[ There's a moment where he wonders if he misheard him. There's a long moment where he's almost certain he has, but the moment passes and Yuuri is still clarifying. I'm not going to get tired of you, Yuuri tells him. Even stumbling to tell Viktor what he means, each word pries a little further into him and disturbs knotted clusters of emotion that Viktor had never bothered to attend to, buried deep in the soil of his heart.
Yuuri, despite his disbelief, is the most beautiful and dangerous thing Viktor's ever come to know. And still, he hands him a spade. Do what you'd like, he doesn't have to say. Viktor would give him anything. But, the pause is only a pause for so long. It breaks around Viktor's start. ]
Okay, [ Viktor breathes.
He can't get the words up. They lodge themselves under his heart and don't budge, but the flowers do. They shift up from secreted places, little pieces of himself once shorn away like ice under blades. His empty hand comes up to his lips before he's able to breathe out another, softer "okay," capturing between his palm and his fingers the jumbled menagerie that blossoms out.
Viktor doesn't mean to keep them from him. It comes up like a reflex, something he can say is a deference to Yuuri's suggestion to hurry along – so they could talk about something else. From what escapes, he knows one to be hydrangeas. They're waxy, luxuriant things. Viktor, had he the power to think on it, would have wondered over the depth of their purples. But, the sentiment is as clear as it was earlier. It hasn't changed. He doesn't think it will ever, despite the way his heart beats – raw and aching, like hands bruised from a hard fall.
He doesn't recognize the other. They're stained beyond immediate discernment, dry and whole and fragile. Half never make it past the lip of the tub as he instinctively drops them there, their edges crumbling like parched earth in his palm. Heat prickles up the back of his neck, but he can't bring himself to hide. Yuuri is already in all the places he would usually go. Yuuri is already there, his words disarming Viktor's deflections. Yuuri sees the vulnerability for what it is and does not look in distaste upon it. He only holds it down with gentle fingers finger and does not permit Viktor – with all his practiced efforts – to obfuscate its name.
He lets out more of a huff than a laugh, uncertain as to what to make of himself and unwilling to investigate the implications of something so old. He's neglected so much already. He doesn't want to neglect it anymore. And so – ]
[ 1/2 ] rip me
Yuuri, despite his disbelief, is the most beautiful and dangerous thing Viktor's ever come to know. And still, he hands him a spade. Do what you'd like, he doesn't have to say. Viktor would give him anything. But, the pause is only a pause for so long. It breaks around Viktor's start. ]
Okay, [ Viktor breathes.
He can't get the words up. They lodge themselves under his heart and don't budge, but the flowers do. They shift up from secreted places, little pieces of himself once shorn away like ice under blades. His empty hand comes up to his lips before he's able to breathe out another, softer "okay," capturing between his palm and his fingers the jumbled menagerie that blossoms out.
Viktor doesn't mean to keep them from him. It comes up like a reflex, something he can say is a deference to Yuuri's suggestion to hurry along – so they could talk about something else. From what escapes, he knows one to be hydrangeas. They're waxy, luxuriant things. Viktor, had he the power to think on it, would have wondered over the depth of their purples. But, the sentiment is as clear as it was earlier. It hasn't changed. He doesn't think it will ever, despite the way his heart beats – raw and aching, like hands bruised from a hard fall.
He doesn't recognize the other. They're stained beyond immediate discernment, dry and whole and fragile. Half never make it past the lip of the tub as he instinctively drops them there, their edges crumbling like parched earth in his palm. Heat prickles up the back of his neck, but he can't bring himself to hide. Yuuri is already in all the places he would usually go. Yuuri is already there, his words disarming Viktor's deflections. Yuuri sees the vulnerability for what it is and does not look in distaste upon it. He only holds it down with gentle fingers finger and does not permit Viktor – with all his practiced efforts – to obfuscate its name.
He lets out more of a huff than a laugh, uncertain as to what to make of himself and unwilling to investigate the implications of something so old. He's neglected so much already. He doesn't want to neglect it anymore. And so – ]