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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. |
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[The weight leaned into him is returned with a gentle press of his own, Yuuri seeking out the warmth Viktor's body offered. All this talk of dogs only made him wish that Makkachin was with them--but she often sought out Mari for scraps at this time of night.]
I'm glad Makkachin likes me though. [There's a moment of quiet from Yuuri, though it's not unkind. It's thoughtful, filled with the sounds of his hand idly rubbing against the sheets.] She reminded me so much of Vicchan when I first saw her--ah, my dog, I mean. [A little color sprinkles his cheek, well aware of his mother's nickname for Viktor and how that could easily be misconstrued.] Makkachin is much bigger than he was, but they have the same coloring.
[Being in a house without Vicchan had hurt. Even though he had been gone for years before Vicchan's died, he had heavily equated his home with the sound of his barks, or the pitter-patter of small paws scrambling through the house to meet Yuuri at the door after practices at the Ice Castle. The first few nights back home--in bed without a furry weight at his feet--had been terribly lonely. The guilt of not being able to see Vicchan one last time or be there for him in his final moments had eaten away at Yuuri for months.
When he first saw Makkachin--in a flash of curly, chocolate brown fur--he really did think it was Vicchan for a moment. After wanting so bad to see his dog again, it was hard not to immediately equate the two. But Makkachin was not Vicchan. And that was okay, because Makkachin still helped fill the hole in his heart he had dug out of regret. She couldn't replace Vicchan, but she did help assuage some of that guilt.]
I was really happy to see her. It's like a little bit of Vicchan is back in the house. [Yuuri's idle hand had switched--now the one between the two of them creeps closer until his ring and pink finger rest on Viktor's knee, palm sandwiched between their thighs.
Yuuri didn't talk much about Vicchan with anyone--he mostly avoided the topic since the pain was still fresh. Talking about it now though with Viktor's reassuring presence didn't invite the lump of sadness that usually sat in his throat about his dog. It actually felt nice to share a bit of his life that Viktor wouldn't know about.] You would've liked him too, I'm sure.
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He never truly forgets, but whenever Yuuri gives him reason to think on it again, he finds his heart tripping over its own sense to beat. When Yuuri laughs behind his hand, struggles to keep up the act with him – his smile catches on all of Viktor’s rougher edges and smooths them in such a way that he thinks that maybe the sun is what he needed after all. That someone like Yuuri, just Yuuri, was what he was looking for all this time.
But, the retort goes quiet the moment Yuuri starts to really speak. Viktor might not always know how to read an atmosphere, but there’s something in this one that stays him. It’s in the way Yuuri pauses, the way he tells him he’s glad about Makkachin.
This is new.
And so, as Yuuri goes along, Viktor gives him the full of his attention. He does not interrupt, even as Yuuri brings up the name that Hiroko now uses on him. The reason now isn't hard to draw, with the way Yuuri's cheeks color as he does it. For anyone else, it would have perhaps been a little strange, but all that it does to Viktor is make him love Yuuri more. It brings up such an unexpected wave of affection that he has to keep his mouth shut to not disrupt him with the promise of broad, flat petals. Tulips, no doubt. He can feel the wax of them against his tongue as Yuuri brushes his fingers over his knee, confesses to him the story of his own dog. He doesn't have to guess that it was more recent. If it weren't, he thinks Yuuri might have shared it with him.
This is new too.
And so, once Yuuri finishes, the hand at Viktor's own chest goes slack and loose. His fingers curling inward, knuckles brushing up against his own sternum, gaze steady – fixed. It isn't that he wants to hide what he feels, but he keeps himself in check. This is about Yuuri. This is about Yuuri, who has given him something precious. This about something Yuuri loves, had loved. ]
I would have loved him, [ Viktor says with sudden, firm conviction. The words have already left his mouth before he has time to register them, but he has no doubt. Just as surely as Yuuri loves Makkachin, the way that Yuuri describes Vicchan assures Viktor that was his dog was just as kind and just as adoring. It assures Viktor even more that Vicchan was just as wonderful in his own way – it showed up in the way Yuuri opened his heart to Makkachin immediately. A dog can teach humans many things and Yuuri knew all the secrets on how to treat and treasure them. Briefly, Viktor thinks that one day he too will have to speak of Makkachin like this, but that day isn’t now. And so, Viktor refuses to give it more time. ]
I would have loved to have met him, [ he continues, softer now. ] I think he and Makkachin would have no doubt gotten along. [ He smiles, the warmth of it catching at the corners of his eyes. The flowers in his chest stir, small blooms of adoration caught on a breath. They don't rise, but Viktor knows the sound they make. His inhales thin, taper – they grow stronger again, the moment he decides to lay the hand over his heart just below the curve of his knee instead. It rests palm up, an invitation. He remembers long ago what Yuuri had said about the girl on the beach. He won't intrude, but he will listen. He'll listen with all that he has, with Yuuri’s fingers a grounding weight between them both. ] As much as she likes having us around, I think she would have liked to have had someone else to sniff about the downstairs with.
[ He lets the tilt of his lips go absent, crooked. It's a small imperfection, something he would have once never allowed. But with Yuuri, he's free. He's free to give it as much as Yuuri is free to give what he's comfortable with. ] I'm glad you like her too. [ And he is. He'd been glad the moment Yuuri had rubbed behind her ears, showered her with all the affection she deserved. Deserves, Viktor corrects. For a long time, it had only been Makkachin and himself. Viktor feels a pang of guilt, to think she must have been lonely before they'd both come here. Now, Makkachin gets her fill. And now – now Viktor does too. ] I already knew she'd like you.
[ He had no doubt. Viktor never had any doubts about that much. ]
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They would've been a sight. [Yuuri wears a soft smile, imagining how small Vicchan would have looked next to big Makkachin.] Makkachin already gets so spoiled by everyone, so how much worse could it be if she had backup? [A laugh, before Yuuri dares to lean his head lightly against Viktor's shoulder. Yuuri pulls up their joined hands and gently twists his wrist back and forth, occupying himself with watching how their hands move together.] I don't think I would have a bed left if they both had their ways.
[There was a certain catharsis in talking about Vicchan after all these months. His family didn't bring the subject up often--probably to spare Yuuri's feelings. Which was fine; Yuuri didn't bring it up either--and even if he could've talked about it, it would've most likely inspired more feelings of guilt in him. His family had been there for Vicchan when Yuuri had not, after all.
But now that he'd started sharing with Viktor, who could only experience Vicchan through him, any guilt was smothered by the yearning he had to share and paint Vicchan in the best light he could. And in a way, that offered some closure to Yuuri.]
When I first got him he was too small to make the jump up onto my bed and he would end up bumping his head on the wood. I always felt so bad for him! [Yuuri sits up leans away from Viktor, only to fondly rub a spot next to his pillow.] So I would pick him up and he would sleep curled up right next to my head until he got a little bigger. He would end up kicking my head a lot when he was dreaming though.
[There's a moment of rustling as Yuuri grabs his phone from under his pillow. He finally lets their clasped hands drop back between them when he settles back against Viktor's side, letting his head lean a little heavier.] When I went to America for training, Mari would send me pictures of Vicchan a lot to keep me updated on him. [Yuuri clicks his phone to illuminate the screen and holds it up for Viktor to see--it was one of the pictures Mari had taken of Vicchan for him. Rolled on his back with a stomach that just begged to be pet.] My roommate even got me this phone case because of the pictures I showed him of Vicchan.
[It was kind of funny how many little glimpses of his life Yuuri was able to give Viktor through Vicchan. It was a testament to how much his dog had mattered to him.] He was a good boy. I wish you and Makkachin could've met him.
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He listens closely, squeezes his hand when Yuuri squeezes his. He watches, as Yuuri travels through his own memories, shares with him parts of himself that Viktor has never seen. Months ago, Viktor would have considered these moments to be an impossibility, another door closed in his face. He would have thought it would be another night, trying anything to let Viktor be close to him. But now, Yuuri holds onto him. He welcomes Viktor into his past, his present, his room. He shows Viktor what is old and new, raw and fresh. Yuuri lets himself be vulnerable and Viktor listens, almost afraid to let himself move first – almost afraid that he'd wake to find it was air and smoke, a result of all his desperate, endless pining.
And so, Viktor lets him keep speaking. He lets Yuuri fill him with stories, tales. He lets Yuuri tell him of times before Viktor ever knew him – ever really knew him. He lets Yuuri keep giving what he dares, his focus single and gaze fixed. He lets Yuuri tell him as much as he desires, until Yuuri is turning the phone to him and stirring up with it the delicate rose petals that Yuuri had given him earlier. And finally, Viktor thinks he can lean his cheek against the crown of his head as he says: ]
Of course he was, [ His syllables are colored warm with the thin petals of red chrysanthemums, with the answering fall of pale, pink roses. His heart aches just a little, even this close. It aches just a little, for Yuuri who gives him more than he'd have ever thought. For Yuuri, who shares with him what he loves. I appreciate all that you love. I love and appreciate you.
He shifts, lifts his free hand to stroke toward the middle of Yuuri's phone with the tips of his fingers. It's a gesture, a confirmation. He thinks Vicchan's fur must have been as soft and warm as Makkachin's. He takes a breath, lips bowed beneath the weight of his affection, understanding. ] I'm glad you would have wanted us to meet him too.
[ It takes a lot, to not nose into the dark hair pressed up against his cheek. It takes almost more than he can bear, but he transfers the need into the way he holds Yuuri's hand. He squeezes Yuuri's hand, holds it just a bit tighter. He lets out a tiny laugh, gentle and self-humored. ] I don't think either of us would have been able to give him a moment's rest, being as cute as he was. [ There's no hint of lie. None at all. He knows the love of dogs, he knows how much he loves his own. And by the way Yuuri speaks of Vicchan, there's no room to doubt. Anything that loves Yuuri in earnest that much, anything that Yuuri loves in earnest that much – there's no way that it could be anything, but good.
But, he continues, stroking the flat of his thumb across the rise of Yuuri's knuckles. ] And I don't think I would have had the heart to deny them anything, if they had sat side-by-side. [ His voice goes low and thoughtful, as he were sharing a secret. And he is, in a way. ] I can barely scold Makkachin for nosing in where she doesn't belong. Even if she's trained well, I can't help breaking a few rules here and there just for her. [ She was clever and cute. She knew it. But, she had been Viktor's only companion for so long. He would have given her and still would give her anything her big heart desired – within reason, of course. ] Vicchan would have done me in for sure.
[ He would have. Double the ammunition, after all. It's only math. But –
His chest feels tight, full. It isn't a feeling that Viktor dreads anymore. He knows what's there, waiting for a reason to exist. It's flowers, it's flowers for the Yuuri who is letting him in. ]
But, [ he starts again, ] sleeping on the floor to make room would never do. [ He absently rubs his cheek against the dark of Yuuri's hair, smile still not leaving. He hopes it never does. He hopes it never has to. ] My precious student deserves to be sandwiched in by things he adores. [ And, with no measure spared for fondness: ] Even if one of those things liked to kick him in his sleep.
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[Viktor's hand is given another firm squeeze, reaffirming his comfort as Yuuri goes quiet for another moment. Again, not an unkind quiet--a low hum sounds in the back of his throat, free hand picking a few pink roses and red chrysanthemums to lie in a row on his leg. There's a thought that Yuuri is trying to work through, but he hasn't quite connected all the dots. It shows on his face, a quirk of his brows and his lips turned down in concentration. A vague conviction he's had before resurfaced, talking about Vicchan bringing a nostalgic feeling for it.
Vicchan...right. It was about Vicchan.]
I...want to win the Grand Prix this year for Vicchan. [Hesitation sounds in his voice, but Yuuri pushes through. He had never really been able to piece together this urge he had felt--but now that he had, he wanted it off his chest. To make it real.] He died right before the finals last year, and...I just felt so bad for not being there for him. I kept thinking I should've visited home more while I was training--or even just video chatted more with everyone so I could've asked to see him.
[The guilt that had gone unvoiced for so long accidentally comes tumbling with the other thoughts, Yuuri finding himself foiled by his own stream of consciousness for the umpteenth time in his life. For a moment he worries that he's oversharing, grip on Viktor's hand going lax, as if he would pull away.
And there was a time that he would've pulled away, not too long ago. There were plenty of people that he would've pulled away from. He didn't want to bother people with his feelings at the same time that he didn't want to be comforted about his feelings.]
[Yuuri grips Viktor's hand with twice the conviction. This time, he allows himself to lean on someone.] I mean, that sounds kind of silly right? I want to win it for myself too--and for everyone who has supported me so far, but... [Yuuri huffs a sigh, voice low. Even if he felt the want he had was no amount of ridiculous from any sane point of view, he still felt as if it was a secret had to share. Maybe it would help Viktor to understand him--or maybe it wouldn't make any sense at all.] I was away from home for so long so I could train, so I want to honor the time I was away from Vicchan with something to show for it. If that makes any sense. [Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if none if it made sense, or Viktor thought he was slightly crazy at this point. Either way, it had felt good to share--enough that Yuuri manages to chuckle at himself.]
Sorry for rambling about it. [His head doesn't lift from Viktor's shoulder, but there's a smile in his face as well as his voice.] I guess it had been on my chest for a while, but I never could figure out a way to voice it.
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To be having a conversation like this, to have anyone’s hand to hold – it would have been swallowed by the demands of the ice, by the ache his muscles and old injuries so sore that sleeping seemed easiest if it were dreamless. It seemed simplest, if all the distraction he had was Makkachin’s weight pressed up against his chest, her limbs sprawled every-which-way. It seemed the way it would be, moving day after day in the same, tired routines. People are creatures of habit, a reporter once told him. But, you seem to have so few.
It was meant to be a joke, of course. No one could be so without habit. But, they hadn't realized that Viktor's habits were a weight that smothered him. They hadn't realized that cycle of his days had become tired, that his living life as others had taken its toll. They hadn't realized that Viktor would have given anything at all to feel something brighter, but Viktor could not put into words what he needed himself.
And for a long time, Viktor accepted it as normal. He accepted the drag, the continual fatigue. He resigned himself to it, felt the flash and flare and fluidity that had once defined his skating and his life vanish. That is, until Hasetsu. That is, until Yuuri literally stumbled into his life in the haze of champagne and the heat of a challenge. And now, for the first time, Viktor feels lighter. For the first time, Viktor doesn’t want to change his face. He wants to change with him, with Yuuri. He wants to grow. It’s funny to think, how quickly even that had happened. In a world that has welcomed Viktor finally, Viktor finds himself knowing now how to be patient, how to listen. Viktor finds himself knowing that the man at the banquet is only a part of the man he talks to now on a childhood bed in a country Viktor had never lived in. And Viktor, unable to deny himself, allows himself a moment to imagine it – Yuuri, his Yuuri, smothered by thick, poodle curls as he confesses he wouldn't mind being sandwiched between all that he loves, had loved.
But, the snort that Yuuri gives at that same thought warms him. To him, it's not inelegant. To Viktor, it might as well be the most endearing thing he's ever known as his mouth takes the opportunity to bow a little more without his permission. He's sure Yuuri can feel it, the way his shoulders tremble with a laughter he doesn't quite let go. He doesn't want to jostle him, he just wants to keep Yuuri close. Viktor wants to be sure that he can hear him, especially as they settle back into the quiet again and Yuuri squeezes his hand, grounding himself as much as it grounds him.
There's signs he's picked up in his time of knowing Yuuri. Viktor identifies the way Yuuri's brow pinches when he's thinking, how his mouth tips when he's caught on something he can't quite form. Right now, Viktor has the feeling it is neither worry nor anxiety. At least, not entirely. So, he keeps quiet and lets Yuuri process. Viktor does not prompt him, but instead lets him keep his hand as he'd like. He gathers up petals to feed Yuuri's game of arranging them across his leg, but his attention doesn't wander far from him. It stays there as he stays there, absorbing all Yuuri gives to him in secret.
It's difficult, not to want so much – not to grasp Yuuri's hand when he tells him about his Vicchan. It's difficult to not interrupt, to provide him the comfort that Yuuri does deserve, but he knows Yuuri. Giving comfort in this way is what Viktor wants, not him. And if Viktor intrudes now, if he steps in too fast – relief and sympathy bloom in his chest in equal measure when Yuuri demands his hand and Viktor would give it and more without question if Yuuri wanted it. He holds onto him hard and Viktor answers him, without pride and without hesitation. ]
It isn't silly, [ Viktor hears himself say, caught low in his throat like the so many of the flowers he'd long since given this evening. It's conviction, rawer than he's ever allowed himself in the past. He squeezes Yuuri's hand, lifts his head to look at him. To really look at him, the blue of his eyes bright with the same certainty he's always seemed to carry, but it isn't for himself. Not right now. ]
Yuuri. [ It's more of a breath than a name. ] Everyone has something they want to fight for. [ He doesn't think about it. If he does now, he won't. And so, Viktor lifts his free hand, reaches over to tuck the dark of Yuuri's hair behind the shell of his ear. He doesn't pull back, so much as he moves his hand enough to comb through the thick of his hair without trouble. Each sweep is slow, thoughtful. There's nothing in it that implies anything, but tenderness. ] Whether that’s for the memory of their dog, for themselves, or for their country – it’s never silly.
[ He could never think that of Yuuri's reasons to fight. But, he can think that of himself. ] You know, [ he says after a moment or two. ] Even I had my moments of inspiration. [ His voice is almost too light, breezy. ] I had many years that I dedicated. [ He doesn't say to himself or to anyone one else, but the implication that he also might have fought for something once hangs there. To say it was something he wanted to really wanted to fight for is questionable, but Viktor wants nothing more than to fight now. He wants to fight for Yuuri, for this – for all that surrounds them, for the feeling of Yuuri stationed comfortably by his side.
When he starts again, the easy quality that had crept into his voice is gone. In it's place is something else. It's – ]
But, for you to go out and compete even after such terrible news, [ he pauses. The hand in Yuuri's hair stills, but only for a moment. He doesn't want to think about himself in that sort of position, but he thinks of Yuuri back then and sees something that Yuuri doesn't mention himself. ] I think he would have been proud of you, for being that strong. [ And that tone comes in more strongly now. It's always been in his voice, but now it permeates his words, drowns his syllables. Now that it has no need to hide, to mask itself – it's love. ] I don't know if other people could have managed it.
[ Viktor wouldn't have been able to. Especially not where he was, last year. He knows that. ]
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Of course the rejection doesn't come. Viktor has a way of making Yuuri wonder why he was ever scared to open up in the first place. Always patient, always willing to wait for Yuuri with a hand outstretched without any pressure to hurry or grab on. It was nice to have his worries assuaged, for someone to understand that it was hard to skate after such a big part of his life like Vicchan was had disappeared. There was no ridicule or pity from Viktor. Just understanding.
It made Yuuri sink more into Viktor's side, a relief he didn't know he was craving drive warmth from his chest to his fingertips. The hand in his hair is an extra comfort--Yuuri never thought of himself as a person who needed or wanted to be touched, but he finds himself hoping that Viktor doesn't stop. He was always the type who accepted hugs but rarely sought them--but perhaps the times have changed.]
Thanks for understanding. [A glance is tossed Viktor's way, a smile that is nothing but sincere offered along with it. The smile soon fades though--again to lips pursed in concentration, a new wrinkle in his brow.]I mean, I didn't manage it properly at the time though. My feelings. [There's a low hint of bitterness in his voice--towards no one but himself.] And I sure didn't manage it well the months after either. [He could've found numerous better ways to have managed his stress and grief instead of almost costing him his final leg of his career. But hindsight was always much better than foresight. The moment of regret passes though, and Yuuri's features soften once again. He tries another glace up through dark lashes, not willing to move his head from Viktor's shoulder. But his eyes are bright.] At the time, I at least wanted to try to finish what I started. Now...I think I'm better equipped to try again this year. I think...I understand myself a little better.
[He plucks red and pink petals from his thigh to move them to Viktor's, in rows as neat as before. An act of giving back what he's gotten. Yuuri's not sure if Viktor truly understands the effect that him coming to Hasetsu has had on him--how much better it's made him. Not just in skating either. Having someone like Viktor, who he had spent years admiring, come into his life and show that he was human--came in to challenge the perceptions he had on himself, of the town he had grown up in and the people who supported him...it all had really forced Yuuri to think. About what he wanted and what he needed. And how some of the things he wanted and needed were already around him, if he would just let them in.
He was still learning about himself, and he was still making mistakes along the way. But it was nice to have someone like Viktor who would wait next to every new open door for him until he made it through to the other side.]
Thanks for listening, though. And...uh, for always helping me through these things too. [The hand that had been moving petals reaches to rest on top of the hand still clasped, unconsciously seeking more touch.] I know I'm talking about myself a lot...I guess I got on a tangent, huh. [There's an undertone of nerves to his chuckle--Yuuri still wasn't sure how he felt about bringing his internal monologue out into the open for someone else to hear. It still felt awkward and egotistical to talk so much about himself. But those feelings only conflicted with how cathartic it was. He only hoped the discomfort would go away with time--with the more things he could share with Viktor in the future.]
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Viktor has known precarious places before. He might not have displayed it or understood it, but he had recognized them for what they were long after he stepped back into the roar of competitions, spent late nights spent at the rink. It might have taken a comment or two, his ear pulled, but Viktor thinks everyone has been a mess once or twice. That’s just part of being human, right? Even if Viktor never let himself live it, there’s ways of coping and dealing and living that Viktor sees now that he had never up close. For Viktor, all there had been was to smile through it. Everything else wasn’t consumable, was a distraction to himself and his expectations. But, hiding it away somewhere else didn’t make it go away. He just starved it, starved himself. He starved for so long, that he thought it would be impossible to ever bloom again for someone else, much less himself. And in the regrowth of it all, trying to learn what it even means to have time to be Viktor and not anyone else makes Viktor feel at times more lost – uncertain. Uncertain, in a way that he had never been before. But, Yuuri helps. Yuuri, his Yuuri, who pushes him back into place and doesn’t let him stray back into old and well-worn habits. This Yuuri, who melts against his side and stays by no matter how much he fumbles through the disaster he’s built inside himself. ]
I love learning about you, [ Viktor breathes before his tongue can catch itself, chest tight and skin warm wherever Yuuri touches it. His hand stills in the dark of Yuuri’s hair, his next words caught up in his throat by the sincerity of Yuuri’s confessions, the neat line of petals against his thigh, the way he glances up at him through the devastating fall of lashes. Viktor feels heat prickle up the back of his neck at the lay Yuuri's hand over his and there’s no keeping back the thin, pink flowers that unfurl and bloom once they tumble past his lips. It’s incredible, how much love Yuuri has infused into him. Incredible, how much he can feel at all. He can feel the warmth that Yuuri has shown him again take its root everywhere, through every part of him. He doesn’t know how he went without for so long, how much his body craves every scrap of affection Yuuri levels against him. ] I’m happy to listen to you. [ Can’t you see how happy you make me? It’s a question that doesn’t need to be asked. The pleated edges of every petal declare it no matter how understated – love consumes me. Rose of Sharon. ] If you want to share, that is.
[ He knows how hard it is, for Yuuri to open up. Even Viktor, who crowns the earth in his emotions each time he breathes these days has difficulty with showing what’s beneath the loud and grand. Vulnerability aches, stings. He thinks that sometimes, Yuuri will conclude that the blunt and bright is all that Viktor is. It’s irrational, he knows. Beneath, Viktor needs and gives with equal measure. He loves to learn, loves the way new languages settle on his tongue. He’s sensitive, occasionally defensive of where he stands with the people that he loves. He entertains, sometimes that something better will come along and knock him from his placement, that nothing he will say or do will capture their attention anymore no matter how faceted he is. Showing parts of himself to Yuuri, his uglier edges – it’s a lot. And so, he doesn’t pressure. He doesn’t push for it. He waits, as he’s learned to do. He made the error once. He does not want to make the error again. ]
But, [ Viktor starts after a moment, the hand caught between Yuuri’s tangling itself up hopelessly further. ] You’re remarkable, Yuuri. [ There’s no sign of jest in that statement. Instead, Viktor lets himself lean back into his space a little more, press his cheek against crown of his head again. He smiles, fond and easy. ] You dusted yourself off. You didn’t stay there. [ He pauses, the hand Yuuri’s hair working slower than before. ] Some people just don’t come back. [ He’s seen it happen before. Viktor, himself, had once thought about it. Is still thinking about it. But still, he distracts himself away by picking his head back up just enough to press a kiss into his hair. It isn’t hard, to hear how much admiration comes from that. Even if the next words are muffled, for a moment, before he thinks to return to previous position. ] But you, you took it as a learning opportunity. [ Even fewer people say something like they understand themselves more after. Few even try to get where Yuuri now is. But, still – ]
Don’t worry about thanking me for any of that, [ Viktor says, his hands are happily occupied, so he instead shrugs the shoulder that Yuuri doesn’t lean upon, playfulness catching at the corners of his lips. Even despite it all, he’s serious. The fingers that work through the dark of Yuuri’s hair find their way down to stroke at short hairs, his thumb catching the curve of his jaw. The little lilt that had entered his voice the moment before goes soft and lazy, warm. ] Isn’t that part of my job description?
[ He wants to help out like that always. ]