There are no waves for it to break into, because it's nothing that simple yet. All of the blood that hasn't figured out how to settle out under his skin, shoots for his head, and Yuri feels lighted headed. Like he might pass out. Stop breathing. Relief breaking like someone dropped something hard on his head, and even when he's smiling he's almost tearing up, from the full swing of that same crash. Delirious relief and triumph in a swoop that might have sent him right into one Victor's exuberant hugs.
Except Victor isn't there, when he turns to. There's a blink of confusion for that, followed a by the second for his confused gaze to land on Victor suddenly at his feet.
Again. At his feet. But there's no seriousness there. Even in profile, while Victor is lifting his skate and Yuri is unable to decide if he should flail for balance, having to shift and get his hands on his chair at his side, Victor's face is all blinding brightness. That's all it is, and then he's kissing Yuri's skate. Yuri's face flushing in surprise, and something. Something else that worms around actively muddling warmth and lightning hot all at once, watching Victor.
Victor, who shouldn't. Victor, who is. Victor, who doesn't do this for anyone. Doesn't. Shouldn't. Never gets on his knees for anyone. Victor, who never let anyone do it for him. (Again, again, again, it thrums.) Victor, who looks so happy that none of Yuri's rapid fire first thoughts have any ability to gain traction. When it's totally inappropriate, it is, but what slams through next is that he wants to tip forward.
He wants to be in Victor's arms. To hear whatever Victor would say, could say, will say. Later is too long away. He wants it now already. Wants. Victor. This happy. About him. What he did. They did. There are a million cameras and people looking at him, and it's too much, what Victor is doing, and it's over the top, and everyone is watching, and it's as embarrassing as it is humbling as it just soaked relief and triumph, turned sideways and giddy. And perfect.
He has to look up, or he will do something equally as overcome, possibly fling himself on to his own knees or Victor, even with all the cameras pointed at him, them, and that's when he sees Yurio, and the reaction is even stronger. Everywhere. Delight and certainty and the heady wave of what he's done, and Victor holding his skate, and everyone watching, and it doesn't matter still. If he's not supposed to be proud and hopeful and helpful, and Yurio doesn't want it, Yuri is shouting before he's even thought it into words.
"Yurio!" His arms fly up and his voice is loud. "Davai!"
There's only a single second where his aloft skate is still, like maybe Victor hadn't expected that even, but then Victor is in front of him and his skate is hitting the ground, while Victor is shouting in Japanese, too, and it's perfect. All of this is perfect and Yuri wants to start laughing, and he wants to cheer on everyone. Even when he has to take a hand and get up from the Kiss and Cry to walk with Victor to where the interviewers are.
He can't help looking back. He wants to see it, and even more he can't look away when he sees what he is seeing. There's a confused and distracted pause, in the middle of being introduced to someone's on camera audience, before he realizes he's not wrong. The beginning is a gorgeous, entirely known pose of serenity. But everything after it -- isn't. It's not even that it seems angry. It's that every move is agressive. He'd watched it dozens of times while Victor taught Yuri in spring. He'd watched it weeks ago in replays.
Everything that is supposed to be self-less is self instead. It's so present, so sharp, and so is Yuri's wince when Yurio falls.
Even when there's a microphone pointed at him and a man just finishing off, "--having an outstanding season, one more personal best in the books, how do you feel you're doing? Do you think you'll be able to cement your performance tomorrow with another best just effortlessly?"
no subject
There are no waves for it to break into, because it's nothing that simple yet. All of the blood that hasn't figured out how to settle out under his skin, shoots for his head, and Yuri feels lighted headed. Like he might pass out. Stop breathing. Relief breaking like someone dropped something hard on his head, and even when he's smiling he's almost tearing up, from the full swing of that same crash. Delirious relief and triumph in a swoop that might have sent him right into one Victor's exuberant hugs.
Except Victor isn't there, when he turns to. There's a blink of confusion for that,
followed a by the second for his confused gaze to land on Victor suddenly at his feet.
Again. At his feet. But there's no seriousness there. Even in profile, while Victor is lifting his skate and Yuri is unable to decide if he should flail for balance, having to shift and get his hands on his chair at his side, Victor's face is all blinding brightness. That's all it is, and then he's kissing Yuri's skate. Yuri's face flushing in surprise, and something. Something else that worms around actively muddling warmth and lightning hot all at once, watching Victor.
Victor, who shouldn't. Victor, who is. Victor, who doesn't do this for anyone. Doesn't. Shouldn't. Never gets on his knees for anyone. Victor, who never let anyone do it for him. (Again, again, again, it thrums.) Victor, who looks so happy that none of Yuri's rapid fire first thoughts have any ability to gain traction. When it's totally inappropriate, it is, but what slams through next is that he wants to tip forward.
He wants to be in Victor's arms. To hear whatever Victor would say, could say, will say. Later is too long away. He wants it now already. Wants. Victor. This happy. About him. What he did. They did. There are a million cameras and people looking at him, and it's too much, what Victor is doing, and it's over the top, and everyone is watching, and it's as embarrassing as it is humbling as it just soaked relief and triumph, turned sideways and giddy. And perfect.
He has to look up, or he will do something equally as overcome, possibly fling himself on to his own knees or Victor, even with all the cameras pointed at him, them, and that's when he sees Yurio, and the reaction is even stronger. Everywhere. Delight and certainty and the heady wave of what he's done, and Victor holding his skate, and everyone watching, and it doesn't matter still. If he's not supposed to be proud and hopeful and helpful, and Yurio doesn't want it, Yuri is shouting before he's even thought it into words.
"Yurio!" His arms fly up and his voice is loud. "Davai!"
There's only a single second where his aloft skate is still, like maybe Victor hadn't expected that even, but then Victor is in front of him and his skate is hitting the ground, while Victor is shouting in Japanese, too, and it's perfect. All of this is perfect and Yuri wants to start laughing, and he wants to cheer on everyone. Even when he has to take a hand and get up from the Kiss and Cry to walk with Victor to where the interviewers are.
He can't help looking back. He wants to see it, and even more he can't look away when he sees what he is seeing. There's a confused and distracted pause, in the middle of being introduced to someone's on camera audience, before he realizes he's not wrong. The beginning is a gorgeous, entirely known pose of serenity. But everything after it -- isn't. It's not even that it seems angry. It's that every move is agressive. He'd watched it dozens of times while Victor taught Yuri in spring. He'd watched it weeks ago in replays.
Everything that is supposed to be self-less is self instead.
It's so present, so sharp, and so is Yuri's wince when Yurio falls.
Even when there's a microphone pointed at him and a man just finishing off, "--having an outstanding season, one more personal best in the books, how do you feel you're doing? Do you think you'll be able to cement your performance tomorrow with another best just effortlessly?"