M.O.N.E.Y • viktuuri ✔️

112| undo

last chapter is 115 !

victor listened to the crowds cheering and stared at nothing in particular. he wasn't listening to them; all they did was remind of what he was and of standing on a ledge with his arms it and waiting to jump.

"...and here is victor nikiforov, with his piece demonstrating love, want and appreciation..."

victor almost rolled his eyes at the nostalgia and attention and tv screens he didn't want and felt the cold ice from metres away on his fingers. he was picturing just walking away, away from all of it; he could barely hear the commentators over the crowds surrounding him like water.

he saw his face up on the screen, and all he thought about was yuri katsuki sleeping in his bed, wearing his jacket under those white bedsheets, the feel of him and the material under his fingers.

the music started up and the crowds went silent, and victor thought of his yuri as it started.

he's not yours.
he's not yours.
he's not yours.

"...stick another pill in my head..."
"...and go to bed..."

$$$$$

"...stick another pill in my head..."
"...and go to bed..."

yuri has his eyes fixed on the screen and the way victor moved across the ice, watching him as he had done when he was younger. and yet he didn't think of akio fucking tanaka as he would've expected himself to, but his head was filled with thoughts of his victor as the 1975 played and the tears ran down his face without him having to blink.

he's not yours.

because yuri was thinking of the time victor had watched him skate to "undo" in his black jacket and had them lain on the ice with him so close, hands touching over the cold, tears freezing on his cheeks and water pooling under him.

"...i want to see you but you're not mine..."

yuri breathed out, and the tears kept on coming with every movement across the ice, every word, every second. the room was darker now, under the ash grey sky, and the brightness of the ice hurt his eyes.

"...i want to see you but you're not mine..."

he was in a dim bedroom now, with soft russian lullabies and feeling so fucking safe.

"...i want to see you undo it..."

yuri breathed out again, as the moving stopped and he saw those eyes so blue and the crowds screamed and his chest hurt because he couldn't reach out and touch victor nikiforov and the music slowly stopped. but he didn't sob; no, he didn't sob.

but he could be yours.

no, he didn't sob. instead, yuri ran right back up those stairs with the television still on, as if he would pack his things and push past victor it into the bright streetlights of 2 a.m. all over again. he grabbed the blood-stained denim jacket he knew oh so well with its scent of vanilla, aftershave and lemon and before he knew it, phone in his back pocket, he was leaving behind that big, expensive white house once more.

except this time, he wasn't leaving behind victor nikiforov.