There's still music playing, the din of cheers and applause, echoing through the hallways and the walls. In the middle of this building, dancers at their mark, fighting for their chance, on the first competition day. The show still going on, with everyone's eyes on it, for however much longer it has to go.
For how close it is, it feels so far away. Another world. (Was Victor kissing his skate in the Kiss and Cry so very little time ago?) It feels like another day, another year, maybe a whole other person. Divided by one phone call. He remembers that. He remembers that too well. Maybe he hadn't remember that the last few months. But he does now. It bites at the back of his throat and soft top of it inside, sick in his stomach, spinning his thoughts for any crack, every time he swallows.
Every time he glances toward Victor.
But what to do is clear enough.
Get through the hallways and outside, and flag down a cab. All things Yuri can at least do, so Victor can focus on the only thing he should. His phone, his plane ticket, getting to Maccachin as soon as possible. The drive wouldn't be short -- hadn't been that morning, when it was his bunching nerves and Victor pointing out things for the second day in a row; which made it seem interminable to contemplate now, gallingly in the way -- but maybe that will just mean it's more likely Victor can finish his arrangements by the time they get there.
When the side door of the Luzhniki opens, to where there are already a line of cabs waiting, Yuri has to blink himself from surprised back to the recognition. That it does actually makes sense. There are thousands on thousands of people in this building about to be done for the night, all of whom will need to be taken back to places.
"Well-" It's quiet, but something of an attempt at sound. "At least we won't have to wait."
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For how close it is, it feels so far away. Another world. (Was Victor kissing his skate in the Kiss and Cry so very little time ago?) It feels like another day, another year, maybe a whole other person. Divided by one phone call. He remembers that. He remembers that too well. Maybe he hadn't remember that the last few months. But he does now. It bites at the back of his throat and soft top of it inside, sick in his stomach, spinning his thoughts for any crack, every time he swallows.
But what to do is clear enough.
Get through the hallways and outside, and flag down a cab. All things Yuri can at least do, so Victor can focus on the only thing he should. His phone, his plane ticket, getting to Maccachin as soon as possible. The drive wouldn't be short -- hadn't been that morning, when it was his bunching nerves and Victor pointing out things for the second day in a row; which made it seem interminable to contemplate now, gallingly in the way -- but maybe that will just mean it's more likely Victor can finish his arrangements by the time they get there.
When the side door of the Luzhniki opens, to where there are already a line of cabs waiting, Yuri has to blink himself from surprised back to the recognition. That it does actually makes sense. There are thousands on thousands of people in this building about to be done for the night, all of whom will need to be taken back to places.
"Well-" It's quiet, but something of an attempt at sound. "At least we won't have to wait."