When he can stand, and skate toward the opening, again, he does. Yakov coming into focus in the same posture he think Yakov was in when he left. Or maybe it's that it's the same posture Yuri think he's seen almost everytime he's seen the man. Hat brim down, impassive face, and crossed arms. He could be a statue of himself, if it weren't for the judgment already there, active and alert, in his eyes.
He's not Victor, because Victors not here. The winded breaths forcing air into his lungs remind him.
Which makes it a little more surprising that he doesn't say anything at first.He gets his skate guards and jacket from where he left them before heading out, while Yakov hovers like an impending cloud. No. Like a barely held in volcano. That Yuri just keeps expecting to start and doesn't, and he has to wonder if he did that. It he's going to get nothing from Yakov, because he's given precisely nothing to Yakov since this day started. He can't think clear to know what he should think of that.
They end up walking toward the Kiss-and-Cry and a juice box is pushed into his hands and he can't focus really expect on breathing and drinking. Isn't entirely certain when he ends up sitting down even. The grey and spotted edges of blurred vision, his muscles still screaming at most every moment, gulping his drink, even though his stomach is threatening to send it shooting right back out, but the cool liquid on his throat is the only relief he can feel. Can't stop.
"Привет." Yakov's voice is the same cracked whip of earlier. Making Yuri blink, and look over. "You totally failed to take advantage of the program Vitya made for you!" And there's the intensity, bulging eyes and slashing words, even in faulty English, Yuri was expecting, has seen on cameras, focused on him, through the blur of grey and spots and down a long hallway, even two feet away. "Why didn't you practice for the possibility that you might flub a jump?"
He's just like Victor. Which is a strange thought when Yakov is saying, "Victor never did, either." Comparing them instead, the same, while Yuri isn't sure he has more in him than to just sit there and stared, dazedly, barely even able to feel his thoughts, no less the words shot at him (and Victor). "I guess he never learned differently as a coach."
Yuri's still staring, at Yakov's rapidly moving mouth, more than hearing, when the crowd goes into a roar and they both have to turn to look up the screens. Where the mirror image of themselves, along with his results pop up. His free skate pulling up a 172.87, which seems to start the shock, and ends it with his, still staring, at the fact it says he got third place. With everything that happened ... he got third place?
Yakov grumbles, "That's a higher score than I expected," putting Yuri's feelings into words faster than Yuri can. Like Victor, he thinks. Victor who gave him to Yakov. (He's in third place.) Who isn't that terrible. Wasn't. (He didn't come in last.) He should have listened better to what Victor had said. "What's wrong?"
Yuri turns to Yakov, seeing, and not seeing, and still not quite able to, and he does what Victor told him to do first. (He's in third place. He might--) Last night. In the lobby. (The thing he wouldn't have even hesitated from doing, from knowing was coming next, at the end of his skate, if Victor had been there, the right blur at the edge of his fingers, but never blurred in his head.
In his heart.)
He throws his arms around Yakov and hugs him, hard, burying his face in that rough jacket and scarf. "Спасибо."
(He's in third place. He made it. He did it. Maybe it'll only last the next five minutes. But he did.)
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He's not Victor, because Victors not here. The winded breaths forcing air into his lungs remind him.
Which makes it a little more surprising that he doesn't say anything at first.He gets his skate guards and jacket from where he left them before heading out, while Yakov hovers like an impending cloud. No. Like a barely held in volcano. That Yuri just keeps expecting to start and doesn't, and he has to wonder if he did that. It he's going to get nothing from Yakov, because he's given precisely nothing to Yakov since this day started. He can't think clear to know what he should think of that.
They end up walking toward the Kiss-and-Cry and a juice box is pushed into his hands and he can't focus really expect on breathing and drinking. Isn't entirely certain when he ends up sitting down even. The grey and spotted edges of blurred vision, his muscles still screaming at most every moment, gulping his drink, even though his stomach is threatening to send it shooting right back out, but the cool liquid on his throat is the only relief he can feel. Can't stop.
"Привет." Yakov's voice is the same cracked whip of earlier. Making Yuri blink, and look over. "You totally failed to take advantage of the program Vitya made for you!" And there's the intensity, bulging eyes and slashing words, even in faulty English, Yuri was expecting, has seen on cameras, focused on him, through the blur of grey and spots and down a long hallway, even two feet away. "Why didn't you practice for the possibility that you might flub a jump?"
He's just like Victor. Which is a strange thought when Yakov is saying, "Victor never did, either." Comparing them instead, the same, while Yuri isn't sure he has more in him than to just sit there and stared, dazedly, barely even able to feel his thoughts, no less the words shot at him (and Victor). "I guess he never learned differently as a coach."
Yuri's still staring, at Yakov's rapidly moving mouth, more than hearing, when the crowd goes into a roar and they both have to turn to look up the screens. Where the mirror image of themselves, along with his results pop up. His free skate pulling up a 172.87, which seems to start the shock, and ends it with his, still staring, at the fact it says he got third place. With everything that happened ... he got third place?
Yakov grumbles, "That's a higher score than I expected," putting Yuri's feelings into words faster than Yuri can. Like Victor, he thinks. Victor who gave him to Yakov. (He's in third place.) Who isn't that terrible. Wasn't. (He didn't come in last.) He should have listened better to what Victor had said. "What's wrong?"
Yuri turns to Yakov, seeing, and not seeing, and still not quite able to, and he does what Victor told him to do first. (He's in third place. He might--) Last night. In the lobby. (The thing he wouldn't have even hesitated from doing, from knowing was coming next, at the end of his skate, if Victor had been there, the right blur at the edge of his fingers, but never blurred in his head.
He throws his arms around Yakov and hugs him, hard, burying his face in that rough jacket and scarf. "Спасибо."
(He's in third place. He made it. He did it. Maybe it'll only last the next five minutes. But he did.)