Yuri doesn't know if he's ever felt so certain of something in his life. That Victor shouldn't be here. That Victor should be there. That Maccachin had to come before all of this. Rostelecom. Him. Everything. That there was nothing that should compare. Nothing that mattered as much to Victor that he'd ever seen in all of these months, this close. Nothing that had ever been there, for as long as Yuri could remember, from both of their childhoods, even from only interviews and articles.

The way it's screaming clarity inside his thoughts, and Victor just keeps saying can't, but not even looking like he's sure he means it either. A peeking desperation that it almost frightening to see, and even more incredibly frustrating when Victor closes his eyes, and stands there. Behind his hand and his closed eyes, and his stillness, like he can use it as a wall, against even this, against even Yuri, and Yuri thinks that he might have gone crazy because he's thinking about shaking Victor.

Like maybe he doesn't understand. How bad this is. How much worse it can be.


But then Victor's eyes shoot open, to their side, and even as Yuri turns to look, Victor takes off running.
Yelling that one name, and leaving Yuri there, blinking after him as Victor all but throws himself on his old coach.