bakerstreet | since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid

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since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid

(harmless) hanahaki meme

hanahaki (literally "vomiting flowers") is a fictional illness that began in japanese literature. most commonly, it happens in the case of unrequited love; flowers bloom in a person's lungs and their love suffocates them until it is either requited or they die.

that's pretty angsty. instead, consider a world where hanahaki is a normalised inconvenience and it's never hurt anyone. flowers grow in your chest from the cultivation of love — for your friends, your family, your dog. and it's a feeling that wants to be known, so maybe you can't help spilling petals sometimes when you laugh, or sigh, or shout at someone. everyone knows what it means and it's something to be celebrated. you love.

maybe you don't want to, though. maybe you chew on the petals and swallow them back, so that no one knows the feelings you're carrying around in your heart. but maybe that's not going to work forever, and sooner or later, you're going to cough those feelings up.

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.

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[ Viktor had long wondered what beauty meant.

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. ]

Edited 2017-10-24 15:31 (UTC)

[There was really no calming when it involved Viktor. Just when Yuuri thought he was on the cusp of regaining control of himself, the other man would do something to knock him off balance. Tumbling back into familiar feelings in all sorts of unpredictable ways. Now the breaking point was watching Viktor flower again, as if he had said something particularly wonderful, and not something he had to have heard hundreds of times now? All Yuuri had spoken was the truth, and yet it was like he revealed something Viktor had never considered.

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.

[ Yuuri should absolutely feel terrible for him. He’s saying such nice things and Viktor’s poor heart can’t take it! Yuuri should absolutely take pity on him. But, Viktor doesn’t really – Yuuri might be (sometimes) accidentally merciless, but Viktor takes what Yuuri offers to him gladly. If he had to “suffer” Yuuri’s occasional bursts of boldness alone, he’d do it until the end of his days. He does it even now, when Yuuri calls him out on his dramatics, rolls it seemingly off his shoulders with a pout of his own that almost has Viktor failing to meet the criteria for being good that Yuuri suggests.

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. ]

[The absent of any retorts from Viktor--no pouts, whines of his name, or huffs--seems to affirm that he had taken his suggestion to heart. Which is relieving...but lonely. Yuuri finds that he already misses Viktor's voice, no matter how silly he was being. It makes him more resolved than ever to make this trip quick. At least finding one rice tub shouldn't be hard in a inn. Though finding an unused one...

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).]

[ He knew that would have likely gotten a reaction, but he wasn’t quite anticipating one that strong. He’s mumbling a low and almost reverent ”wow” in his throat, against his closed lips. It comes out as more of a hum, pitched in familiar keys – almost lost as Yuuri slams open the necessary doors in his frantic search, flowers held back in what Viktor knows is necessity, his genuine remorse soothing the sting before it ever gets there.

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. ]

[A fatal flaw was made giving Viktor the tub--now he's free to be even more of a distraction once again since any flowers could be easily caught. The air was less lonely, but it came with a cost. Nice to hear Viktor's voice ring out again, but that same voice was driving Yuuri's heart back into overtime, especially with how much Viktor was teasing.

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.

[ He doesn’t mean to laugh, but Viktor can’t quite help it.

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. ]

Edited 2017-10-27 23:56 (UTC)

[The soft look Viktor gives him is honed straight to his heart, Yuuri biting the inside of his lip at the emotion it brings. He didn't deserve that--didn't deserve how good Viktor was being to him, and yet...Viktor gave it to him freely. And it made him so happy.

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.]

[ Gardenias.

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?

[Viktor could've said anything or nothing at all in those long moments that he waited for a response. It could've been seconds--or hour. Regardless of how long it had been or how long the silence stretched on hardly mattered to him--every breath after the truth had left his lungs was agony. Yuuri had immediately been lost in his own mind, a cloud of 'what ifs' filling his head with cotton and blocking all sounds but the ones of his own heart.

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...

[ Yuuri laughs.

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. ]

Edited 2017-11-01 05:26 (UTC)

[This is the Viktor he loves best, Yuuri decides.

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.]

[ It seems as though a fabrication, that Viktor's spun together from the depths of his own pining. Yuuri, here with him. Yuuri, with his hands caught up in his. Yuuri, pliant and willing to follow where he leads for now. Yuuri, who touches him with a gentleness he's never permitted for himself, flushed in reds to the tips of his ears as Viktor shares small, uncertain parts of himself. That Yuuri teases him about, merciless.

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? ]

Edited 2017-11-02 17:46 (UTC)

[Scratch that last highest ranked Viktor contest he held in his own head--this was the Viktor he loved most.

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.

[ Everyone has superstitions.

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. ]

[Viktor was at it again. Yuuri's cheeks were beginning to hurt with how much he was smiling, biting at his lips to keep his laughter contained. He didn't even know how Viktor could think of such intricate scenarios so quickly (must be all that latent genius he held for anything theatrical)--but Yuuri was sure his laughter would only encourage it more, and then they really would never get anything done again. It doesn't stop his shoulders from trembling as he tries his best to keep up his facade.

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!

[ There's a moment where he wonders if he misheard him. There's a long moment where he's almost certain he has, but the moment passes and Yuuri is still clarifying. I'm not going to get tired of you, Yuuri tells him. Even stumbling to tell Viktor what he means, each word pries a little further into him and disturbs knotted clusters of emotion that Viktor had never bothered to attend to, buried deep in the soil of his heart.

Yuuri, despite his disbelief, is the most beautiful and dangerous thing Viktor's ever come to know. And still, he hands him a spade. Do what you'd like, he doesn't have to say. Viktor would give him anything. But, the pause is only a pause for so long. It breaks around Viktor's start. ]

Okay, [ Viktor breathes.

He can't get the words up. They lodge themselves under his heart and don't budge, but the flowers do. They shift up from secreted places, little pieces of himself once shorn away like ice under blades. His empty hand comes up to his lips before he's able to breathe out another, softer "okay," capturing between his palm and his fingers the jumbled menagerie that blossoms out.

Viktor doesn't mean to keep them from him. It comes up like a reflex, something he can say is a deference to Yuuri's suggestion to hurry along – so they could talk about something else. From what escapes, he knows one to be hydrangeas. They're waxy, luxuriant things. Viktor, had he the power to think on it, would have wondered over the depth of their purples. But, the sentiment is as clear as it was earlier. It hasn't changed. He doesn't think it will ever, despite the way his heart beats – raw and aching, like hands bruised from a hard fall.

He doesn't recognize the other. They're stained beyond immediate discernment, dry and whole and fragile. Half never make it past the lip of the tub as he instinctively drops them there, their edges crumbling like parched earth in his palm. Heat prickles up the back of his neck, but he can't bring himself to hide. Yuuri is already in all the places he would usually go. Yuuri is already there, his words disarming Viktor's deflections. Yuuri sees the vulnerability for what it is and does not look in distaste upon it. He only holds it down with gentle fingers finger and does not permit Viktor – with all his practiced efforts – to obfuscate its name.

He lets out more of a huff than a laugh, uncertain as to what to make of himself and unwilling to investigate the implications of something so old. He's neglected so much already. He doesn't want to neglect it anymore. And so – ]

Edited 2017-11-05 02:10 (UTC)

I'm having a lot of fun too, [ he says, soft and delayed and finally coming to kneel carefully amid all the blooms that paint the flower in confused mosaics. As he does so, the roses that have kept so neatly upon the crown of his head rain down and he doesn't much mind them as much as he minds the ones that Yuuri has given to him, a mix of gratitude and consideration gilding his movements. Never crush another's flowers, 'lest you crush another's feelings, had been what was told to him since he was little. He understands the superstition now.

He rises a little after Yuuri does, cupping all the blooms he's gathered as though he were cupping water. He moves them into the tub with a gentleness they deserve, trying not to bruise their edges. ] Even if Yuuri keeps implying that I'm getting too old and should move on to acting, [ he grouses with neither fire nor conviction before he's turning back again. Fondness floods into the smile Viktor gives him, eyes bright and clear despite the dim of the room. ] But, I'm happy with my student's progress! [ The sincerity in his statement is unavoidable, even if the conflict of his career roils underneath. He ignores it for now, because this much is true: I'm happy coaching you, I'm happy that I'm here, I'm happy with you. His heart hammers it out, disclosed in the way that he, in contrast, gathers his own blooms. It isn't careful or precise. There's no hit of ceremony as he dumps those too into the tub. It's perfunctory, as he goes back for more of his own. ] And it isn't as though I've never stayed up before! [ He can't help the laugh, even though he's trying very hard to make a point he has no real investment in. ] I've gone to bed just as late as you do!

[ He can protest playfully as much as he likes, but he doesn't deny he goes to bed early. It's true. Compared to the creature of the night Yuuri is, Viktor is an old man through and through. Even if, he supposes, it wasn't too long ago that he'd stayed out all night drinking to absorb Yuuri's declaration that katsudon of all things was his Eros. He'd accepted it and worked with it of course despite his personal confusion, because it was still Yuuri, but now – it's amazing, how much Yuuri admits to him now. ]

Ah, I was even going to tell you that – [ he pauses midway through the next trip, catches a short cough against his elbow. It isn't a pleasant sensation. It pulls up from something deeper and the evidence is scattered up against the green of his jinbei. No matter how aged they are, they're more distinctive this time around: marjoram. It's a small pause, but then Viktor's sobering enough to laugh, a short and breathless sound as he continues on with the task. He doesn't quite look at Yuuri, but his voice is steady and sure. It isn't until the very end, when he's gathered enough of Yuuri's flowers back into his hand, that he looks up again. ]

I don't think anyone could tire of you, [ he says. His fingers curl around the petals in his hands, as if to shield them. It takes a monumental effort, to quiet the need to flower in his chest. He needs Yuuri to hear it. ] You always surprise me.

[The diligence Yuuri is putting into cleaning up is admirable--though the source of his motivation is less so. Still slightly embarrassed and eager for distraction, the pause between his and Viktor's reply is mostly glanced over--though he does feel a little guilty. Was he pushing too hard with asking Viktor to hold back? Yuuri blinks back fully into existence after his coach has knelt to help with the cleaning--looking up from his work for the first time since he started. Viktor is smiling, dissolving all of Yuuri's worries with it. And he's able to smile back wide and true, because even working together on such a simple task as this brings warmth to his heart.

Besides, he wasn't lying when he said the faster they got this done, the faster they could talk about other things. Cleaning up any new petals would be easier if there wasn't already a mountain of them to climb past, which would save them time in the long run! With the work they've put in so far the pile is already thinning, Yuuri cradling another handful in his hands.]

I'm not even calling you old--I think you protest too much. [There's an undignified snort, mischief in his voice.] For the record, you're not old, but if you keep wanting to act like you are, then I wont hold back.

[He was in the process of straightening, releasing another handful of petals into the tub, when Viktor coughs. It startles him, the sound rough like it was deep from the chest. Concern has him turning back, to see...something he doesn't readily recognize. Whatever they are, they're wilted with age--a sight that he had never really seen. Most of the time blooms either came immediately or not at all, chewed back and swallowed to never see the light. But this one...looks like Viktor had been holding on for a while. Like a secret prayer.

Yuuri's hand reaches out instinctively, wanting to grab one of the blooms off of Viktor so he could discern what it was--but his hand stops between them as he hesitates. Would that be a little too personal to just grab a flower that had been clearly held back for so long? It seemed rude to grab it and inspect it like a lab project, clinically dissecting Viktor's feelings with an old bloom. And it was obviously older--there was something about the age that made it seem more intimate.

A moment of debate passes before Yuuri gingerly steps over the pile--to work next to Viktor instead. Close enough that their thighs would bump as Yuuri knelt, brushing together a pile of Viktor's flowers in a small mound in front of his knees. Roses, jonquils, ambrosia--gently topped with one of the aged flowers that had escaped Viktor's clothes.

Yuuri didn't want to dissect the meaning of the older flower--but he wanted reassure Viktor he wasn't shying away from it. That he was open to talk about it. Whenever he was ready, of course.]

[His eyes are glued to the pile of gifts from Viktor's garden, soft smile aimed at the emotions before him.] I'm sure someone out there could tire of me--but I still appreciate you saying it. [A few shy flowers fall at his next words--violets, blue and white.] As long as the people I care about don't tire of me, then I'll be fine.

[Watchfulness as they take a chance on happiness together.]

[ There’s something comforting in doing menial chores side-by-side.

He’d had tastes of it here and there, in the dinners he’d have with Yakov and Lilia. He’d had it in the way they would clear off the table, work through the dishes. He’d had it in the conversations they would have as they crossed into each other’s spaces, in the elbows accidentally caught. He’d had it, every once in a while.

It warmed him, if a little, in the nights he’d spent with Makkachin in his apartment back in St. Petersburg. It kept him company, as Makkachin did, when he cooked and cleaned in the silence that he’d banished beneath the evening news. He held onto it, in the hours he’d spend reading with Makkachin’s head a fixing weight upon his chest.

But, it's different in Hasetsu. It's different with the Katsukis, in their noisy kitchen full of music and rapid conversation that he could barely comprehend. It's different, in the way elbows were inevitably rubbed and all the flowers that Viktor never shared were swept off his skin. It's peaceful, calming in the quiet of Yuuri’s room, with Yuuri so close that he could touch him if he wanted. It's comfortable.

It was comfortable and it had been a long time since Viktor felt as though he had permission to be who he is. He no longer had to come in with new faces, with new attitudes. For once, he’d been told they weren’t interested.

It isn’t that he misses Yuuri’s debate. He sits quiet for it, watches him in the way Yuuri watches him. And it isn’t to say he takes the playful jab without some of his own carefully held back for proper opportunity. It’s just that they go still and soft when Yuuri opts to come over to his side, close enough to touch. And when they do, Viktor’s skin tingles at every point of contact. Yuuri centers him, gives him flowers with careful and quiet purpose. Unlike the riot in Viktor’s heart and how emphatically he gives his own feelings, Yuuri makes them count.

They count now, in a small and clustered shower. Violets, as unassuming as Yuuri thinks he is. As beautiful as Viktor thinks he is, looking upon the pile of declarations that he gathers by his knees with a smile that treats them kinder than Viktor ever did. ]

Maybe, [ Viktor concedes, though it's colored with a small laugh. The pile he’d built up in his hands is gently deposited again before him, Viktor’s eyes moving to the flowers Yuuri's given him and back up to the expression he wears. He doesn’t have to decide, before Viktor leans into his space, leans against him to collect the new sentiments with particular gentleness – as though touching them too roughly would shatter them. But still he leans, allowing himself to indulge the brush of his arm against Yuuri’s, the press of Yuuri’s shoulder against his. He lingers, one hand cupped and full of blooms for a moment or two. He never quite leaves as he lays them down upon the pile of his own as though it were being crowned. ] I'd have to meet them.

[ That much is true, Viktor thinks. Yuuri was more likable than he gave himself credit for. If anything at all, spending time with him had only cemented it. It had only proven to him, in Yuuri’s unspoken question to be happy with him, that he was observing him as much as Viktor did him – it seems silly, to go back for more flowers only to replace them with the curled and white petals of lilies, the crimped edges of white carnations. It seems ridiculous, but he gives him answers without ever giving them: Yes, I’ll take a chance with you. Being with you is more than I could ask for. ]

But, I don’t think you’ll have to worry, [ he says. There’s conviction there. An admission, echoed in the way that Viktor keeps cradled in his palm the emotions that Yuuri had shared, growing slowly. His eyes are warm with mirth. ] Even if you threaten to treat others the way they’re acting, I think you’ll be just fine.

[ He thinks he will be too, even between the next breath and the next gathering of blooms. That he replaces those too is only natural. It’s an assurance, an unspoken explanation to dried flowers that had once kept under his heart. Unfurled and deep, pale in purples – your presence soothes. Petunias. With you, I’m comfortable.

I won't tire of you. ]

Edited 2017-11-08 05:23 (UTC)

[There's a moment of reflection Yuuri has--an absent thought in the back of his mind. Only a few months ago would see a very different Yuuri. A few months ago, he would've found an excuse to have any reason to escape a Viktor this close, leaning against him and into his space. Yuuri would gone to room, spent hours contemplating meanings and second guessing his judgement--before ultimately locking it in the back of his mind as something that would never come to fruition.

Now, when Viktor comes into his space, Yuuri finds himself wanting more. He wants Viktor to press into him more and for the touch to linger for longer--he wants to lean back, to bring Viktor back into his side so they can stay like this for a while.

It flustered him, how quickly his thoughts were becoming bold. He had grown used to Viktor touching him at all possible moments even before now--but he kept his own urges in check before they could even manifest as comprehensible thoughts--a safety mechanism to keep his heart safe. But now the safety was off, and Yuuri was faced with a loaded gun he had no idea to use.

Too late, Yuuri realizes, that the trick was to just act. Viktor is out of his immediate space quicker than he can come to a decision, leaving Yuuri's arm cold. There's a pout on his face as he looks down at the gathering of mixed sentiments Viktor had adorned--aimed both at his self and the joke aimed back at him.]

What's wrong with treating people the way they act? [There's an attempt to make up for his lost opportunity with a playful bumping of shoulders, leaning his weight against Viktor's.] Even saying that still isn't going to make me stop--wait. Crap. [Righting himself in a frantic burst of movement, Yuuri reaches into the main pile of petals to grab a handful and put it away. Pink creeps up into his cheeks as he realizes he's been doing the exact thing he's been telling Viktor not to do. It was too distracting having him around.]

[It isn't until he gets a few good sizable chunks cleaned up--enough that he has to push the edges back in to consolidate the pile--that he sits back on his calves with a huff.] Okay, okay. No more distractions. We're almost done! [At this point Yuuri is speaking to himself, a reminder to actually be a good example. A more gentle pace is set for the next handful, extra mindful of his handling to make up for his rush.] Should we take this back to your room after we're done cleaning, or should we wait?

[An honest question not at all posed to get them to look toward the future instead of back at his embarrassing antics!]

[ Bold has a broad definition. Bold is Yuuri skating his program with more emotion and potential than he’d ever thought it could possess. Bold is Yuuri coming into himself, unfurling who he is to Viktor like the bright bells of morning flowers.

Bold is flying half-way around the world to see a person from a video. Bold is bursting into an inn on invitation, flowers caught up in your mouth, only to find out that no one seemed to you were supposed to be there. Bold is being there anyway, pulling out all the stops you were assured were work. Bold is expansive gestures, warm and tactile expressions of love. Bold is careening into new roles faster than one could count them, only to be told to be bold by being yourself and trying.

Viktor’s always liked Yuuri’s bold much more. Viktor has always been a bird of paradise in a vase of lilies, but Yuuri is the one who dares to be the most delicate and beautiful lily of them all.

But, Yuuri is not delicate. There’s power in all of him, strength in all of him. Like Yuuri, he sees the progression that Yuuri makes daily. He knows that the proximity he’s asked for all night – pined for all night – was hard won. When Yuuri pouts at him for moving, jokes, jostles back into him, Viktor can feel himself light up. Yuuri’s warmth creeps into him like vines, settles down roots, and he hopes and hopes and hopes it’ll never leave.

Viktor had never known his heart to be good for anything, but the ice he’d looked at day in and day out. Viktor had forgotten what it looked like, what it dreamt like. He’d compartmentalized every bit of it, shared simulacrums of it on TV. No one had to know that he was greedy, that himself was the only thing he buried in the dark earth of his body. It was the only thing he had that was his, but even he didn’t want it. That Yuuri wants the neglected thing that tries so hard to beat and flower and sing – Viktor can’t help, but mirror that pout when Yuuri steers himself back on track with such sudden movement. That it leaves Viktor trying not look as though he’d let himself get comfortable enough to have to catch himself with a hand down on the floor is up to debate (it isn’t). ]

Yuuuuuri, [ Viktor whines, but the laugh shows itself in the tremble of his shoulders. ] You’re not doing a good job of “treating people how they’re acting” if you don’t give an old man warning!

[ Even still, he concedes to Yuuri’s need to finish the job. It seems like even Yuuri’s incredible work ethic isn’t entirely immune to Viktor’s charms. He straightens himself up and sets himself to picking at some of the piles. As he continues, he's still more considerate around Yuuri’s flowers than he is his own at every pass. But, he pauses midway through another trip, hands poised over the tub. He tips his head to the right and opens up his hands, watching the flowers snow onto the rapidly accumulating pile.]

Hmm, [ he starts. He idly brings his index finger up to tap against the corner of his lips. ] Yuuri, [ he takes extra care to stretch the “u,” a clear hint that whatever is going to come out of his mouth is aimed to tease him. ] Are you saying you wanted to sit in my room for a while? [ He throws a wink Yuuri’s way. ] You only had to ask.

[ And just like that, he’s already going back to cleaning. But, his expression softens into something more sincere, more open. He kneels down to sweep more flowers into the main pile, almost depleted already. ] I don’t mind keeping them in here for now. [ Being in here with you is comfortable. I’m surrounded by you. ] I’ll remember them before I get too tired.

[Yuuri is back in the grove after his slip-up, pleased with how quickly things are progressing. Every few gentle handfuls he takes some time to bring in the edges again to make sure the pile is manageable. Dare say, Yuuri is becoming comfortable again--enough that he can laugh at the whine aimed his way, a chirp of,] You'll be fine! [disguising his secret laughter.]

[But Viktor Nikiforov is a dangerous man. There's danger in the way he moves, entrancing and enticing. There's danger in the way his looks could strike down anyone in a room, outclassing all and outmatched by none. And there's danger in the way he speaks--especially now in the way he stretches out the vowels in Yuuri's name, which Yuuri had quickly associated after Viktor's arrival as a warning of something ridiculous to come. Yuuri tries to keep the upper hand, keeping up his work like he never heard his name.

But...Viktor Nikiforov remains a dangerous man, and his jest (topped with a wink of all things!) hits its mark--and Yuuri sputters.

A futile attempt is made to cover his mouth...but it comes a moment too late. A few red carnations slip past before they could be caught by his hands, an embarrassing yes to a question posed in jest. One second Yuuri is blinking as he regains his composure. And in the next a scowl is whipped in Viktor's direction, though his gaze holds no real heat. Mostly it accuses. You're doing this on purpose, it says. Distracting! it yells. You already know the answer to that, it huffs. There's a lot in his gaze that Yuuri doesn't say out loud, but he's sure to emphatically project all his disgruntled feelings Viktor's way.

Really, with all that he's been teasing Viktor himself, he should have seen it coming...so he can't fault Viktor completely.

But there's still a huff that escapes him when he finally deposits the carnations in his hand to the tub, bumping his shoulder against Viktor again--a little rougher than necessary perhaps, but his next over dramatic puff of air at least assures it's still in good fun.] We can stay in here, that's fine. I can help you carry the tub to your room when you're ready to go.

[The pile is small enough that Yuuri starts picking up petals individually, making pleasing color combinations on his palm before letting them flutter away into the container with the rest. Currently it's the white of jonquils mixed with the pinks of camellias, gingerly sorting the petals in an idle game.] My room doesn't have as many places to sit though, but we should both be able to sit on my bed if we don't want to sit on the floor. Nothing weird intended! [Before Viktor can even think of saying something Yuuri is sure to clarify his meaning, another playful bump of the shoulder punctuating the sentence.]

[ He deserved that one. He takes the sulk that Yuuri puts on like a champion, the unrepentant mischief in him an open secret in the way he blinks in mock of innocence, hand lowering and curling to rest near his throat as if the reaction Yuuri had given had been a surprise (it isn't). Cute, is what he's really been thinking, at least up until Yuuri regains his footing and bumps shoulders with him hard enough for Viktor get the idea that he's a menace.

No, that's when his heart makes itself stutter, drunken and dizzy. Yuuri is just as dangerous, made more so by the idea that he has no idea at all. No idea at all, as he shares with Viktor the deep reds of carnations and Viktor can feel the garden in him thrive and grow with escape their inevitability. ]

Ow, [ he whimpers, low and plaintive as Yuuri just as soon abandons him. It doesn't actually hurt, but he sends Yuuri his best and most pointed betrayed look as he goes, like he can't quite believe Yuuri'd do something so cruel to him. But, he can never seem to cover all his tells. The blue of his eyes is too bright, the moue on his lips too tremulous and soft. ] So mean! It was an honest question!

[ It was an honest question and a mutual tease, thank you! Still, he can't suppress the little laugh that comes up as Yuuri sweeps back to place more petals in. At this rate, Viktor wonders if there's ever a possibility that he'll dry up at the rate he'd given them, but — he watches Yuuri sort them, make of them a palette of emotions he'd never quite allowed himself before — and hopes he never does. ]

Are you sure? [ He asks after a long moment. He recalls the red. The carnations were beautiful, something he knows means he's touched on Yuuri's heart just so. Yuuri does this to him in ways Viktor's not always sure he's aware of, the ferocity of his earnestness sometimes more than Viktor can bear. But, still — the playful edge vanishes, but the warmth never does. ] I don't mind if we sit in my room either. [ He pauses, reaches out to gently catch at Yuuri's elbow when their paths pull them back into each other's space again. He lets his eyes flit to the tub they've nearly filled and lets his voice go quiet and hoarse with sincerity. It blooms about small, fragrant flowers and clusters in subtle, pale pinks — winter daphne: I want to do what pleases you. He can't quite hide that now. It's out for him to see. ] You're always welcome to.

[ He means it. And as much as he wants to be tempted by the warmth Yuuri exudes, he doesn't allow himself to. Even if he wants nothing more than to rub the meat of his thumb into the crook of Yuuri's elbow, stain himself with the gray shadows he sees sleeping there, Viktor's hand lingers for a moment and then leaves him. He wants, he wants and it is only just enough that Viktor can stand by him. ]

Not that your bed isn't fine too, [ he clarifies and assures in one, warm stroke. He smiles, his heart caught up in the way his mouth bows. He's sat on Yuuri's bed before, sure, but it'll be different with him! But, he knows what Yuuri means and just being with him makes Viktor happy, so he gestures open-palmed and broadly for no reason more than to underline it. ] Even if it's tiny, it's still just as comfortable! [ — Ah, right. He should be cleaning! Yes, that's something he should be doing. So, he moves back out of Yuuri's orbit (with great reluctance) to get what might be ostensibly one of the last handfuls. He hums as he crouches down, making a game of it as much as Yuuri does. He sorts by variety, genus. He sees if he cannot puzzle them whole in his palm, make them the shades of flowers they could have been in the full weight of their form. Even still, he hums as he comes near again, his voice as light as the way he adds new petals to the tub: ] After all, Makkachin seems to approve and Makkachin's always had the best taste.

[ He gives a little, decisive nod in support of his own statement. It's not as if he hasn't noticed! And Makkachin really did take to Yuuri so well. In fact, he suspects Yuuri sees her more these nights than he does. ]

Edited 2017-11-13 13:14 (UTC)

[The grab at his elbow catches Yuuri's attention and breaks his concentration on his little game--though the touch is not unwelcome. Any lingering pout has disappeared when he looks back at Viktor, just in time to catch the few new blooms he had offered. The blushed stars of flowers that fall are ones Yuuri's seen often. Not only in nature, but from his own mouth. They were flowered promises he had made countless times towards his coaches, his mentors--and even to himself. Eager to please, he had told them all. And now Viktor was telling him something similar.

In a way, it irritated him.

Not that he was ungrateful that Viktor wanted to do what would make him happy--there was no denying the rush it gave him and the butterflies it set off in his stomach. Everyone liked to be spoiled once in a while, right?

But...he didn't want Viktor to do something just to please him, even if Viktor himself wouldn't mind doing it. Yuuri didn't need or want to be catered to. And he didn't want Viktor to think of him as a person who would needed to be appeased to receive affection. He was happy spending time with Vitkor in whatever way they could, no matter if it was in this room or another.

That and...Yuuri was more than a bit stubborn. His mind was already made up, so he tosses his game aside and leans forward again to gather up the last remaining petals. A few stragglers escape his grasp--but those would be easy enough to clean up by himself later. Yuuri rises to his feet instead of worrying about them, and pointedly sits on the bed.]

There's no reason to leave now. [Yuuri gives the spot next to him a pat, another strong indication of his conviction.] We can go to your room next time. [Whatever frown of concentration has faded now, and Yuuri offers a smile Viktor's way.] It may be tiny, but it fits me and Makkachin just fine. [He crosses his arms for a moment, a mock of seriousness in his voice when he speaks.] You're lucky she's not here, because I think we both know she has priority.

since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid

y e s s s s no regrets no regrets at all

anything for this stupid dumb thread of these stupid dumb boys

i would be doing the same right now tbh if i needed too rip wallets

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[ 1/2 ] rip me

[ 2/2 ] LMF well ok there

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