Which just really, it opens a completely different kind of can of worms. Though he's not certain he ever expected that one not to be opened. Not when Victor is gone, and everyone knows Victor's gone, and he keeps hearing his name and Victor's name, and Victor's name more than his, whispered in rooms he's just walked into, and even by people who don't realize he's walked up nearby, and the reporters are bound to know and want to know more.
Even if he demurs with things that mumble off. Too sharp, too jangled, too quiet. It's a family emergency. It's private. He's fine. It'll be fine. Yuri will what they've practiced.
He runs away nearly as soon as not actively rude. (Any longer and he may have melted into the floor.)
Though he has absolutely nothing to run to. There's no Victor waiting to tell him what he should because this or that looked too tight, looked too sloppy. There's so many hours between right now and the next time he'll step back on the ice. Nearly one-fourth of the day, two hours until the first group of Ladies Freeskaters, and it suddenly seems vast. The space of a desert. Empty and burning. Sand in his eyes, sliding down the tunnels of insides.
He takes a seat, not paying too much attention to the Ice Dancers who've started practicing, or the larger than normal crowd backstage. His finds himself hunched over, hands pressed together to his mouth, trying to think only seconds later. He needs a plan. He needs something to hold on to. Something to guide him. Something to hold on to. He's never done this like this. Never. Never without Celestino even.
He should have planned this last night. He should have asked Victor on the phone. He should have asked for more. Should have said more than one or two words.
Victor said, it won't be so different (and some part of him, something curled in his chest shudders, throbbing worse than his feet and the muscle in the back of his shoulder, too raw for ruthless reminder), and maybe Victor's not wrong (maybe Yuri is wrong ; Yuri is so often wrong). Because he needs that, too. He needs this part to still be the same. He needs to make it through this. He needs to warm up. He needs to keep snacks light. He needs to not lose it completely (again).
He needs to show them. He can do this. Victor hasn't wasted this year on him.
(His foot, even with his toes pressed hard into the floor, still starts bouncing.)
no subject
Even if he demurs with things that mumble off. Too sharp, too jangled, too quiet.
It's a family emergency. It's private. He's fine. It'll be fine. Yuri will what they've practiced.
He runs away nearly as soon as not actively rude. (Any longer and he may have melted into the floor.)
Though he has absolutely nothing to run to. There's no Victor waiting to tell him what he should because this or that looked too tight, looked too sloppy. There's so many hours between right now and the next time he'll step back on the ice. Nearly one-fourth of the day, two hours until the first group of Ladies Freeskaters, and it suddenly seems vast. The space of a desert. Empty and burning. Sand in his eyes, sliding down the tunnels of insides.
He takes a seat, not paying too much attention to the Ice Dancers who've started practicing, or the larger than normal crowd backstage. His finds himself hunched over, hands pressed together to his mouth, trying to think only seconds later. He needs a plan. He needs something to hold on to. Something to guide him. Something to hold on to. He's never done this like this. Never. Never without Celestino even.
He should have planned this last night. He should have asked Victor on the phone.
He should have asked for more. Should have said more than one or two words.
Victor said, it won't be so different (and some part of him, something curled in his chest shudders, throbbing worse than his feet and the muscle in the back of his shoulder, too raw for ruthless reminder), and maybe Victor's not wrong (maybe Yuri is wrong ; Yuri is so often wrong). Because he needs that, too. He needs this part to still be the same. He needs to make it through this. He needs to warm up. He needs to keep snacks light. He needs to not lose it completely (again).
He needs to show them. He can do this. Victor hasn't wasted this year on him.
(His foot, even with his toes pressed hard into the floor, still starts bouncing.)