in which fame isn't kind to teenage celebrity victor nikiforov, and he pays a dark haired boy to make him feel less lonely.
copyright @beautifulpyscho 2017
•lowercase intended•
snapchat fic//dialogue//texting
and a shit load of the 1975
trigger warn...
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i love this too much ^ @TheDerpyUnicornGamez
"chris, why do i even need to be there? fuck."
victor groaned, and ran a hand through his hair in irritation. yuri pulled his grey sweater over his head, and it hung down over his jeans so that one shoulder was exposed to the grey winter light coming in from the open bedroom window.
"victor," chris started off with a sigh, "look, with barcelona coming up - "
"fuck it," victor shot back, making yuri jump. he sighed himself, before going over and kissing yuri on the top of his head, rubbing at his bare shoulder.
"victor?" chris asked, after a pause, and victor shook his head to himself.
"sorry, chris. sorry. just...stressed, you know?"
"yeah," chris laughed tiredly. "yeah, i fucking know alright. my legs are killing me."
victor laughed, rubbing his eyes with his hands as he sat down on the bed as yuri picked up his lemon yellow book from the dresser and sat down on the wide window ledge of victor's bedroom. victor smiled at him, without yuri noticing, and watched how the light lit up his yuri's face.
"same here, chris," victor huffed, remembering that it was his turn to say something, especially since he felt bad about snapping at chris, in the same way he had snapped at yuri before.
god, he was stressed.
"look," chris started off once more, and victor could hear that he got up from the sofa he was presumably sitting on. "you need to come tonight, alright? i don't want to either, actually. i'm too goddamn tired from practicing day after day. it's just...you want good press for barcelona, don't you? and connections, victor. this is the last party before the competition, ok? jesus, victor we've been to enough competitions together to know how this goes."
victor sighed once more, and watched at yuri turned a page, biting at the corner of his lip in concentration like victor had seen him do when he cooked him katsudon that night.
"yeah," he said, getting up from the bed once more and stretching the left side of his upper body. "yeah, i know."
"you can bring yuri," chris added, after a slight pause. "if you want to."
victor looked over at the boy with soft, dark, dark hair sitting on the window ledge in mom jeans and legs drawn to his chest, one shoulder exposed by his oversized woollen sweater, before turning back to stretch in the mirror once again.
"i will," he replied, and wondered where the silence down the the other end of the line had come from. "chris?"
"yeah," he replied, a little quieter. "yeah, i'm still here."
