Victor can't get to his feet the way the crowd has –– he's been on his toes nearly the whole time, watching with enraptured delight with his hands pressed palm to palm at his mouth, and now he throws his arms up in the air in celebration, head tossing back in triumph. "Yuri!"
That was perfect. Perfect. He needs a new word for it, because Shanghai had been perfect, but this was even better. Incendiary, a fickle, charming personification of passion enticing the audience with every coaxing turn of a hand or flirtatious step to fall for him, to long for him, and they have. Every one of them that Victor can see outside his focus on Yuri, now bowing in graceful acceptance of their stormy applause and collecting a few of the tokens they toss for him, is on their feet, calling out and cheering. There are so many flowers being tossed onto the ice it looks like a strange sort of rain, and maybe he'd said he didn't care what the audience thought, but he does. They all do. They live for this almost as much as for the skate itself, the brief shining moment of reward and gratification after all their hard work.
They love him, and Victor's heart has never felt this full, even when the cheers were for him.
Somehow it means more when it's for Yuri, and he might, were he inclined to, consider that feeling to be worth some further examination, but not right now, not in this moment. Yuri's skating back towards him, tired and flushed with exertion and elation, and Victor's focus is for him, alone. "Yuri!"
His gloves muffle his clapping hands, but he applauds anyway, thrilled to the core. "That was perfect ––!"
Mouth open to continue when there's a shift of motion to his right, and he looks over, bemused, to see Lilia Baranovskaya sliding Yurio's warm-up jacket off his shoulders, revealing the slinky, glittering material of his old costume. It sparkles in the light of the arena, but that's not what catches his attention: it's Yurio's expression, set into a mask of grim determination, while Victor makes a hiccupping, questioning sound. "Huh?"
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That was perfect. Perfect. He needs a new word for it, because Shanghai had been perfect, but this was even better. Incendiary, a fickle, charming personification of passion enticing the audience with every coaxing turn of a hand or flirtatious step to fall for him, to long for him, and they have. Every one of them that Victor can see outside his focus on Yuri, now bowing in graceful acceptance of their stormy applause and collecting a few of the tokens they toss for him, is on their feet, calling out and cheering. There are so many flowers being tossed onto the ice it looks like a strange sort of rain, and maybe he'd said he didn't care what the audience thought, but he does. They all do. They live for this almost as much as for the skate itself, the brief shining moment of reward and gratification after all their hard work.
They love him, and Victor's heart has never felt this full, even when the cheers were for him.
Somehow it means more when it's for Yuri, and he might, were he inclined to, consider that feeling to be worth some further examination, but not right now, not in this moment. Yuri's skating back towards him, tired and flushed with exertion and elation, and Victor's focus is for him, alone. "Yuri!"
His gloves muffle his clapping hands, but he applauds anyway, thrilled to the core. "That was perfect ––!"
Mouth open to continue when there's a shift of motion to his right, and he looks over, bemused, to see Lilia Baranovskaya sliding Yurio's warm-up jacket off his shoulders, revealing the slinky, glittering material of his old costume. It sparkles in the light of the arena, but that's not what catches his attention: it's Yurio's expression, set into a mask of grim determination, while Victor makes a hiccupping, questioning sound. "Huh?"