M.O.N.E.Y • viktuuri ✔️

29.| caramel

yuri had his hands around his knees, the water of the bath stinging the cuts on his knees. he cupped his hand and brought lukewarm water to his face, so that it washed away the dried blood on his cut cheek.

he winced, and heard phitchit knocking on the bathroom door.

"are you ok now, yuri? do you need more pills? i can get some for you...you sound like you're hurt...yuri?"

"i-i'm fine phitchit," yuri called our shakily, his face stinging like hell and the dark bruise around his eye swelling under his touch.

he wanted to be anywhere else in the world but the white-ruled bathroom he had locked himself in, with the clothes the money he earnt at late-night parties had bought him crumpled on the floor in a heap, his cheek and lip bleeding and his body so sore and stiff under the water.

he wanted to be on victor nikiforov's grey sofa once more, with his body responding to the grace of his touch and his soft, chapped lips kissing every hurt on yuri's face that celestino gave him the night before.

"you're a slut, katsuki. you're mine. you do what i say. you're a slut. nothing more."

yuri thought of how victor had only lain beside in that night in his late white house, his fingers stroking yuri's hair, waiting for his tears to dry.

better than the nights when he brought home plenty of money for celestino and was congratulated for it by a few of the notes he had earnt with his body.

i don't want this anymore.

yuri pulled the heavy towel around him and drew in his breath in pain as the rough material chafed his wounds and aggravated the bruises on the soft skin that had been manhandled and taken for granted; the skin that victor nikiforov was so tender towards and kissed with soft, chapped lips.

"yuri? you've been in there for a while...he didn't hurt you too bad, this time, did he?" came phitchit's timid voice, as he stood outside the bathroom door with its peeling paint.

yuri bit down on his lip hard as he pulled his shirt over his red-stained ribs from celestino's boots the night before, so as phitchit wouldn't  hear him.

and because he could tell from phitchit's hushed tone that celestino was the man on the front room who had turned on the tv, and was surely sprawled out across the sofa they shared.

"coming, phitchit," yuri called out limply, his voice faltering, and popped out the last pill he had found in the crumpled blister pack near the sink.

he swallowed it down, and hope that for once the painkillers would work.

"he wants to talk to you," phitchit said in a low voice. yuri took a deep breath, threw the empty box of painkillers into the trash and slid back the lock of the bathroom door. phitchit was sucking his thumb like he always did when he was nervous, and yuri shook his head lightly.

"don't do that," he said softly, and phitchit dropped his thumb. he gestured to the living room, where the tv was screaming at yuri obnoxiously loud. and god, did yuri hate how scared that man made him.

he thought back to the feel of the ice under his skates and the sound of his mother clapping as his chubby toddler legs drew circles as he spun, and when she was gone and his father left him all alone, it was akio who clapped for him, and when yuri wanted to learn more than what little yuko, his friend from school, could teach him, and it was akio who filled the void of a parentless home and it was akio who made him feel loved.