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bakerstreet2017-10-08 10:34 am
since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid
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| (harmless) hanahaki meme | |
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the short version ① hanahaki means your characters cough up flowers. plain and simple. ② it's caused by unspoken love, in any form, platonic or romantic; whether the love is requited has nothing to do with it. ③ the disease is not harmful in any way, and it's no more annoying than a persistent cough; it's treated as more symbolic magic realism here than concerned with the real life implications of coughing up flowers. ④ it's "cured" when a person expresses their love, whether the feeling is requited or not. ⑤ so basically, you can rp any everyday scenario... but now your character might have to deal with the minor nuisance of hacking up petals around the people they love. and those people are going to know what that means. |
i cry everyday over how /vague hand gestures they are
However, Yuuri had prided himself on at least learning a bit of what he should expect from his coach. They had grown close enough over these months that he had to know what would get a reaction out of Viktor and what would not. It seemed that Yuuri had underestimated the power that his words (himself, really) would have on the other man. Sure, he expected a few more petals to fall--and if he was honest with himself, was looking forward to receiving (as well as giving) things that were only for the two of them. What he didn't expect or prepare for, was a near waterfall of petals pouring from Viktor's mouth. It was like Yuuri's reassurance was dynamite on the supports of a dam--a thought that was flattering as well as overwhelming.
Yuuri really didn't know what to do. His head couldn't wrap around the thought that anyone would need to show this much appreciation for him. Did he do something special? It wasn't that he didn't mean what he said, but--
The tea is discarded on the edge of the bed. He had taken a small step forward, hands out to do...something? Pat his shoulder...or brush him off? Catch the petals? But wouldn't that be invasive and weird? After a moment of looking from Viktor to his newly installed in-room garden (courtesy of Viktor), his hands drop lamely to his side, floundering getting him no closer to feeling any more sure about...anything.]
I didn't mean that you were embarrassing, but I'm honestly a little flustered now! [There's a little exasperated laugh, no edge at all in his voice. The over-the-top dramatics Viktor brings a small grin...though his cheeks are still burning, burning, burning. At least it's less from shame and more from...happiness. Gratitude. Relief.]
[Flustered...but flattered. Just like with the giving of sunflowers, receiving so many blooms in return...it really did mean more than Yuuri could ever put into words. There was no way to describe how he appreciated all that Viktor shared with him, and was willing to share with him. Kneeling down carefully to not crush any precious blooms, he pushes the flowers into a pile. There were so many feelings represented here just under his palms. Yuuri cradles a handful, watching a few slip between his fingers.]
Mess is an understatement... [Is what his voice says says. There's a moment where Yuuri inspects the petals in his hand, weighing options--before he ever so gently deposits them on Viktor's lap. 'I don't mind' is what his smile says. Yuuri rises, and another handful of petals are gently sprinkled over silver hair--before any sane thought could stop the urge.]
Sorry. [Small bell-flowers of gratitude ring out with his words, adding a splash of yellow to the array of colors on the floor.] I couldn't resist.
s a m e. absolutely didn't drop my phone in glee either, nope.
But, perhaps Yuuri had forgotten after all. It’s fine – to Viktor, Yuuri’s given him many things. He's given him permission to do what so few have before. To be himself, to show what he tried so long to hold back – it's only right that Viktor returns Yuuri's generosity and understanding with both hands, no matter how hungry he is for it. Yuuri is worth it. Yuuri surprises Viktor, he thinks, as much as Viktor tries so hard to surprise him.
And he certainly does when Yuuri gives him a smile that reminds Viktor it's just fine and in the next moment, when he's fighting to settle his heart before adoration makes itself manifest (he always tastes the snap of jonquils before they're there), there's petals being scattered over his head. He can't even open his mouth before he laughs, the mock look of offense slipping in before he can lose himself to the sensation that's building behind his ribs.
He doesn't think about it, when Yuuri's flowers come too. He switches his focus to lean down, to so carefully gather what Yuuri gives him so openly in the mix with his. They're bright and warm, beautiful. And it takes all of Viktor's focus to hold them to himself instead.
Instead, he reaches up as far as his arm will let him, sprinkles blue and yellow flowers over the slope of Yuuri’s left shoulder as though committing a solemn ritual. The tug at the corner of his lips gives him away, but it reads like something significant anyway. For a happy garden – for luck. If it could be applied with salt (dropped and then tossed – that’s an old and ingrained one), then Viktor figures the superstition may well double with blooms born up of such positive emotions. ]
There, [ he hums, hand settling back into his lap. He keeps one bell-flower for himself, kept still in the middle of his palm. It looks like a little sun, above the sea of blue that Yuuri had built up there. ] It’s only fair that I’m not the only one showered in gratitude. [ He punctuates it with a wink, the petals rained over his head skimming off his shoulders with the movement. It’s a terrible joke and he knows it, but he’s so pleased that he can’t contain it. ]
[ But – he considers, in the next moment. He assesses the red that dusts Yuuri’s cheeks, the dark of his hair. He smiles, easy and genuine. It isn’t at all like the posters, the endless pictures. His eyes crinkle at the corners, imperfect. ]
Blues suit you, [ he says. His hand comes up again, the other keeping the same bell-flower safe with the loose curl of fingers. He straightens a bloom that still rests upon Yuuri’s shoulder, tips its face up. His touch lingers, a beat or two too long. ]
spikes my phone to the ground, slam-dunks my body into the garbage they are t o o m u c h
Yuuri drops his hand--a little too soon, because there's a touch on his shoulder and more sweet, sweet words accompanied by a sweeter smile.
'Blue suits you', huh.
'I love blue,' Yuuri wants to say, currently lost in it. Yuuri had spent his whole childhood wishing for a day where Viktor's eyes would meet his. At first he would've taken it anywhere--off the rink, passing by on the street, at an interview, anything. As he grew into his skating career, he longed for the day they could meet eye to eye on the rink as equals. Now, sitting on the floor in his boyhood home, he can't think of a better place to be looking at those blues.]
Blue is my favorite color. [Yuuri finally manages to say among the falling of peonies, the corners of his cheeks quirking into something more reserved. But there's something broad on his tongue. He can feel the pressure of blooms building up under his lungs--but Yuuri finds that it's not as overwhelming as it was before. Maybe it was the sanctity of their flower sprinkling rituals. Or maybe it was easier when it was just the two of them, with no outsiders prying on messages that were not meant for them. Yuuri takes a chance, finding for the first time that he's not too worried about what might fall from his mouth.] I'm glad that it looks good on me. I own quite a bit of it.
[Tulips--white with stripes of red. Beautiful eyes, they say. Tulips themselves however...could tell a lot of other stories. Despite the other connotations one could connect, he finds that he doesn't mind.
He knows, Yuuri knows that the relationship between him and Viktor is strange. A while ago he could've chalked it up to Viktor being Viktor--surprising, affectionate, overwhelming, unreal. But Viktor isn't the only one with surprises. Viktor's not the one who skates with a particular set of eyes in mind. And he's not the one who proclaimed his theme of his professional career to be love, inspired by one particular man.
Yuuri had said that his love wasn't clear cut, and that love was the word he had decided on calling these amalgamation of feelings he experienced. And it had remained true--there were a lot of different feelings he had in regard to Viktor. To what he and Viktor shared between them. Love was both too narrow and too broad of a term.
Love was too easy. Love was too hard.]
What are we doing, Viktor. [Yuuri's eyes finally fall from Viktor's face, trailing the paths of all the petals they had shared.] We're acting like [lovestruck teenagers] kids, with all these flowers around.
[The burn on his cheeks is light, as well as the pressure still under his ribs. He could easily stand up, return to his bed and shrug all of this off. But Yuuri finds himself hesitating. He wants to be close--wants to stay within Viktor's reach. Within Viktor's touch.] We should probably take these cups downstairs and get ready to turn in. Since we have practice and all. [His voice is clear but soft. A part of Yuuri hopes that Viktor could miss the suggestion completely. That they could stay like this for a bit longer. But Yuuri knows he can't hold the both of them up in his room forever. Eventually his mouth would spill much more information than needed to be shared. He'd have to let Viktor leave if he wanted to.
Yuuri hoped that maybe he didn't want to.]
gently presses face into hands over them and yELLS
It was easy to fall to infatuation. Viktor had at times felt, but had not felt with the strength that he’d seen around him. He did not feel as Yakov did, struggling against collapse. He did not feel as Mila or Gregori did, watching others come and go from their arms. Viktor had sometimes felt for the curve of wrists, the small bubbles of laughter, the sweep of hair. He’d sometimes felt for the musicality of another’s body, but they had never felt for him. Viktor Nikiforov was adored, but no one could adore him.
He hadn’t made it easy, in retrospect. To those who gave him flowers, he could never give them back. To those who tried to woo him, they could never compete with the very thing that could not love him back. How could someone keep his heart, if did not even know where his heart lived? How could someone fight for him, when all his warmth was pressed between impossible spaces, between his blades and the ice?
If Viktor Nikiforov was an impossibility (as he had been told time and time again), then what chance did he have?
It hadn't bothered him, until it did. It had not bothered him, until Yuuri had disappeared after Sochi and the sunlight he'd brought him so temporarily had begun to dim. Now, he turns toward him as though he himself were all the flowers that Yuuri had instilled him, had planted in his heart without having ever been cognizant. Yuuri does it even now, sowing something more complex than the connections that Yuuri had woven back together with unerring steadiness. Most would not have recovered, as Viktor did. Most would have never given blooms again, having been dried up for so long.
Most would not be cocooned in the dim of someone's childhood home, unable to find even fluency with that to describe what was that rested between themselves and someone else they wanted to hold onto. Hold onto, is what Yuuri had said. To be held onto is what Viktor wanted. He wanted to be given love in definitions no one else had troubled with. He wanted—
Yuuri keeps at his admissions. Bashfulness. Beautiful eyes. Dimly, Viktor recognizes the latter as tulips, the compliment glancing the garden in his chest as though a summer storm, bringing up in its wake an ache for more. It wasn't the first time someone had told him it, but Yuuri was not someone. Someone did not try to understand him, accept him as he was. Someone did not inspire him, mend his ideas what love and life could have been about if he'd given himself the chance. Someone did not make Viktor want to see an equal, to revel in their accomplishments as though they were also his.
He supposes he should have expected the question eventually. Yuuri kneels in the garden they've created around their feet and does not move from beneath the touch of his hand, even as he offers Viktor an out again. He supposes, too, that he should have expected that when Yuuri comes to him, Viktor only wants to keep meeting him again and again and again.
Even if he had the hands to hide it, it likely wouldn't have mattered. The weight of the flower that fills his mouth is unlike any other he'd had before. It surprises him, the insistent press that had risen from inside his chest — so much so that by the time he can think to keep it back, it's fallen to his lap.
It's a hardy and delicate thing — a small, white flower that fans out like a star. Viktor's only heard of them in stories, in older songs. It was the one flower that was said to have come from the Snow Queen's melted heart. And, perhaps a little deliriously, he thinks he must have melted too. ]
I can imagine you, [ Viktor starts, without being really aware of it. His voice seems too quiet. ] Just learning to skate, spending time with your friends. [ His heart stutters. He barrels on, ignoring the heat that prickles up the back of his neck. ] Yakov used to tell me that flowers were wasted on the youth, but I think he secretly— [ Viktor doesn’t quite tell him, just like how he doesn’t quite look at him. He grazes a knuckle against the outer edge of the flower that now sits — an open secret — in his lap. He thinks, maybe, he can keep the tremble out of his hands if he focuses on the down of its coat, the warmth he’s imbued into it. An edelweiss, the kind that others would climb the Alps for. The kind that others would risk the bite of frost for. The one and singular flower they would bring to someone— Courage, is what it tells him. Devotion. It's complicated, just like what he has for Yuuri is. It's love, in all its complex permutations.
His smile goes soft, crooked. How funny it would be, for anyone else to see him now: Viktor Nikiforov, five-time gold medalist – his ears tipped in pinks to match the blush on Yuuri’s cheeks. He sighs. ] Oh, well. I guess it caught up.
[ He pauses. Viktor has always been confident, but it takes a particular strength to look up now. Even still, he does. Viktor doesn't want to not look at him. Viktor wants to keep looking at him, for as long as he's allowed. ] If you’d like, I can take them down. The cups. [ His lungs burn. There's too much more he has left to convey. Delicately, he adds the bell-flower to the pile in his lap. He doesn't have to glance away to move the other into his palm. ] As for practice, I haven’t decided yet. [ Please take it, he wants to say. He doesn’t. Instead keeps the fingers of his other hand upon the soft curve of Yuuri’s shoulder, steady. ] You’ll have to tell me how you’re feeling in the morning, won’t you?
[ Please. ]
i'm dying squirtle tell my family i loved them
Now wasn't necessarily the time.
But the soft voice breaks Yuuri of his musings. His eyes draw up, before following Viktor's gaze--which was no longer looking at him, but towards--
Something new.
It's not surprising that he could've missed something so small--but when his eyes find it, he has to wonder how he missed it at all. A flower that he's never seen in person, but has heard of. Quite recently in fact. There was a time that he and Phichit had spent binge-watching musicals with some theater students in Detroit, after his friend had forced everyone in a 50-mile radius to watch The King and the Skater, even if they had seen it before. But he does remember hearing of this flower. A bloom that had a whole song dedicated to it now sat between them. Meant for him.
It was mesmerizing enough that he could barely process Viktor's words. Small and white echos in his head from a time past. The petals looked so soft--like fluffy snowflakes. A thought bubbled--he wished he could see Viktor in the snow, snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes. He would be in his element, Yuuri believed. Snow was pure, beautiful, graceful--and always seemed to fight off the biting chill winter brought. It made it easier to breathe. Like Viktor did.]
I'm sure it's better now. [Yuuri begins, not sure where he's headed. Viktor had said something to break the silence, and Yuuri thought he should as well. His fingers itch, eyes still on small flower.] I only really skated with Yuuko, when I was young...I didn't have a lot of friends. So I'm sure it's better now. [Because now I can skate with you too, Yuuri doesn't say. But he's letting his heart speak for once, instead of his mind. A hand raises, and as delicate as the bloom on Vitkor's lap, Yuuri reaches to stroke a petal. It is soft, just like he imagined. But much firmer to the touch than it's appearance would suggest.]
[The flush on his cheek is ever present, but surprisingly muted despite his boldness. He's more surprised to find that his flush had been returned, finally dragging his eyes from the flower to Viktor's face. Surprising enough that it draws a short laugh from his chest, easing the weight on his lungs with a burst of peonies. The two of them really did paint a picture here, with Yuuri's wrist resting on Viktor's knees; Viktor's fingers brushing against his shoulder. Lovestruck teenagers might be too tame of a saying.
Yuuri didn't want it to end. He felt like if they left the room, the magic would end. The flowers would no longer come as easy outside of this spellbound moment.]
You don't have to take it down. [You don't have to leave.] The cup, that is. I can get it. I should probably make sure Mari didn't need my help with anything else, since I left so early. [His gaze and touch leave Viktor's, but the edelweiss leaves with it, gingerly plucked from his lap and placed onto Yuuri's own palm. I want it, a quick glance says. Not asking for permission, but giving reassurance.
Yuuri would take this and less. He would take this and more.]
I wont push myself, but I'm sure I'll be fine in the morning.
rip in pieces us [1/2]
Now, Yuuri shares with him readily and flowers with him openly. He gives Viktor tulips, peonies. He gives Viktor his attention, listens when he speaks. He hears Viktor, without really hearing him. After all these months, the tipping point is there. It's there, just beyond their reach.
And, for once, Viktor is willing to wait for it. Yuuri, in all that he is, is worth it.
It isn't a surprise that it's almost missed, the admittance. It's even less of one that they all nearly are when Yuuri leans in to stroke the flower that Viktor's given for him. For a moment, all Viktor's able to focus upon on is the sweep of dark eyelashes – the warmth of Yuuri's wrist, pressed close across his knee. All he can follow is the soft curl of Yuuri's fingers, gentle and sure – delicate, as if what Viktor had given him is infinitely precious. Infinitely fragile, as the moment itself is. Removed from all else, with Yutopia silent, it's easy to forget that they're not the only ones that remain here. It's easy to forget that the world beyond exists. It's almost as if Viktor had dreamed it a long time ago.
And it's enough to dull Viktor's tongue when Yuuri laughs (though not unkindly) at the state of Viktor's rosy ears, the way they match the coloration still sitting in the round of Yuuri's cheeks. Where Viktor once may have whined and jested that Yuuri was being mean, to not laugh – he finds himself caught up in the way that Yuuri gives again peonies – accepts the flower from his lap, with a look to tell Viktor that he'll keep it. And it's nearly enough, truly, to start the flowers in his heart coming up again. ]
I skated alone growing up, [ Viktor starts, his eyes flicker to the flower that Yuuri now cradles in his palm. Even if Yuuri's touch and gaze are absent from him once again, Viktor still feels their marks. His skin tingles with it. ] Comparing then to now [ with you – it's left unsaid ], I think it's better too. [ Viktor might not always speak his whole heart, but it's easier with Yuuri. It's harder. He wants too much. He wants to give too much. And it had gotten him in trouble, initially. When he tried so hard to be someone that he thought Yuuri would like, instead of himself. Instead of what he is, which is – ] Still, I think that you must have begun to move beautifully even then. [ Through time and through trial, Yuuri honed that fluidity. Even if skating came to Viktor naturally, he could never quite capture that same musicality. Yuuri gave his whole self to the audience – carried rhythm within his body. No matter how Viktor attempted, he could not be the same, sweet swell of a violin. He could not harbor in him the wandering melody of a piano. He could portray, take on as many faces as he'd like, but Yuuri –
He breathes out and again there's only blooms. If Viktor were damned for the rest of his days to keep giving them whenever Yuuri was near, he thinks he'd still forever take it. It's that thought that makes him laugh, sends up all the more: stock. They're small, innocuous things – a beautiful array of purple. To me, they say, you'll always be beautiful. Affections, they proclaim. It's redundant, he thinks. He needs no flowers to display that Yuuri's had them since the night he'd swept him into his arms.
But, Yuuri's still insisting. He's insisting, though he hasn't quite left him. He lingers and does not ask, but Viktor thinks he has the sense of it now. ]
i'm so mad why are they so good and so dumb [2/2]
[ But, Viktor doesn't budge. Instead, he smiles a little. ] Don't worry about the sitting room. I took care of it. [ He wanted to help. He wanted to pay back all the care he's been given. ] Your mother shooed me from the kitchen before I could finish washing up. [ His voice warms a little at the memory, but then he's just as suddenly turning up his free fingers to Yuuri's inspection, peonies still gathered between his thumb and forefinger. ] See?
[ If there's any pruning Yuuri's supposed to be seeing, there's really none left. Instead, all there is left is the unvoiced request: you don't have to leave.
At least, for the moment, Viktor takes peace of mind in knowing Yuuri will go easy tomorrow. ]
everyday I'm screaming about them my gOD
Not for the first time this night, Yuuri wishes he could've seen Viktor when he was younger. Maybe they could've skated together...and not struggle alone.]
I mean...a lot of it is your fault, but I certainly helped. [There's a teasing lilt to his voice, lips fighting a smile. It was nice feeling his heart so light without the worry of flowers coming. Even if the spell only lasted for this night, Yuuri wouldn't trade it for anything.] It'll go faster if we both clean up, anyways. [Reluctantly, Yuuri finally rises from the floor, a snowfall of colors drifting from his clothes. Parting for the night still was not his favorite idea--but the sensible side of him knew it couldn't last forever. He and Viktor had a goal--and the Cup of China looms ever closer. He's careful not to crush any petals--and is extra careful to keep the small flower pinched between his fingertips away from any harm.
Though he stands, Yuuri is still staying close. He leans in to inspect the hand Viktor offered.]
It looks fine to me now. [Without hesitation Yuuri reaches out with a finger, gently trailing up Viktor's palm to his fingertip. There was something about the time and place making him bold, a fire lit in his abdomen. The next breath he takes is bold as well--petals from big to small, pink edged in white falling from his lips. Camellias. Admiration; longing; you're adorable. It was Yuuri's turn to share more after Viktor had carved the path.] If you're not careful, my mom's going to want to hire you on full time, and then who would be my coach?
[Yuuri's hand is slow to drag away, but he turns his palm and keeps it in the air--offering help up. He finds that he can't take his eyes away from Viktor's face--but it's not as if he minds. His are still turned in a smile--still reassuring. I'm not going anywhere, they still say. We're in this together.]
i am still yelling even like an hour later JESUS
It had never occurred to him to examine the emotions tied into the emptiness, the continual ennui. Viktor had lived, but had not considered living. Each nondescript hotel room, his sterile apartment in St. Petersburg – it’d all been beautiful and bright, but the lavishness did not fill him. It did not nourish him, give him space and room to grow. Being loved without being loved was difficult. Even now, Viktor struggles to hold in both hands the wide span of the difference.
Yuuri had been the first he’d wanted to show that. Yuuri still is, with all his complexities and contradictions. Yuuri continues to be, with all of his pride and his determination – his anxious and ambitious heart. He’d heard Viktor before Viktor even knew he wanted to be heard. He’d given Viktor a reason to try again, to step toward a path he’d not considered before. Viktor may have left the ice as a competitor this season, but the prospects beyond its boards no longer seemed so remote. Not within Hasetsu, not within the confines of Yutopia – not at Yuuri’s side.
Viktor doesn’t regret, not really. He only regrets that he had not met Yuuri a long time ago, young and still full of passion for what had brought them together. The thought strays, with Yuuri’s touch and brilliant sentiments. I’m so easy, he thinks. I’m so easy. Yuuri has his attention and his focus – effortlessly. It’s wonderful.
His heart pirouettes, drunken and off-balance as Yuuri rises – strokes slow fingers down his palm. If Viktor once hesitated to give what he wanted, he doesn't now. He can't dream of it. Yuuri's camellias warm him, reflect back his own feelings – thoughts. He's pined away for a long time now. He pines even this close, with Yuuri's smile offered to him – with his assurances given. He isn't sure when Yuuri had built within him a riotous garden consumed by the breadth of it, but it hardly matters now. Not with competitions so close, with mutual desires so close – with Yuuri, holding out his hand for him to take.
He does – gentle and slow – and there's no hesitation in the way Viktor flowers in beneath the warmth of it. ]
She's very charming, [ he hums, but the laugh that follows is more a breath – a bright burst of impossible color. Pansies are tricky, they've always said. Their petals give many stories – just as many emotions. You fill all my thoughts; consider me; consider this. He doesn't try to stand, not quite yet. Instead, he smiles. It's impossibly fond, lights each corner of his face. He smooths the meat of his thumb across the rise of Yuuri's knuckles. I'm not going anywhere too. ] But, luckily, so are you.
[ You've already charmed me. ]
this thread now has me vomiting flowers irl
A touch like this a few months ago would have him running away. Now he finds himself giving Viktor's hand a squeeze, with no indication of letting go or moving away.]
Now you know where I get it from-- [Oh god no. There was no amount of magic confidence that would let him get away with saying something like that. His free arm (his keepsake flower still safe in his hand) goes over his impossibly red face (no way was he going to let go of Viktor regardless of how embarrassed he was), a groan rumbling in his chest.] --Ugh, wait. Forget I ever said that. That sounds like something you would say, and now that I've said it I've realized lines like that are not meant for me. You can have them.
[The more he speaks, the more thin, rounded are dislodged from the crook of his elbow, a variety of pinks, purples, and whites sprinkling down. Aster, for agreement. On how Viktor is also charming. On how nice this all is. The flowers don't embarrass him for the moment, but he's still floundering for a subject change.]
But it seems like a waste to get rid of all these flowers... [Nice save!] They're very pretty. [He's still red in the face and not exactly looking at Viktor, but Yuuri drops his arm. Instead, he's looking over all the flowers they've shared. Maybe he could get something to put them in and dry them? Would that be weird?] Maybe we could put them somewhere?
HONESTLY SAME... so very same i have a small garden in my chest
Yuuuuri, that was very smooth! [ Flirting is just like skating, Viktor's always thought. If you hesitate and lock-up, nothing you do will stick. But, that's what's always been so charming about Yuuri. His almosts are so earnest that even Viktor can't miss the way it glances at his heart, starts it stuttering a little harder than before. ] Commit to the landing! [ He chides – or tries to – his voice is too filled with affection to even accomplish that. But, he lets it go. Yuuri changed the subject on purpose and that much is acknowledged in the way Viktor gives his hand a gentle squeeze back – a gentler tug. You don’t have to be embarrassed, it seems to say. I’m happy.
He’s happy, for the first time in a long time. He can say it with certainty, as Yuuri continues to give him more of himself – tells him his thoughts in the continual fall of flowers. Viktor gives a little laugh, not unkind. It’s warm and warmer about redder petals – soft and rounded. Not quite a rose to be known on sight, but one nonetheless.
You’re lovely. Austrian roses – it suits. Viktor’s always known that Yuuri is. Always. ] I think keeping something beautiful is the best choice, [ he says, affirms. It isn’t silly or weird, is the reassurance. He’s waited for so long to give something beautiful to Yuuri without reservation and now – he’s gotten it back twofold. ] Did you want to keep them here or did you want to take them to my room? [ He strokes aimless along the back of Yuuri’s had with the meat of his thumb, does not look to what Yuuri talks about. Instead, he looks at Yuuri – red-faced and steady, something he’d have never gotten months before. ] I might have more space storage than you do, but I’m happy to give it to you.
when i die young, send me down the river in the bed of these flowers
[That which is the question of what to do with all these petals--which there was an obscene amount of now. Was this also normal, to have so many flowers? He wasn't the most experienced in love--the one or two times he had been taking out group outings as a disguise for a double date certainly don't count, and he certainly didn't shed as many flowers as he had now. Maybe it was because his emotions had been pent up for so long...and maybe because Viktor's had been as well? How much had be been forced to hold back because of him?
Or, beyond him, because of who he was?
The thought at least brings his eyes back up, doing a quick study of Viktor's face as he weighed his options.]
Why don't you keep them in your room? I mean, it's less cluttered than mine anyways. [Not that his room was messy, but...] We can find a bowl or a vase to put them in. I'm sure we have something suitable in the inn somewhere. [Besides, I already have my reminder, Yuuri thought. He slides his feet across the ground as he steps closer to Viktor, chests nearly touching as he puts the edelweiss on his desk. And as he takes a step back to look up at his face again...Yuuri thinks that Viktor could use the reminders more than him. Just maybe. As well as an apology for avoiding him for so long.]
We can go down together and check after we put the tea cups up?
we're sorely lacking roses this thread but i mean they're flowers at least!!!
Not for me, Yuuri says. It would have once been jarring, stating the opposite of what Viktor had so clearly seen in Sochi. He'd been shining and effervescent then, pulling Viktor into a frenetic Paso Doble. Yuuri had touched him so openly, dipped him so low, steered him with such certainty – for a long time, Viktor wondered if he'd forgotten all about him. The pass he gives him now is part in deference to Yuuri's comfort, but also to the fact he's realized that Yuuri had only become so much more than the charming playboy he'd once breathed into his programs. The way Yuuri really is – it's so much more disarming.
It's so unfair, really. He's so close and all Viktor wants to do is nose against his collar when he leans in. Viktor Nikiforov is not an inexperienced man, but Katsuki Yuuri is the only one who has ever championed his heart. – and the heart is a funny and willful thing when presented all that it wants.
To Viktor, this was all just as novel and new. He has no clue as to what is considered usual for him, for Yuuri. For Viktor, who had stopped giving them altogether, he'd only ever seen the flowers that others would pour at his feet. It wasn't much, but this is – it's more than what Viktor cares to count. The flowers that still live inside him stir and shiver as Yuuri keeps that one separate – keeps it apart.
And then Yuuri tells him to keep them and Viktor has to take a slow breath to keep himself from starting back up in earnest. He'll be a hair trigger for the rest of his days, he's convinced, as he breathes out a remaining few. They're unmistakable as roses, a dark and thoughtful pink: gratitude. ]
OK, [ he starts. It's a confirmation of many things, short and sweet – sincere. He hasn't looked away, not yet. ] We'll do just that. [ And finally, he gives a short glance toward their feet. It's littered, the floor, a carpet of meaning. His lap is still blanketed in blues. He's never felt more pleased to smell as though a garden, to be wrapped up in literal feeling. ] Do you really think your mother keeps something big enough for all these?
[ As if to demonstrate his point, Viktor finally uses the hand he was given to leverage himself up. It's a cascade, quite literally. And Viktor can't help the soft, short giggle that comes as the remaining petals Yuuri'd long ago poured over him tumble from the crown of his head – catch at his shoulder, the shell of an ear. ] We might have to make use of a few.
imagine all the roses they have to give lAT E R . . . .
It might be a tight fit at this rate. [A playful jab, though it's not as if Yuuri is completely blameless here. Karma proves this with another puff of camellias from his lips, a pure white in stark contrast to the deep pink Viktor had added to their ever-growing pile.] I'm sure we can find something. There's probably a rice tub somewhere that's not being used. [With the influx of customers still pouring in from the rumors of a living legend being a guest at their inn, it might be harder than it used to be to find one that is no longer in use, but...]
[...they'd conquer that bridge when they got there. Right now they had to at least leave the room. When Viktor finally stands, Yuuri is eager to help...though all he gets is a shower of petals as a consolation prize. Not that it's bad--it brings laughter to Viktor, which brings laughter to him in turn. Once again, there's something about the moment--the sound of their laughter resonating together over the scent of flowers--that will stay with Yuuri for a while.
He's sure they'd paint a pretty picture together if anyone could see them at this moment...though he's glad no one can. He wants to be selfish. It's a kind of possessiveness that leads his free hand, brushing fingers over the petals that have caught on Viktor's skin. Over his ear and across his shoulder. The action still squeezes his heart, benign and fleeting as it is. Yuuri's arm is back at his side in a moment, and he takes a gentle step over the various blooms, waving his foot to clear a safe spot for him to land. The hand still clutching Viktor's gives him a tug towards the door.] We should be careful not to track the petals all over the inn. It's already going to be hard to clean up the ones in here. [And the smile he gives is soft as well--a quirk of the brow the only indication to his teasing. And okay, now Yuuri might be having a little fun with this.]
s O MANY rip in pieces everyone else
His dreams, his goals, his ideals – he’d carved them year after year into the ice, spoke them through practice and interviews. Viktor might have been gifted, but it did not mean he did not work. It did not mean he did not push himself as far as he could go. It did not mean he did not unravel Viktor Nikiforov after each and every season – spin him again into something entirely new.
Viktor has always shared, but few had been interested in seeing what he had to give behind the title – the prestige. Few had tried so hard. Fewer pulled down expectation and rejected all else. Yuuri had been the only one who dared, the only one who continues to. It only seems just – fair – that Yuuri receives all that Viktor has to offer. It’s only right, to extend all the reassurances and affection Viktor can hold for him.
And to be with Yuuri like this, Viktor thinks he'd gladly lay down all that he is at his feet again and again.
And again, as Yuuri moves to brush the petals from Viktor's shoulder, lets his fingers sweep the shell of his ear. For a short moment, Viktor can't hear anything outside the swelling crescendo of flowers in his chest and Yuuri's confessions of adoration between all of his teasing.
If Yuuri thinks he's selfish for wanting to keep the moment between them, then Viktor's selfish too. He's selfish for Yuuri, wanting more than anything to let him keep it still and quiet in his palms – tucked into the corners heart – just like the edelweiss. It's for Yuuri and Yuuri alone and Viktor doesn't want to give this side of himself to anyone else. It's just Yuuri's.
It's just Yuuri's, as much as flowers that spill past Viktor's lips are the next time he opens his mouth. ]
So mean...! [ Viktor tries to whine, but his voice rasps around golden petals – crimped and rounded, thin. There's no hope for it at all even as he catches the chance to jut his bottom lip out in a sullen pout. Ambrosia. Your feelings are returned, his heart says. Viktor's eyes, as bright and blue as they are, only double-down on his true feelings as he follows the path that Yuuri carves with no prompting. He wants to keep by his side, he wants to keep holding onto his hand.
And Viktor especially desires to as he drops his head onto Yuuri's shoulder at the next given opportunity, huffing dramatically. It's devoid of flowers. For now. ] Yuuuuri, I can't help it! [ He really can't. But, he finds he doesn't even want to try. Viktor leans some of his weight into him, slow and steady – persistent. ] I'm never going to stop flowering again and then no rice tub will hold it!
[ Even if it's a playful threat, he hopes it's true. ]
rip Katsuki Yuuri. buried by flowers.
As well as a camellia producing fiend.
However, there are other things to think about now--like remembering how to breathe. Yuuri's heart mingles with the flowers in his throat as he feels Viktor's head rest against his raging pulse. This isn't nearly the first time they've been this close--and he internally chides himself for reacting so strongly. He has to worry that the static in his ears has transferred to his skin, able to pinpoint every inch of contact he and Viktor currently share.
It's familiar contact, but still something new--made in understanding of the feelings that they share. The hands they had been extending out to each other in the dark had finally found each other. And everything was so clear now, bright and nearly blinding, that Yuuri has to wonder how they had never closed the circuit before.
There's a breath before Yuuri can ground himself--attempting to calm a bit of his thundering heart. He's not as successful as he wishes he could be; even after counting to ten his heart still hammers against his ribs, face burning with heat. But he's steadfast against Viktor's pressing. Steady in the way his free arm wraps around Viktor, hand a comforting pressure between his shoulder blades.
Yuuri cheek comes to rest against a fanning of silver hair.]
[Yuuri's swallowing against the spring blooming in his throat--but only because he wants to make sure his next words are heard.] You can flower as much as you want, you know. I don't mind. [Even with the threat of overfilling any container he set out to hold them all--and dooming himself to eating his own words if Viktor (when Viktor) is bold enough to do it where others could see...it would be worth it to see more from Viktor. To let Viktor bloom his full potential. Worth it to let Viktor be open to feel what he wanted to feel.] But I'm warning you, we could be up all night cleaning if you do all over the hallways...
[Together, of course.]
rip viktor nikiforov doomed forever to flower incessantly
Yuuri goes still and quiet against him. If Viktor stops and only feels, he can feel the heat that rises beneath Yuuri's skin. He can feel it seep into him, edge out the lingering darkness that rests in old disconnects. Viktor, who is just himself, simply wants to love. He wants to be loved and Yuuri gives it after months of wondering. He gives it tentatively, like the unfurling of a morning flower. Even when Viktor blooms riotously in all of his pining, Yuuri answers his earnest calls. Something like relief and joy curls into his stomach, radiates out when Yuuri speaks against him – presses his cheek to the crown of his head. Something new and luminous fills him, when Yuuri holds him as steady as Viktor tries to hold him.
It isn't fair, how Yuuri can reduce him to endlessly blossoming. It isn't fair, but it's him. If Viktor must speak through a mouthful of flowers until the end of his days, he thinks it does not sound nearly so bad as the alternative. Yuuri requests him. Yuuri accepts him.
And Viktor returns the gift tenfold – as much as he can. For each bloom that Yuuri gives him, Viktor doesn't hold back. Not anymore. Yuuri desires them, doesn't mind them. And Viktor, for the first time, doesn't either. ]
[ Viktor turns his head, noses into the warm curve of Yuuri's shoulder. Here, with Yuuri's hand pressed against his back and across from his heart, Viktor struggles to pull in breath. Up in his throat, there are a million unvoiced sentiments, a million unvoiced affections. But, now the knot is so tight that Viktor can no longer tell apart what's upon his tongue, what's being shared between the scant spaces left between them. What more can I give you?, he thinks. I want to keep sharing too.
He huffs out a short laugh, bringing up more petals in its wake. ]
As coach, it would be irresponsible to keep my precious student up all night to clean up the mess, [ he murmurs, voice caught against Yuuri's collar. Yuuri smells as though a garden, sweet and dark. It's hard to focus on what he wants to say, with so much coming up from within. He isn't sure he'll ever stop. It's a small price to pay for happiness, he thinks. He's smiling, so broadly that he wonders if Yuuri will feel it. He hopes he does. ] As Viktor, I'll do my best. Even if, either way, no one seems to mind them.
[ He should likely lift his head, but Viktor doesn't want to. Yuuri is comforting, a steady place to rest. Viktor knots his finger's through his, gentle and absent. ] Though, [ he adds after a long, long moment: ] I can't speak for your guests.
[ There's nothing, but warmth in his humor as he says it. ]
rip anyone who has to spend more than 5 minutes with them
Was he doomed to live a life completely flustered every time Viktor drew near? Not that he would trade it for anything else, but he worried if his heart would be able to keep up.
The words Viktor speaks against him brings flowers that tickle his neck, branding a smile against his skin. It draws from him an airy laugh full of daisy petals.] They'll have to get used to it, I guess.
[Yuuri knows that he should also pull away, so they could finally begin their trek downstairs to do what they had set out to do in the first place...but a few more moments of this couldn't hurt. A few more moments to indulge in what he couldn't easily bring himself to do before. His head is turned, nosing through silver locks--truly one of Viktor's most tempting features. The urge to run his fingers through it always ran strong, and for good reason. The way it moved always made it seem unbelievably soft. Yuuri was pleased to report that it was.
A few flowers--more daisies--leave his lips with a contented sigh, blending with the lightness of Viktor's hair. It seemed like it had taken forever for the two of them to get to this moment; at the same time, it felt like they had always been here. Which is why it's so hard to break apart--they had so much lost time to catch up on.]
[It's a great struggle, but Yuuri's voice of reason finally makes a compromise with his heart.] Okay, okay. But we should head downstairs and find things clean up, or we really won't make it to practice. [Yuuri's sure that gathering all the petals will take long enough as it is. He gives their joined hands a squeeze, his other hand pushing Viktor gently off of him by the shoulder. But Yuuri doesn't move far. He's backing towards his door and pulling Viktor close, pushing it open without his eyes leaving Viktor's face.] We can talk more before bed maybe? If you want to.
rip anyone who has to spend any time with them honestly lmf
His skin tingles beneath the warmth of Yuuri’s hands, the brush of petals against the crown of his head. It takes some discernment to know their smell, pressed close as he is. Daisies. Inanely, perhaps, Viktor catches himself in the cycling of an old song. He’s already half-crazy according to others this season, Viktor supposes.
He wonders if there’ll be more answers to give.
For now, however, the way Yuuri noses into his hair is too gentle to fully process before it’s gone. Viktor’s chest constricts, full of flowers that he cannot begin to possibly untangle enough to share, but they’re there. They’re there, knotted up in his throat. It muffles whatever sound of protest Viktor wants so badly to make when Yuuri nudges him back, though the warmth of Yuuri still lingers wherever his gaze rests. ]
Okay, [ Viktor says, breathes out more. He thinks, absently, he'll never be without the taste of flowers upon his tongue as a few more are scattered out between them. Small and stark – red and white – they stick to worn warmth of his jinbei and floor beneath them. Sorrel and lilies of the valley: I return your happiness, your affections. You make me happy.
How many more ways could Viktor tell him? But, the moment is too short. Even gathered up in the quiet of Yuuri’s childhood bedroom, the night keeps moving on. And so too does Yuuri, as he pulls Viktor to him, as if being parted were impossibility. It’s a sentiment Viktor agrees with, knowing well enough that where Yuuri went he’d gladly follow. Yuuri could lead him blind across all of Hasetsu, half-way across the world, further – and Viktor thinks he would have no complaints to give him. He trusts Yuuri. He wants to see Yuuri flourish. He wants to see Yuuri grow into his own, embrace more of what he is.
He wants to kiss Yuuri, drag his fingers along the curve of his jaw. Viktor wants to kiss him while he’s looking at him like this, determined to hold onto him, still smelling of all their mingled flowers. It’s a thought that isn’t new. Viktor’s wanted that since the outset, but now –
I’ll stay close to you too, he wants to say. He doesn’t.
Instead, he lifts their joined hands and presses them up to his cheek. Just long enough to quell the restless petals still caught up in his lungs. ] Right. [ It takes a moment, but he nods once. He lets their hands settle again between them, but not be before he gives them a little, playful swing. ] Heading downstairs! That’s the most reasonable. [ His lips upturn, eyes bright. ] You need your rest if we’re going to practice tomorrow.
[ Yes, that’s true.
But, Viktor can't help, but think of how long he’s waited. How much longer he’d have continued to wait for someone like Yuuri without ever being aware of it. How much longer he’d have remained like that, if Yuuri had never spun him into his gravity and held Viktor in the spaces he now continues to allow. ]
I want to, [ Viktor’s eyes don’t leave him, as much as Yuuri’s do not leave Viktor. There’s no chance to catch the enduring, red petals of more sorrel as he continues, expression open and soft. ] But, I have one condition: [ as if to demonstrate, he holds up one finger on the opposing hand, but there’s no real sternness in it. It’s just consideration and a definite touch of a tease, if the wink he gives him is anything to go by. He trusts Yuuri’s judgement and he’s already reassured him. ] Don’t exhaust yourself trying to stay up.
[ He'd happily stay up all night talking, but there's other things at play here. They have some responsibilities to attend to. They have practice, the rink. They have conditioning.
Maybe one day. ]
using some FRESH NEW ICONS purchased because THESE TWO ARE TOO MUCH
Which was not a new thought for him by any stretch of the imagination. Yuuri had an obscene amount of posters and clipped newspaper articles to attest to his appreciation for Viktor aesthetically--collected since the height of his boyhood. And it wasn't like Yuuri was the only one who felt this way; men and women alike had sung his praises and voiced their desires since his junior years. Fawned over pictures of him features in skating articles and fashion magazines, lined up just to watch him enter a rink. Yuuri couldn't blame them. And frankly, Viktor deserved the attention. After spending months with Viktor--the human Viktor, who could snort his sake while laughing to hard just like the rest of them--only reaffirmed day after day how beautiful he was.
The way Viktor moved on and off the ice, the way he held out his long limbs in preparation for a jump. The way his silvery eyelashes fanned down as he was reading choreography notes. The way he smiled, wide and youthful when Makkachin would walk in from another room. The way his eyes would light up when his mother called him Vicchan.
The list went on and on endlessly, but so far Yuuri had never seen anything so beautiful as the way Viktor looked when he pressed their joint hands against his cheek.
Something about the moment had Yuuri gaping, static gone from his skin to ring in his skull. There were words being spoken to him, he vaguely recollects. Words behind a bright smile that only dampened any sound in his head further. More words with a wink that restarts his heart with a completely new beat. Sakura petals drift absently from his open mouth as Yuuri tries to process, tries to overcome how the beauty in front of him has him shell-shocked.
Eventually, he reboots.
And despite all they had shared--despite already openly sharing this same sentiment earlier this evening--there's something about the moment that has Yuuri turning his head away, free hand clapped over his mouth.]
Sorry. [He was unbelievably red, as red as the petals that forced their way through his fingers. Amaryllis--for both Viktor's splendid beauty and the worth beyond looks.] That was just...uh. Super cute, sorry. [He tugs Viktor forward, into the hall--for a good excuse to not look at the face that has him so afflicted for long enough to compose himself.] I won't push myself.
[Yuuri's able to calm himself down enough to look back at Viktor once they get to the stairs. His face is still red--but it has cooled a bit. His lips are quirked in something more bashful than something to match his teasing.] I think you should worry about you pushing yourself more than me. It's already nearly your bedtime, isn't it?
y e s s s s no regrets no regrets at all
Since he was born, he had been told that he had been blessed with it. He had been told that he drew it up from the mouths of others, in roses so blue that it stained teeth and tongues. He had been told he carved it out in time to music, with the flash of his blades over ice. He had been told he held it, spun it into shapes no one could comprehend.
But, it did not mean that Viktor understood what power could be held in it. It did not mean that he could pinpoint what he had been chasing after his whole life, a match to strike the tinder of his inspiration that had long been left to rot. It did not mean he knew that it would be something he could love quite as much as he does, in this moment, breathing out sentiment that makes Viktor's heart stutter in his chest.
He never thought he would find beauty lived in the roots of confidence that grew under Yuuri's skin day after day. He never thought beauty would define itself in Yuuri's voice calling his name from across the rink, head held high in triumph. He never thought he would call it Yuuri.
Yuuri. Yuuri, who handles him as though he were tangible and whole. Yuuri, who treads closer to what Viktor is than Viktor does himself. Yuuri, beautiful in ways he can’t quite grasp – a gray day on the ocean, the rising of a storm. Yuuri is like the small moments between sleep and the dawn. He reminds Viktor of stirring in the warmth, skin gilded gold by what light filters through the blinds.
But, Viktor thinks he’s most beautiful when he’s lost in the sea of himself, gaze upturned and searching. In movement or in stillness, Yuuri holds more than he thought a word was possible to hold. And the word itself does no real justice, when Viktor finds himself struggling for voice with which to answer him.
Yuuri's so much more than beauty. Yuuri's so much more than that.
And he supposes it's all over, when Yuuri finally comes back to him as Viktor goes, breathing out cherry blossoms and amaryllis – things that tell Viktor that even despite what he's always been told, that the word is only a word in comparison to what he is. To what he does (cute, Yuuri had said – he's cute).
Viktor wants to tell him to never apologize. He wants to tell him so many things, but his free hand flutters up to his mouth too as he's tugged out into the hall, flooded by desire to show – to tell. And it isn't until Yuuri teases him, that he's able to focus at all. Viktor only has just enough sense to turn his head against the bright of Yuuri's eyes, the way mouths curves into mischief, before petals are spilling into his cupped hand faster than he can contain them. They're a muddled mix, new and bright and fresh. Gilly-flowers and all their promises, all of his avowals to what he knows now Yuuri holds over his heart. Yuuri's enduring beauty and Viktor's continued affections for him – caught up in the blues of salvia. I know this about you, I think this about you. I'm always thinking of you.
It's so much, he's only left to think that he's at least missed the stairs. ]
Yuuuuri, [ he whines as best he can. He thinks the look he affects must be terribly pitiful, spilling his heart out onto the floor. He fixes Yuuri with a look that decimates any hope for his acting chops, too contented and overtaken by the happiness Yuuri gives him to really care. ] Be nice to your coach! [ He won't survive Katsuki Yuuri and Viktor Nikiforov doesn't care. He squeezes Yuuri's hand as the next wave comes on, coughing disturbing his dramatic exhalation. ] Taking back your compliment and implying I'm an old man, I won't live! [ Fair, he supposes, with the latter. He went to bed yesterday at 8:30, but in his defense he'd been up early planning what he could do to better serve Yuuri's programs. ] I don't go to bed that early!
[ He tries to take a settling breath, his hand squeezing Yuuri's once, twice. His lungs are starting to hurt in the same way his cheeks seem to these days. He smiles now, more often than not. Laughs, even despite it, when he catches Yuuri rubbing at his own in order to ease it. He's trying not to laugh, even now, in circumstances removed from what he thought would happen today at all. He's so – ] I'll bury myself in flowers while you're laughing at me and then you'll never find me again!
[ God, he feels like he will.
He knows that Yuuri would never allow that to happen. ]
anything for this stupid dumb thread of these stupid dumb boys
Which, if it was the case, Yuuri would be glad to tell him again and again until he fully realized how wonderful he was--but now was not the time. Maybe. Not when they were trying to be good and clean up. It was already a struggle for him to be a good example and keep his own flowers at bay, especially with Viktor dialing up the dramatics--let alone if he had to delve more into why he thought Viktor was adorable.]
[A part of him wanted to laugh at the pathetic display, but stronger in him was the petulance.] I never took back my compliment--you made that part up! I still thought it was...you know! Cute! [Ugh, why is it harder to say a second time? He forces himself to keep his gaze steady--and though it pales in comparison to Viktor's well-practiced one, there is still a small pout on his lips.] Now you're just trying to get me to feel bad for you, but I won't! Not for the truth!
[Yuuri does break his gaze eventually, but not for embarrassment. There are quite a few flowers in the hallway now. Though he huffs at the sight, it carries no more weight than the light of the smile on his lips.] At least try to wait to bury yourself until we get back upstairs, okay? I don't want the guests to step on a lost living legend.
[There was a real threat of them running into any number of people on their way to the kitchen--but that no longer bothers him. Really, it only makes him feel giddy--the two of them holding hands, running through the inn like the lovestruck teenagers they've been personifying all night. Even though he's still not keen on displaying his affection for anyone to see (because it wasn't meant for them), Yuuri finds that he can only hope that Viktor doesn't flower too much on the way down the stairs, so they don't end up slipping on his affections.
Once there was a point where Yuuri would've been embarrassed by the thought of such publicly displayed feelings from Viktor towards him. Not because it was ever unwanted--but more because it had been overwhelming. And a little more than confusing that someone as great as Viktor could have any sort of fondness for the likes of Yuuri. Now, he feels bad that he has to ask his coach to hold back anything, even if it was just for a short while.]
Just hold on a little longer okay? [Another reassuring squeeze is given to the hand in his as he starts down the stairs, closing in on the kitchen. He would make this quick, even if he had to drag Viktor flowering all the way.] We should be done in no time.
i would be doing the same right now tbh if i needed too rip wallets
And as much as Viktor would like to suggest that he shouldn’t apologize for being lost in the moment like he was earlier, Viktor knows that if he opens his mouth now – there’s arguing camellias, white and warm. It had been comforting to see, that Viktor wasn’t the only one. Viktor never suspected that he was, not really, but it was a reminder that Viktor did not need to become something else – someone else –, to be given genuine affection. That Yuuri liked him as he was, no matter how constant.
So, Viktor swallows them back, ginger, and instead gives an understanding nod (no matter how his expression lights up at being called cute again by Yuuri) – a returning squeeze of Yuuri’s hand. Viktor can't deny him. Not with how Yuuri's asking. Viktor can’t, even if he wants to gather him back up to him. Be good, Viktor. But, it's hard.
But, that isn’t to say that Viktor doesn’t have to resist stirring up his “sympathies” again once they hit the bottom of the stairs. Being led through the Yutopia by the hand – by Yuuri’s hand – warms the garden in him more than he thinks he can bear. He’d been once so tentative to touch Viktor at all, but now keeps him by his side openly. Despite risk of being spotted by his family, Viktor thinks, and that giddiness that Yuuri feels is inevitably shared in Viktor. Yuuri’s affections are often quieter, softer – it surprises him, that he still insists even here.
Hold on a little longer, Yuuri had told him. And he intends to do his best, no matter how difficult it continues to be. But, Viktor takes little joys in playfully teasing Yuuri as much as he thinks he can get away with – just enough to see Yuuri flush across the apples of cheeks, avert his gaze. Fidget. Cute is a word that belongs on Katsuki Yuuri as much as it does on him. Even if his voice is smothered for the moment in deference, he can still tell Yuuri in what ways he can – can still secret it to him without making more of a mess. There’s no voices to be heard – few sounds outside their own footsteps around boards known to creak – and Viktor traces the idle shape of a heart between Yuuri’s first and second knuckle with the pad of his forefinger just as they reach the border of the kitchen.
I’ll keep doing my best, it suggests. But more: you’re adorable too.
It’s the least Viktor can offer him. It's the very least he can do, as he pairs it with the easy and playful upturn of his lips. ]
no subject
Again, that would bridge would be crossed when they got there. The kitchen isn't too far from the stairs, so at least their journey wouldn't be long. His single-minded focus lets his mind cloud over, sensations taking a back seat to his goal.
But his skin was oversensitive and his mind a traitor--there's no way he could miss the telltale dip of a heart being traced against the back of his hand, a tingling running up his arm and jolting him back to the present.
If Viktor's goal was a reaction, then he certainly would get one. Yuuri's free hand finds a home once again clamped against his lips--a groan dangerously teetering on the edge of a whine being muffled by flesh and flowers. Did Viktor know what he was doing to him? Was he teasing him for trying to be responsible? How could he keep finding new ways to be adorable and make him fall all over again?
Yuuri wasn't going to fold now--he chews back the honey-sweet blooms in his mouth (with a small pang of remorse) and looks back at Viktor. Tries his best to look properly afflicted, but his red face and stuttering pout gives him away. A gentle rubbing of his thumb against the back of Viktor's hand reassures that his message was heard, but there were more important things to focus on. Like cleaning! Cleaning! The thing they had to prepare to do so they could talk properly once more!
He doesn't dare trust his voice now, and he hardly dares to keep staring at Viktor lest the man wants to do something else to try his resolve. It was time to get what they came here for, and Yuuri's gaze is honed in on the cabinet underneath the sink--which seems like a better place than anything to keep something for washing rice. His steps are long and purposeful as he nearly drags Viktor across the room, flinging open the cabinet door with unnecessary force. And--lo and behold, his hunch is correct. There is a single tub left inside, dark and water-stained with age. Perfect. Something like that wouldn't be missed by his parents.
Yuuri picks it up and gives it a quick inspection to make sure it was clean and dry. After it's been cleared he promptly puts it over Viktor's head, tub deep enough to draw down pass his nose.]
Hold that.
[A honeysuckle of affection that had escaped his chewing drifts from his lips as he speaks--but Yuuri hopes that Viktor can't see it from under the tub. Without waiting for Viktor to hold on, he starts pulling him back to the stairs (and away from the evidence of his temporary weakness).]
no subject
Of course, he’s not treated to such a face for long nor the adorable response for very long. No, not really, because Yuuri decides to upend the tub and rest it on his head, depriving him. The sound that Viktor makes is torn between surprise and betrayal, stuck in the bed of flowers that threatens to spill up from his chest. Especially, too, since Yuuri gives him no time to recover before he’s being steered back around again (he certainly doesn’t almost trip over his own feet – it’s such a good thing he trusts Yuuri so to lead him without leading him astray).
It’s only the logical option that leads him to tipping up and tipping over the tub that was rested so cruelly upon his head. His hair, as fine and soft as it is, takes on an immediate “swept-up” look – unreasonably elegant and seemingly tousled on purpose, static electricity be damned. ]
Ah, now Yuuri doesn’t even want to look at me! [ He breathes (whines) out, mouth curving down into a pout so perfected it rings false. He manages, just barely, to catch the remaining flowers that have been sitting behind his teeth, upon his tongue. It’s hard to keep the thing level, having to brace his forearm against the wall of the tub and wrap his fingers over the lip. At least it’s water stained bottom collects the yellow petals easily, a mirror to the ones that Viktor may or may not have glimpsed (he certainly did, it says). His eyes, even in the dim of the inn at this hour, are unmistakably warm. ] Have you changed your mind already? [ He pauses, almost as if to pull up a sulk (it is). ] I haven't changed mine!
[ He knows Yuuri hasn’t, but he can’t resist asking even as he’s tugged along and back up the stairs. Had they been standing still, it would have been here that Viktor would bump his hip against his – so, he makes due with the playful drum of his fingers against the back of Yuuri’s hand. He knows he’s being an awful distraction, but they’re about at their mark. It won’t hurt too much, he thinks. Especially with him holding the tub up strategically. Viktor has always been known to drain concentration, but with Yuuri he has no other intentions. He doesn’t want to divert, to redirect. He doesn’t want to remove Yuuri from what he really feels, what he really thinks. And Viktor thinks for the second time in as many minutes that he’d like very much to keep holding onto Yuuri’s hand. That, really, he'd very much like to keep holding on for as long as he can. ]
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[ 1/2 ] rip me
[ 2/2 ] LMF well ok there
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