M.O.N.E.Y • viktuuri ✔️

83.| 1:03 a.m.

facedown by the 1975

two weeks.

it had been two weeks since victor nikiforov had watched yuri katsuki get further and further down the streets outside his big, expensive white house in japan without looking back once.

victor rolled onto his back, unable to sleep. chris was asleep by his side, and victor caught sight of the condom wrapper on the bedside table and pushed it into the floor.

he sighed, and rubbed over his face; he was tired, but he couldn't sleep.

so he picked up his phone.

victor🍷; sometimes

message not sent!

victor🍷; i just wish you'd talk to me

message not sent!

victor slammed his phone down, jumping at the sound in the silence of the bedroom so early in the morning, and thought about what the fuck he was supposed to do now.

the barcelona competition had ended days before, and victor hadn't made it through to the next competition because he hadn't practised since yuri katsuki had left his house. but he'd slipped some money over to the judges, and there you go, he was up a few points and up a position, through to the next competition.

he didn't even want to do it; he couldn't give a shit, except for the fact he'd said he'd do one final competition for his mama, before he stuck his middle finger up at the world of fame and media once and for all, and was left with a life of red wine and cocaine and meaningless, meaningless sex that didn't taste any different.

victor🍷; god, yuri

message not sent!

victor🍷; what the fuck is the point

message not sent!

victor sighed again, put down his phone, and closed his eyes as if it would do him any good in the world.

chris turned over onto his other side, and victor groaned to himself and reached for his phone again.

he wanted to smell bubblegum, not chris's cologne.

victor🍷; talk to me

message not sent!

victor swore to god he would smash his phone into shards of glass if he saw message not sent! one more time.

victor🍷; i'm begging

message not sent!

victor🍷; yuri

message not sent!

victor pressed his phone to his forehead, the light from the screen stinging his eyes in the darkness of the bedroom, before every word he said about yuri katsuki to that therapist in the dress suit resurfaced, and for a moment, he swore to god he was going to cry.

are you sure that you want to delete contact "baby❣️" ?

YES
NO

victor sighed, and pressed his phone harder against his forehead, as all the thoughts of bubblegum, soft dark, dark hair and yellow books would sink.

YES

victor wished to god he could sleep.

contact "baby❣️" has been deleted

•••

two weeks.

it had been two weeks since yuri katsuki had left victor nikiforov shouting his name down the lifeless night streets outside his big, expensive house in japan.

yuri lay on one side, bedsheets drawn to his chest, trying to make out his jacket on the chair in the corner of  bedroom through the lack of light at 1 a.m.  lay shirtless under the sheets on the other side of the bed, and there was an opened condom wrapper on table by his side of the bed.

yuri sighed, and wished to god he could sleep. his boyfriend's shirt was lying over his legs on top of the sheets, and he felt as if he were drowning, tangled up, unable to breathe.

and now "an encounter" was stuck in his head once again, and making it harder for him to get to sleep.

luca's shirt, lying over yuri's legs, smelt of some other girl's perfume and yuri knew it, but it wasn't the first time and he didn't care anymore.

yuri pulled the sheets closer to him, and sighed again, wondering what the point was anymore.

"you still awake, baby?" luca murmured from by his side, sleepily slipping his arms around yuri's waist with a rustle of bedsheets. yuri hummed in response, and luca started to kiss his neck a little.

"god, you're pretty," he mumbled, voice low from sleep, before he lay on his back and drifted off to sleep again.

yuri couldn't do the same, and stayed lying on his side, staring at his jacket over the chair, cold without his shirt on despite being too hot to get to sleep.

he glanced at his phone. the 1975 was still playing over and over in his head, and he wondered, luca asleep by his side, what victor nikiforov was doing right then and there, at 1:03 a.m.

probably with somebody else or high off his face, yuri thought to himself, phone in his hands with its blank, cracked screen, luca breathing slow and steady on the bed by his side.

yuri blamed his insomnia and "an encounter" for opening up snapchat, and for doing what he did next at 1:03 a.m.

would you like to unblock "vnikiforov🚬" ?

YES
NO

yuri sighed.

send a snap!