more surprises than expectations. It's what he thinks Victor would do that comes to mind, more present than his own pattern for quiet.
To let it peter out. To let it be dismissed.
The admonishments always cut deeper.
(How can someone who can't motivate others motivate himself?
There's a press of his lips, searching the rim of his cup, a second, before, "Victor wouldn't agree."
"If he had he wouldn't have choreographed your piece, or given you the music." He would have been the worst traits they all known he can be. Flightly, forgetful, dismissive of what doesn't interest him to pay attention to. "He'd say--" What would he say? What would he tell Yuuri, if he was sitting here at this table, trying to pick him up?
"--that it doesn't matter what other say. It's only you out there on the ice. Only you who can show them who you truly are."