Yuuri hums. The closeness is lovely. It’s like living in an Al Green song, or maybe one by the Delfonics. His brow furrows as he wonders why his music references suddenly are a minimum of twenty years older than Mari, and then he realizes the Soul station on Sirius is his mother’s poison of choice when she controls the radio at the mortuary.
The refrain of you gave my pride back to me, precious friend, is abruptly cut off by Victor’s interjection of, “I mean…I didn’t ask first. I just kind of went for it. That’s okay?”
Ah. Yuuri writes Y + V and then outlines it in a heart this time over Victor’s sternum. “One-night stands doing that would be a problem, but I think my boyfriend can have blanket consent, you know?”
Victor’s soft, extremely gay gasp more than anything tips Yuuri off to his chosen phrasing. His fingers stop moving. His heart leaps into his throat.
This is when the panic and the nerves set in. Of course. He couldn’t be anxious about them like a normal person.
“I’m your boyfriend,” Victor says. It’s the identical tone Rudolph uses in the old Rankin-Bass Christmas special about Clarice thinking he’s cute. It’s adorable , but it’s also terrifying, Yuuri’s inner monologue turning into a Doomsday clock for when Victor gets sick of him and throws him away.
He will. They always do.
“I wanted to say that myself,” Victor continues with nothing but joy and utter obliviousness to the volcanic eruption of terror the man in his arms has now become. “I thought it’d scare you away, since we’ve only just met, but Yuuri…I just…”
Yuuri is not in right now, Yuuri thinks, but if you leave a message at the sound of the beep, he’ll call you back when he’s done silently screaming in fluent Gay Disaster.
wabi sabi 