M.O.N.E.Y • viktuuri ✔️

106.| ash

walking down the rain-grey streets kicking cigarette ash into the gutter, yuri was cold in the grey coat he was wearing, and kidding himself that he could still smell the scent of vanilla, lemon and aftershave, could still feel the afterglow he'd clung to as he watched the fan white overhead and seen the blue sirens light up the sheets.

the sheets that still bore traces of akio tanaka's cologne the next morning.

yuri had his arms wrapped around himself as he headed down the streets, head almost bowed, headphones in his ears, trying to wash away the thoughts swimming about his head in the way victor drank vodka and chain smoked with his hair in his eyes.

"and you're a walking overdose
in a grey coat"

yuri smiled to himself at the thought of victor's voice, at the thought of "what a fucking cliché, huh, baby?" before he started biting at his bottom lip again.

he didn't want to think about victor. not right then. it made the glass shatter, the icy water pool under his t-shirt and those soft, slightly chapped lips kiss his neck all over again.

"and how i'd love to go
to paris again"

yuri's cold fingers edged towards the place on his arm where that ruby red dot was fading under the grey fabric.

"don't be ashamed...please, baby...don't be..."

his fingers went back into the wide pockets of his coat, just under his hips, and yuri smiled sadly to himself. the police station was just up ahead, greyer than cigarettes stubbed out and breathing their last, greyer than his coat, greyer than the sand on that beach.

"...don't..."

yuri shouldn't have stopped listening to to lyrics of the song playing in his ears, because now he was in the hall of chris's apartment, akio's hands down his jeans, and now he was wearing red lingerie in a dark bedroom and letting akio tanaka fuck him.

"...well i believed you're clean..."

going up the steps to those double glass doors, hands still deep in his pockets, he was breathing in shower gel and coffee and kidding himself as he knelt down between luca di marco's legs that this was ok, that he was ok, that this was better than being in love with victor nikiforov.

"...then she pointed at the bag of her dreams..."

and then came the bedroom floor, the boy in the jeans, luca shouting at him, looking straight at him as he tasted somebody else's mouth, as he pushed somebody else down on the bed.

"...in a well posh magazine..."

yuri's breath shortened a little, his chest sucking all the oxygen from his lungs, as he tried to stop the tapes playing and followed the bright ceiling lights of the police station hall.

"...i said i'm done babe, i'm out of the scene..."

the hall reminded him of sitting behind a glass screen in front of the man who used to wear a boss suit, the man he knew all too well, and he was slipping underwater again.

he wanted victor. god, he just wanted to see victor. he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe -

"...but i was picking up on bethnal green..."