M.O.N.E.Y • viktuuri ✔️

108.| chainsmoking

déjà vu, all over again.

victor remembered how he'd walked down that same white, brightly lit corridor of the police station when yuri had gone to see that man in the boss suit they both knew all too well. he looked over at yuri, by his side, but neither of them said anything. he watched the ceiling lights go by instead.

they were outside now, going down the station steps, thin rain underfoot, dry grey sky overhead. a car pulled out of the parking lot as victor touched yuri's arm. he didn't say anything. he wanted to say something, but he had no clue in hell what.

he lit up a cigarette, then smiled into the nicotine rising.

"do remember," victor started off, "what you said to be, about cigarettes?"

he looked over at yuri, who looked so tired and so fucking beautiful as he gave the hint of a smile.

"what did i say?"

"that chainsmoking would be so fucking beautiful if the smokers weren't killing themselves with every flick of the lighter."

yuri laughed, before the thoughts of pulsating music and that drugged-up rich kid victor nikiforov leaning over to kiss him with a taste like vanilla vodka made him look away and down at the wet pavement. victor wanted more than anything to touch his hand.

hell, not even to kiss him. just to touch his hand.

"how is he?"

victor watched yuri's shoulders go up then down as he sighed, and watched him close his eyes. he looked cold.

"can we not talk about him?"

"are you cold?"

"yes."

"i don't have a jacket to give you this time."

yuri smiled again, and dark, dark hair that was still so soft fell into his eyes as he did. he bit at his bottom lip, and victor watched it go soft and pink again. god, did he want to feel him.

"i still have the denim one," yuri said, as victor took another drag to take his mind off of the god-awful silence. he smiled at that.

"oh yeah?"

victor remembered seeing that jacket on the couch in akio fucking tanaka's apartment, and how he could still smell the scent of bubblegum in the neck lining. he put his hand on the small of yuri's back, as if he were leading him out of that hospital room again. the material of his thin black coat was cold. the feel of victor touching him made yuri have to look back down at the pavement again. a police officer passed them by and went up the steps.

but god, victor had just wanted to feel him.

"yeah," yuri said, swallowing hard. victor kept his hand on his back, his touch still as tentative as it had been when yuri was wearing that same jacket and shoe soles wearing squeaking against the linoleum; tentative, as though there were still lilac flowers of bruises flourishing up his back from the waist of his jeans.

"is it still too big for you?" victor asked. he didn't want to drop his hand. he didn't want yuri to go. he knew that they were both waiting for chris to drive him back to that fucking big, expensive white house and victor just wanted him to stay. yuri nodded, slowly.