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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. |
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).]
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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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It's not only the sound which was distracting--Yuuri unfortunately discovers his oversight when he spun back to make a retort...and was faced with a look that belonged on a runway and not in the back of a family-owned inn. Distraction was too tame of a thought for what that tousled hair did. Something along the lines of obsession was more appropriate, blush swiftly rising to his ears. Was there really anything Viktor could do that wasn't attractive to him in some way?
The retort had died, but his mind still ran rampant. Of course not, his heart screams (loud enough that Yuuri worries it could be heard), how could I ever change my mind about you? I love looking at you! But his lips remain glued shut and gaze was whipped forward, knowing his traitorous lungs were itching to shower more praises. Too close. They were too close to stop now!
Yuuri could see his bedroom door now, spurred on to tug Viktor along even faster. There were still blooms in the hallway to deal with, but they could be dealt with later. Besides the two of them no one really came up these stairs anyways, since their rooms were the only ones in his hall. They could be picked up after they clean, Yuuri decides--stepping over and around until they both were back in his room.
With the door closed behind him, a sigh escapes his lips, more honeysuckle leaving with it. They were safe. Safe to talk freely again--which Yuuri only hoped would help him calm down.
Turning around to face Viktor was proving that calming aspect difficult.]
Okay, okay! We're good now! You don't have to look at me like that anymore, alright? [Look at him like what, exactly? Yuuri couldn't hope to articulate it properly, as his mind was currently stuck on a loop of too cute and too attractive. The few amaryllis that escapes his tongue does enough speaking for him.] Sorry for making you wait.
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It comes up soft and fond, freer than he’s long allowed it to be. He almost doesn’t recognize the sound as he’s set through his paces following Yuuri, his hand still knotted up in his. He couldn’t help it. He can’t help it. Katsuki Yuuri has managed to do something to him that no one else could – that no one else can – and as much as Yuuri may like to look at Viktor, Viktor thinks he could never tire watching him. He doesn’t bother to hide it, doesn’t bother to never telegraph it. It carries through him.
Yuuri, when he’s just woken up and grumbling about practice. Yuuri, who huffs at him when his antics hit their mark. Yuuri, who loses himself in his skating, who pulls himself up even after countless falls. Yuuri, at this moment, who he’s wound up so beautifully and just before the threshold he knows still lingers here and there – Viktor adores them all.
They’re hardly in the door when Viktor is rounded on. He’d expected it, but his body hums as Yuuri finally voices his protests. The curled, blue bells of hyacinth don’t quite make the lip of the tub as Yuuri looks at him, face still flushed and ears still red. A small, impulsive part of Viktor pines to feel the heat there beneath the palm of his hand, to trace the pads of his fingers about the warmed shells of his ears. The tub almost slips out of his grasp in his distraction, caught with a jerk miniscule enough to (hopefully) not be noticed before he’s leaning to set it upon the desk. It only worsens, as he catches each and every meaning instilled in the petals and flowers Yuuri gives.
He can’t tell if he shakes out his freed hand more in desire to quiet compulsion or to relieve the strain he’d put on it. ]
Like what? [ He asks, mumbles more around the small, fat petals of blue violets that spill from his mouth. You have my affections, my devotion. He blinks, at once curious and coy, as he straightens. ] Like earlier?
[ But, there’s more of a pressing matter to attend to – that apology. Any potential and lingering pout leaves, his mouth into bowing something both gentle and sincere. ] Yuuri, [ he starts after a moment. ] You don’t have to apologize. [ He’s glad to still have Yuuri’s hand. Glad he can take the moment again to grasp it tightly, assuring. ] I don't mind it.
[ When it comes to you, he doesn’t say. I don’t mind waiting for you.
Viktor is not a man who tends to be patient. He’s always needed to move, to stretch his legs. But, with Yuuri, he thinks he can manage it. He thinks he can manage just about anything. ]
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He didn't know what he did to be so lucky, but now he was determined to not waste a moment of it while it lasted.]
I appreciate you saying that, but... [And he really did appreciate it but...his brow scrunches together.] There is something I do have to apologize for.
[Something that had been on his mind, weighing heavy on him. Yuuri had been telling Viktor to be himself this whole time, asking him to share if he wanted to. And Viktor had opened up beautifully, giving him everything and more. But Yuuri...he himself was still holding back. It wasn't fair that Viktor do all the giving, or that he was the only one who was sharing their vulnerable side.
Their open affections toed the line, both of them taking one step forward. Yuuri decided, that he wanted to take another. It took him a second to pull together his resolve, fingers idling drumming against Viktor's knuckles.]
I...I haven't been completely honest tonight. I guess. [Yuuri realizes how wrong that could be interpreted, so he quickly adds:] Not on anything big! You know I can't make up the... [flowers, he doesn't say] ... you know! But. [There were blooms caught in his chest, his voice just a wheeze. He was too nervous for them to even have a chance to work themselves free of his constricted throat. I wasn't...uh, I haven't been sick tonight. Not really. I wasn't feeling well, but...
[Yuuri's gaze had been glued to the floor, but he does chance a glance up. After all they shared, he shouldn't be afraid. This was Viktor. He knew Viktor wouldn't reject him--but that didn't keep him from being scared of the unknown. Of being vunerable.
He takes a step forward, literally and figuratively. For the first time he disentangles his hand from his coach's--to reach in both of his pockets. Pockets that had been heavy with a secret all night.]
I didn't have a headache, I was just...embarrassed. You looked like you were having a lot of fun with my family and...I was feeling a lot of things, so... [He doesn't look at Viktor--he can't or he might lose his resolve. He's afraid, and not afraid, of what he might see in his eyes. On his face.
But Yuuri pulls his hands out of his pockets anyways. Pulls them out and dumps their burden into the tub that Viktor had set down.
Gardenias. Secret love. Though it really wasn't secret anymore, how strong his feelings ran.]
Uh. Sorry, for keeping it from you. I shouldn't have--you got me tea...and worried about me and everything, but... [Yuuri babbles, feeling his eyes sting and ugh, this was not worth it to cry over! He closes his eyes--hands clenched in fists and rigid at his sides--and waits waits waits for--
Something.]
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It does not come to Viktor in the next minute, the minute after. It does not come to Viktor even as Yuuri waits and waits and waits for him to respond. By the time Viktor had realized what was happening, it was too late for him to catch up. It was far too late for him to interject, to quiet Yuuri's apologies. It was far too late for Viktor to tell him that he loved him first. It was too late for Viktor to say anything at all, the petals dropped into the rice tub a final tug to the knot that had long taken up residence inside his heart. And for a moment, for a long and agonizing moment, he waits for it to undo.
His Yuuri. His beautiful, stubborn Yuuri. His beautiful, stubborn Yuuri who stands before him and waits and waits and waits.
How long have you been waiting for me too? He wants to ask, but the stillness in him erupts like poppies in the rain. He has no chance. He has no chance at all, once he comprehends what has happened. He has no chance to catch up to himself, the moment thrown in to motion. He knows his hands instinctively seek Yuuri's out, balled up tight by his sides. He knows his fingers instinctively look to cup his wrists. He knows – ]
Ah, [ Viktor breathes. He breathes and what has only been shared between himself and his own pillow come up knotted and bruised. He'd kept them down all evening. He'd kept them down for months. Their petals, rolled and imperfect and no less beautiful in their endurance – speak love for every sentiment, until they come up again anew. Jonquils, linaria bipartia, moon flowers. Gardenias. Rose of Sharon.
Please love me, please notice me, please return my affections. I dreamed about this, in secret. I'm consumed by it. You have my love. You’re the only one who has it.
He'd wanted to. He's wanted to for so long – he can't suppress the breathy laugh that bubbles up. It sounds so foreign, so free. He wonders if Yuuri can feel it, even if he refuses to look at him. He wonders if he can feel how his heart beats, dizzy and drunken. Relieved. He wonders if he can hear him clearly, even as he lifts Yuuri's hands to his lips, presses a soft kiss to between the rise of knuckles where he makes them both meet. ] I wanted to tell you first.
[ There are still petals on his tongue. There are still so many flowers in Viktor that bloom just for him. There are still so many words he wants to say, but – ]
Yuuri, [ he starts. It isn’t a murmur, it’s a call. A small plea, to glance up. Look at me. Yuuri had met him, so this time— he lowers Yuuri’s hands, rubs the meat of thumbs across their backs in slow, sure sweeps. ] I’m sorry too. [ He can’t keep them down. Even still, there’s new, bright petals that come in his pauses. In-between. ] I’ve kept them from you for a long time.
[ He pauses, the corners of his lips twitching up in self-humor. He draws in a breath, shallow and thin. Viktor loves him. ] If I forgive you, then you’ll have to forgive me too.
[ He loves him.
Viktor dips his head down, squeezes Yuuri’s hands. He’s not good with some stronger emotions, but – this is something he can deal with. It's not quite tears. It's not quite tears and Viktor feels – it's too much to discern. ]
Okay?
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But Yuuri had done it. There was no going back from this, because Viktor knew now. Viktor knew, even if he somehow didn't want to, even if it was too awkward, even if he somehow didn't want him--
But the touch to his skin jolted Yuuri back to they present with a strangled squeak, eyes flying open--
--to be greeted with flowers. So many flowers that were gathering around their feet. Enough that Yuuri could hardly discern any genus from another in the blur of emotions. Though some flowers in particular caught his eyes; gardenias. Matching his, which meant...
...which meant...
Yuuri was caught in a trance, over-bright eyes slowly rising to meet Viktor's. So they...so the feelings were mutual. This whole time he had been so worried about any of this getting to Viktor, enough that he had nearly made himself sick choking back blooms. And here they were now, standing in his room and nearly drowning in a wave of flowers of their making about each other.
He blinks--before giggles bubbles in his chest. It starts out soft, hiding behind a sniff and an arm while Yuuri rubs his eyes again against his shoulder (Don't cry, he tries to scold himself again--but another voice screams Viktor kissed your hand, when would there be a better time to cry? Neither one truly wins out.). It's only a stuttering breath later that the laughter starts in earnest. It's deep and full and full of scarlet chrysanthemums and cape jasmine, making him hunch over. Yuuri worries he'll bruise his ribs with how hard he's laughing. But he can't help it--somehow it feels like he hasn't laughed in a lifetime. He had spent so much time policing his emotions--telling himself it was okay the way it was--that he never realized how much strain it had put on him.
Now he was free. Or maybe he should say they were free?]
...well, that was stupid of us.
[It took Yuuri a long moment to compose himself--but his gaze is glued to Viktor when he does. Soft, with a crooked smile that matched the flush of his face. But it was earnest. It was true.] I mean, now that you say you should apologize too, it makes it sound kind of silly that I apologized. [There's a small cough, clearing a few more flowers (jonquils this time) from his throat.] ...uh, you don't have to, of course. We're even?
[The chuckle that comes now is more sheepish, trembling hands giving Viktor's a squeeze that he hopes is comforting. One that says me too. But his next words come out as a mumble--trying to sound remotely teasing from under all his raw emotion.] We have a lot more to clean up now...
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Yuuri laughs and Viktor can’t recover, his once tired heart now put to work in loving the one who once fell into his arms months and months ago. Viktor can’t recover, each and every shadow stripped from over the garden of his heart in the sun of Yuuri’s adoration. All at once, there’s nowhere to hide and Viktor doesn’t want to run.
Beautiful, beautiful – you’re beautiful, his heart calls. You’re so— He wishes he could say it, but his mouth is full with the knowledge of it, in the knowledge Yuuri wears joy as though he born to be surrounded with it. Yuuri wears it in the way his eyes sparkle, the way his laughter makes Viktor’s heart stutter, ache. Viktor thinks that he could give Yuuri endless clusters of purple stock and it would not begin to describe the way Yuuri looks to him now, flush high on his cheeks and lost to blooms of his own. It wouldn’t be enough, so Viktor holds on. It’s all he can do.
When Yuuri is able to stop, Viktor is still caught in the throes. Even still, his eyes don’t move from Yuuri’s. He has no shame in being this far gone. He never did, but now – he can show. He can share his love freely, as freely as Yuuri now shares his. ]
A little, [ he admits once he can find his voice, low and rasped from the strain he’s placed upon himself. It’s as if the flower petals stuck in senseless constellations against the green of his jinbei, pooled at his feet are not evidence enough. He laughs, more with the tremble of his shoulders than the sound. More only come and Viktor surrenders to them in all their grand admittances, chest burning and throat sore. I love only you, in flowers pink and white – belled. Arbutus. As if he could not love Yuuri, as if he could deny him even if he had not asked in the spill of jonquils, the answering squeeze of Viktor’s hands. As if he could not love Yuuri, in the secondary brush of ambrosia – small and pale, yellow. I return your love.
Still, he knots his fingers with Yuuri’s and tries to breathe. He tries to concentrate on Yuuri’s proximity, that warmth that blossoms behind his ribs. He tries to focus on the fact that Yuuri loves him, that all his pining – they’re still arbutus when he opens his mouth. ] We’ll discard our apologies for now.
[ The corners of his mouth tip up, carry warmth up to his eyes. It reflects not at all the posters that once lined Yuuri’s walls, unschooled and effortless. He fights the compulsion to lean down and kiss him, to feel the blush that stains Yuuri’s skin. He makes a compromise, in the way he guides Yuuri a little more into his space. Stay close. ]
If they're because of you, I don't mind cleaning up as much as I need to, [ he hums, sincere and good-humored, without hesitation or restraint. He doesn't mind at all. ]
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Of course there was steep competition because there was a lot of Viktor to love--and he loved all the facets there could be. From the strict coach to the clingy drunk; the overly blunt or embarrassingly sweet Viktor. But this imperfect one, with a smile much too wide, a voice scratchy from petals, and disheveled from a rice tub was perfect to him.
To be privy to this, the only audience to this side of Viktor was indescribable. Yuuri was worried he wouldn't be able to comment every smile line at the corners of Viktor's eyes to his memory quick enough.
Maybe he should make it a point to make him smile like this again?
There's no resistance as he's pulled closer, clearing his throat of the few straggling jonquils and chrysanthemums. Yuuri feels like he should be more embarrassed--and his face is still impossibly flushed (and if he hadn't lost most of the feeling in his body he would probably take note of the rapid drumming of his heart)--but the giddiness that he feels snuffs out any other symptoms for now. It was hard enough just to keep himself from laughing more, a mixture of disbelief and elation trying to squeeze it out of his lungs. For now he settles on a wide smile, pushing one of their interlaced hands closer to Viktor so he could brush some of the petals off his chest with a finger.]
I mean, [Yuuri begins, voice stronger than it was with his last playful jab,] just because you don't mind it, doesn't mean that we should make it harder for ourselves. [And because words are always harder there's a mumble that follows, his head turned to stare at the wall.] Not that it doesn't. Uh. Make me really happy. Because it does.
[Bashful or not, it seems that Yuuri can't keep his eyes off Viktor's because he's turned back a moment later, a delicate trail of lily-of-the-valley left on his shoulder. The smile he gives now is crooked.] We should start cleaning up what we have here already, before we make a bigger mess.
[Is what Yuuri says, but he makes no sign of moving away.]
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Viktor thinks he could keep looking at him like this for the rest of his days, hear him make fun of him, and be happier for it. He's already happy. This flustered, open Yuuri is one he wants to keep (shamelessly, selfishly) alongside all the rest. ]
It’s already hard, [ Viktor sighs, hitched and halted. His mouth tastes of roses. He’s hopeless, helpless. His confessions are endless, stained in the colors that Yuuri’s instilled in him. He thinks if he were to show Yuuri what he’s done to him, what he’s really done to him, then there would be no end to Yuuri’s teasing. If there were a way to see the extent of the garden that Yuuri’s planted in him, the roots that have dug into all that he is, there would be no hope of escaping that same laughter.
You really are an idiot, Yakov had told him once. More than once, certainly, when he noted that Viktor never did give back. He hadn’t thought he could, that he would, that he would want to so much that he thinks he might suffocate with it. He coaxes his expression into a gentle moue, one hand untangling from Yuuri’s own as his shoulders round and his lashes fan down. ] I’m already a mess and I’ll make an even bigger one if you let go now! That’s how it goes, isn’t it? [ It’s half-serious. For all that Viktor knows about flowers, he knows if he were to let go of Yuuri right now, he isn’t sure if he’d ever stop. His heart has beat off-time and off-measure since Yuuri had allowed him into his room. It beats harder now, a returning tide that threatens to burst against the shores of his own body.
He loves me, he loves me, he loves me, it tells him. He loves me, it reminds him again. The joy that rolls through him is alight and luminous — blinding. In the wake of it, Yuuri's hold is a guide, an anchor, a harbor. It's enough to keep him afloat against the flood adoration that subsumes all, but Yuuri's steady presence before him. ] Yuuri, is that what it is? [ He presses their still knotted hands against his chest. Viktor wonders if Yuuri can feel the way his heart hiccups at the barest brush of Yuuri's skin. He wonders if he can feel the shape of the garden that Yuuri himself had seeded there. He opens his mouth and all there is red petals, unmistakable. ] How cruel! [ The hope to seem wounded is lost against weight of roses upon his tongue, falling past his lips. It's already fatal, he supposes. It's terminal in all ways Viktor does not want to fight or fear. ] You really want to see me drown!
[ He knows that's probably not true. He knows that, but it doesn't stop Viktor from taking into fact that Yuuri hasn't moved despite his suggestions. Viktor trails his hand up Yuuri's arm, molds it to the curvature of his left shoulder. His fingers settle on the delicate stems of the lilies-of-the-valley that he's scattered there. All there is of hesitation is the tremble of Viktor's fingers as he tucks them behind the warm shell of Yuuri's ear, into the dark ink of his hair. He lingers there, this time purposeful. One the way back, his fingers map with reverence the soft, flushed spaces between his throat and his jaw. He wants —
He heaves a breath. It's colored with countless reds. The pout's still there, but there's something closer to disbelief as he brushes the rest of the soft, belled flowers from Yuuri's shoulder, skin. As if he could question that Yuuri feels as he does. As if he could not understand how he could pull Yuuri into his orbit, press kisses against his hands if he so chose to. ]
How am I supposed to stop when — [ He clears his throat, words caught behind a twisted burst of jonquils. His eyes have never left Yuuri's, not really. Not for long. Viktor's half-convinced that if they do, he'll realize he's just been dreaming of the same, desperate dreams he's had for months now. ] When you tell me that you're happy too? [ When you look at me like that? ]
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It was absolutely ridiculous how he was acting. Reminiscent of a child; only this child was a grown man and one of the highest decorated figure skaters in history. A grown man that Yuuri had discovered had a heart beating as wildly as his own. The pout Viktor wore was as absurd as it was endearing, screwing up his face as more flowers (red, unmistakable flowers that make his heart feel like bursting) fell from his lips. Cute was the only thought that came to mind. It made a part of Yuuri want to tease him more, to see what other cute faces he could make. The urge was so strong. But he made an effort to reign in his sadistic glee.
Mostly.
But Viktor had let go of his hand, and Yuuri is perfectly still at his ministrations. The light touch to his ear tickles, and he has to resist shrugging against it. However the brush against his skin and down his throat feels anything but light. How quickly it turned into heavy and branding, lighting a trail of fire in it's wake. How was Yuuri supposed to cope if every little touch from Viktor would affect him so?
And how was he supposed to control himself when every touch he received only made him want to give it back tenfold? Such thoughts had scared him before--desires to touch, hold, kiss had been schooled back for months. Now, with everything out in the open, he didn't have to hold back--well, at least within reason for these confessions coming to light not even an hour before.
A wide smile split Yuuri's face--the love he felt was really too much. It was going to take some getting used to--being free to feel.]
What are you even talking about anymore? [Yuuri can't fight against all the laughter anymore, yellow tulips of hopeless love stuck on his lips as he chuckles. He uses his now free hand to pluck the petals from his own lips, letting them fall to the ground.] You're not going to drown--that's superstition! [The rose petals that haven't fallen to the ground are picked next, gently plucked one by one from Viktor's jinbei and placed atop a sea of silver as he speaks.] Don't be dramatic! I'm not going to feel bad for you, because we still have practice and we still have to clean.
[Once his work is done, Yuuri's gives in, unable to resist. He reaches out to pat the top of Viktor's head, trying his hardest to not openly melt at how soft his hair remained (how was it possible for hair to be this soft?). A few pats before Yuuri rests his palm there, as a small reassurance.] You know I'm not going anywhere, okay? We still have time. [Not only after they clean. There was time to explore this new and beautiful thing between them. And there was so much lost time to catch up on--time they had both spent wondering when the other would notice them, pining over someone who was already longing for them.] We can still talk more after we clean.
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Viktor was born in a country that held many, that warned children away from swallowing their flowers unless they wanted to succumb to their poisons, and Viktor thinks perhaps there'd been some truth in that. Even now, he feels a twinge when his lungs start to fill. As if, after so long, it's still trying to exorcise the damage he's done to himself.
But, Yuuri makes it easier. For each bloom he coaxes out of his chest, Viktor feels more vibrant – alive. Even when Yuuri scatters over him his own declarations of love, laughs at his dramatics, touches him just so – Viktor feels the old injuries he'd built himself start to lull. If it were left to him, he'd form stories around the way Yuuri makes him feel like he's more than his own titles, that he's more than just a group of words strung together to form a garotte at his throat.
He'd form tales about the way it feels when someone finally sees you. The way it feels when he can't form the words to tell Yuuri that his love suffuses through all of him, hooks a smile as honest and free as Viktor's ever felt. This Yuuri, who shows his happiness so expansively and wears it so well, has more power than Viktor even knows. ]
Superstitions have reasons for existing! [ Viktor mock protests against the returning tide of red petals just as Yuuri dusts him off. Yellow roses is what Yuuri gives him, stuck against his lips. It isn't a fleeting thought that he wants nothing more than to kiss them off, to taste roses that aren't for once his own. It isn't an image that leaves him, the petals so bright and real – a contrast to those he'd had forever thrown at his own feet. A contrast of those that once stained the mouths of those who loved the dreams the held of him, untouchable and alone. He feels like he should be a little more embarrassed about being comforted as though he were child, Yuuri’s palm resting light and loving upon the crown of his head, but Viktor leans into it instead. He concentrates on the weight of Yuuri’s fingers, how they smooth over his hair. It isn’t fair, how easily Viktor welcomes any kind of affection. It isn’t fair, that he’s so hungry and shameless for it despite being fed after so long. ] I can see the reports already: [ Viktor starts, laughter welling up in his throat. Was it always this easy to do that? ] Viktor Nikiforov, coach to Katsuki Yuuri, was found Tuesday drowned in a sea of his own flowers while his beautiful, driven student laughed at him. [ He tries to school his expression into something more serious, but it's impossible. The mirth that saturates him makes it impossible to do anything, but smile. ] “He’s fine,” Yuuri said. “Don’t worry about it.” [ He gives Yuuri's captured hand a little squeeze, his cheeks aching. ] Viktor couldn’t be reached for comment because someone [ – he clears his throat, pointed. ] didn’t believe him until he was already buried.
[ He laughs again, shoulders trembling. It's so hard to want to disentangle himself from Yuuri. It's so hard to even think about, but he sobers up enough to give Yuuri's hand a final squeeze – to mumble a low and bracing okay - before releasing it, fingers mapping his all the way back.
It feels wrong, empty. It itches by his side, as Viktor reaches up with the other to coax Yuuri's touch from the top of his head. He can Yuuri's pulse beneath his fingers, just as high and just as thin. ] But, if you don’t go, [ he isn't even thinking, as he leads it down to cradle his own cheek. He isn't aware of how much he relaxes, how simple it is to breathe. ] then I think I’ll be okay.
[ He'll be just fine. After all this time waiting, he knows. Even if there is more time on the horizon, Viktor is only a human. While the world had fallen away for a little while, Yuuri grounds him. He sighs, the garden within him impossibly full. ] Let me know when you’ve had enough of me? [ Viktor doesn’t want him to have enough of him. He knows, logically, that a separation for the evening is only that. But, Viktor’s heart thrums and aches. For the first time in a long time, he's afraid someone will.
It's with reluctance, that he lets Yuuri go. But, it isn't as though he leaves. His hands return, to clear the blooms that have settled on Yuuri as well. He lifts each one as though he would break them if he handled them too much, piles them carefully into his opposite palm. He looks up between each one, eyes crinkling at the corners. There's a joke there, but there's also an affirmation: I'm not leaving either. ] After all, I don’t want to be reason my student can’t practice tomorrow.
[ I want to keep talking to you. ]
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The "beautiful" comment almost breaks his resolve however, eyes widening in disbelief that someone like Viktor (really, anyone) could look at him and claim beautiful. Especially now--mussy hair, sweatpants and sweatsuit which are baggy after losing weight, standing awkwardly in his room next to the most beautiful man he had ever seen. He fights against the urge to protest and instead directs the conversation back to Viktor so he can distract himself from his own embarrassment.]
I know we focus a lot on performance in our careers, but maybe you should stop skating and be an actor. [Yuuri allows himself a snort of amusement--a reward to himself after doing so well keeping the dam strong.] You're already too good at it with all that nonsense you're spouting.
[Viktor's guides his hand down with a gentle touch, letting it rest against his face in a moment that was much too fleeting. It's not nearly long enough for Yuuri to fully enjoy the heat he feels there, or to let his thumb sweep fully against his the apples of his cheeks--but he'll savor what he gets. The touch was first and foremost on his mind that he almost glanced over the rest of what Viktor said to him.
But a moment of reflection turns the corners of his mouth, pursing his lips while he considers the words spoken. Viktor was smiling, joking around with him--but there was still something that bothered him. An implication there that Yuuri feels he should address.]
I mean. [There's a small sigh--directed more at himself than Viktor.] I know that you're being nice, but I just want to make sure that... [There's a pause, Yuuri looking to to the petals in Viktor's open palm as he organizes his thoughts.] ...it's not that I'm going to get tired of you. We just have...responsibilities. I'm trying to be responsible here but you're-- [temping me seems a bit forward. There's a lot of things that can be implied with the word tempting--and honestly, all of them are probably true. Yuuri nearly chokes on his tongue, clearing his throat before starting again.] --uh, you're making it hard. Not because you're doing anything wrong, because I'm having a lot of fun and everything's going fine, but...!
[He has to groan at himself--again with the babbling. What was it with him and trying to explain emotions that made him forget how to speak clearly? He was nearly twenty-four; he should be able to have an adult conversation about things like this!]
[Yuuri closes his eyes, counts to three, and tries again.] Sorry. What I mean is, I'm not going to get tired of you, even if I send you away. And I never said I was going to send you away in the first place! [There's another opportunity to direct the conversation away from him, and Yuuri jumps right on it. The eyes focused on Viktor now twinkle with mirth, a brow raised.] I'm pretty sure you're going to get sleepy before I do. [I'll stay with you for however long I'm allowed isn't voiced, but his heart thrums with the conviction.]
[Yuuri finally, finally forces himself to move away and kneel--action made a little easier by the slightly embarrassing things he just sprouted from his mouth. Bashful peonies are hidden by his hand when he clears his throat again, Yuuri trying to slying tilt them off his hand into the pile of petals he was gingerly brushing together. He scoops some between his palms before straightening to put them in the tub.] The quicker we clean, the longer we'll have to talk about stuff that isn't me telling you we should clean! So! [And Yuuri has knelt again, gathering another handful.] Let's do that first!
[ 1/2 ] rip me
[ 2/2 ] LMF well ok there
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