M.O.N.E.Y • viktuuri ✔️

55.| déjà vu

victor nikiforov's silver mercedes pulled up outside the expensive house who's images had been featured in almost every trashy magazine in every dentist's waiting room, hair salon and the like at least once.

and this was only his house in japan.

when the growling of the engine car to an end, victor quickly surveyed the damage that celestino cialdini's ringed knuckles had done to his face, before he looked over at yuri katsuki, buried in his jacket and asleep against the rain-spattered car window.

"yuri," victor said, gently shaking his shoulder. "we're here now, baby."

yuri moaned in his sleep, murmuring under the lapels of victor's jacket before his chocolate eyes opened just a little and he blinked against the lemon flow of the streetlights.

"we here?" he asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes and wincing as his fingers brushed against his bloodied, bruised cheek. victor smiled at him, and yuri sat up in the passenger seat - tired and weak as a result of the pain of the damage celestino painted on his soft skin and the heroin in his bloodstream.

"no, wait," victor said, when he saw yuri reached for the handle of the car door. "hold on a minute. you stay there, hm?"

and so victor got out of the car, his shoes starting to shine with the kiss of the spitting rain, and went around the yuri's side and opened the door.

"come in then," victor said, and lifted yuri katsuki up into his arms, telling him to put his arms around his neck.

"v-victor," yuri weakly tried to protest.

"you're not strong enough," victor tutted with a smile, before he nudged the car door shut and headed toward the door of his expensive white house in japan. "you need to rest, yuri, you hear me?"

yuri nodded, leaning against victor's chest, breath warm on the small area of skin that was open to the air due to victor's top button being undone. he had his hands linked behind victor's neck, and his soft dark, dark hair brushed against the side of his neck.

and all victor could think of was the held silence in the elevator and the bright lights in his eyes, as he held a motionless yuri katsuki in his arms and murmured into his hair over and over again, although ruby red dots were visible on his forearms and his chocolate eyes were closed.

"stay with me."

"you getting déjà vu here, baby?" victor whispered at the memory to the boy in his arms, after he managed to get the key in the lock and push open the door.

"hm?"

victor smiled to himself; yuri wouldn't have remembered a thing, and he knew that. and as he started up the stairs, the déjà vu made him panic at the thought of the boy in his arms motionless again, and he tightened his grip and focused on his breathing, steady from sleep, and the feel of his chest rising and falling in victor's arms.

don't panic.

he's alright.
he's with you.
he's safe with you.
he's alright.

yuri is alright.

victor nudged open the door to his own bedroom, the furniture nothing but dark, motionless shapes without the light above shining down around then like cars' headlights in the motorway. victor laid yuri down on the crisp white sheets - he wanted yuri to stay close to him during the night, in case of anything going wrong; he was recovering, after all - and yuri lay in his side in victor's blood-stained, oversized jacket, his hands nearly disappearing inside the cuffs.

chest slackening now that he knew his yuri wasn't lying motionless on a hotel bed or being damaged by a man in a boss suit with three heavy rings in his fingers, victor ran a hand through his matted hair, which was only a little damp from the slight fall of rain. he watched yuri's chest rise and fall, and the strands of hair fall one by one across his delicate face to hide his eyes.

victor winced, gingerly touching his wrist, before he went into the ensuring bathroom and turned on the lights, blinking in the harsh glow that reminded him of snorting coke in chris giacometti's bathroom on more than one occasion and standing in an elevator holding yuri katsuki in his arms with his heart beating against his chest.

he reached for the small container f painkillers he had - for hangovers and the comedowns - and swallowed down two for the pain that a man in a boss suit and heavy boots with ringed fingers had caused.

out of the corner of his eye, lying in the dark of the stretch of grey that his white bedsheets had become with the darkness of the night and the traces of light shining from the bathroom, victor could see his yuri katsuki lying asleep, and felt a smile on his lips.

he's safe now, victor.
he's safe with you.

victor flexed his fingers, which still ached from clenching the steering wheel as he drove as fast as he could after a shining black porsche. his chest was still tight with worry, and his hands still tingled, as if still shaking.

victor turned off the lights, and stood for a moment on the cool tiles of the bathroom, tired blue eyes growing used to the lack of light, before settling down the painkillers by the side of the bed and lay down on the virgin white sheets beside yuri katsuki.

he's safe.

but victor couldn't believe himself, and propped himself up on one arm, to look after his angel sleeping beside him, to take in the sight of him in victor's blood-stained denim jacket with one eye clouded by a bruise that the night failed to conceal.

and with the warmth of his body on the sheets beside him, and the touch of his soft dark, dark hair, victor could accept that the boy in the crop top and black jeans he had met at chris giacometti's penthouse - the boy with the soft, damaged skin, chocolate eyes, dimple in one cheek and the scent of bubblegum was now safe beside him.

and only then did victor realise how mesmerised he was by the boy lying curled up beside him in jeans ripped at the knees and with the feel of the denim that victor knew so well on his soft skin. victor's tired blue eyes took a journey over the sketch of his body against the white paper of the bedsheets; he looked at every curve, for instance one leg tucking under the other, the position of his arms held close to his chest, the shadow every strand of hair cast over his soft face, adding to the darkness of the night cast over him.

victor searched over every cheekbone's rise, every darkened pool seeping over soft skin as a result of a ringed knuckle, every crease in his soft lips and ever eyelash sitting against his delicate face.

and only then did victor find himself not in his own bed, but in a hospital corridor with chris giacometti.

"you love him, then?"

and only then did victor realise that the reply he had stammered out before was oh-so true.

"i think i do, chris."

victor sighed heavily, before he dared to give in and put an arm around the waist of the boy by his side, now bruised and weak, who he hadn't been able to get out of his head since chris's party weeks before.

"goodnight moya lyobuv," victor dared to whisper, before he breathed in the scent of bubblegum, nicotine and hospital antiseptic, and the tendrils of yuri katsuki's soft hair brushed against his own bruised cheek.

well there ya go