"are you sure that you want to do this?" victor asked him, and yuri tried to stop his hands from shaking.
"i'm fine," he said, to reassure himself more than the reassure victor nikiforov, who was sitting beside him in his silver mercedes, hands still gripping the steering wheel, looking at yuri anxiously.
neither of them believed that he was "fine."
yuri glanced out of the window, streaked with the spitting rain, and up at the police station victor had parked in front of. yuri ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face, heart starting to beat faster when he reached for the car door.
"i can't do this," he stated simply, the bruises on his body starting to throb. he thought of staring at the man who used to wear a boss suit that he knew all too well through the glass, and thought of his heavy boots against his damaged ribs once again.
"yes you can, baby," victor said in his soft accent, and out his hand over yuri's. yuri breathed out shakily to steady himself, before he pulled the container of pills out of his coat pocket and swallowed one.
"those for anxiety?" victor asked, hand still over yuri's and warm against his skin. yuri shook his head, chest tight with worry. "painkillers?"
"prozac," he managed to say, trying to calm himself down; the stress was making it hard to breathe, and made every bruise and every cut that celestino had left on his body ache. victor nodded, and started to move his thumb backwards and forwards over yuri's knuckles.
"i've been there," he murmured, and yuri looked up at him with confused eyes, chest still tight and body still aching.
"you had depression?" he asked simply, not knowing how else to put it. victor nodded, taking his hand away from yuri's to brush hair out of his blue eyes, brighter than ever against the grey sky and rain outside the car.
"yes, i did. i fucking did. went to a therapist, although i'm pretty sure she only took me on because i was the victor nikiforov. but she did her job, and i got better."
vhctr looked away from yuri, sighing heavily at the memory, and yuri found himself pulling down the sleeves of his jacket to hide the bandages on his forearms.
"i fucking hate him," victor seethed, eyes on the police station. "for every fucking thing he did, every fucking thing he said."
i turned to face yuri sharply, and yuri saw that his blue eyes were angry once again.
"do you cut over what he's done and said to you, yuri?" victor demanded, but his voice cracked.
yuri winced, and looked away from victor, ashamed. he couldn't find the words to say, and reached for the door handle. but victor cupped his face in his hands, and kissed him fiercely.
"you can do this, возлюбленная," victor whispered, leaning his forehead against yuri's, hands soft against his delicate face. yuri smiled slightly, heart thudding in his chest and making his aching head, longing for heroin, ache even more.
but the touch of victor nikiforov was far better than any painkiller he had ever swallowed to full the damage celestino had caused him.
"what does that mean?" yuri whispered. "it's russian, isn't it? what does it mean? you've said it before."
victor laughed softly.
"возлюбленная?" yuri nodded, as victor whispered in his ear, "beloved."
"i love you, you hear me?" victor said, kissing him on the forehead and stroking the hair away from his face. "and you don't have to do this, if you don't want to, baby."
yuri kissed him, the taste of him and his scent of vanilla and lemon filling his worry and his fear.
he reached for the car door handle once more.
"i want him to know that he isn't getting out of there," yuri said fiercely. "after every fucking thing he's done to me, done to phichit, done to leo..."
he glanced at the dried blood on victor's white shirt, and realised that he was wearing the same shirt as he had worn two days before, when he took yuri away from those heavy boots, boss suits and white-tiled bathroom to the sound of the sirens and the 1975.
"...and to you."
yuri opened to car door and stepped out into the rain, drawing victor's grey coat tighter around himself and breathing in the scent of rain, vanilla, lemon and aftershave.
victor followed him inside the building, hair shining with rainwater and the new blood that had dried on his face washed away. and yuri knew that he was putting in a brave face for him; they couldn't go to this hospital because the police would have arrested both victor and yuri for hurting celestino; victor's face would have been plastered all over papers and magazines along with the story of what had happened, and victor said that it was better for them to kept themselves hidden from the cameras for a while.
so yuri knew that he was in pain, and grabbed his hand as an officer lead them down a hall lined with lemon sugar white lights to where yuri knew celestino would be sitting, with only a glass screen to separate them.
yuri tightened his grip on victor'a hand, and victor kissed the top of his head.
"you don't have to do this," he muttered to yuri once more.
"i want to do this," yuri whispered back, as the guard pushed open a door that lead into a room lined wth plastic seats - similar to those yuri had seen in the hospital waiting room - with screens between them and a second chair the other side.
"third along, that's him," the officer said, craning his neck. "who's the visitor?"
"i am," yuri said in a small voice, his chest tightening as did his grip on victor's hand.
"we can't both go in?" victor demanded, and started to argue with the officer.
"it's ok, victor," yuri said, trying to stop his voice from shaking. he looked away from the man in the orange suit he knew all too well three seats down, and leant up to kiss his victor. he clung to his scent as long as he could, before he managed to pull himself away and turn to face celestino cialdini, and listened to the door close heavily behind him.
his hand still tingled with the warmth of victor's palm, and he clung to the feel of his skin and his scent as he held his breath, pulled out the chair, and sat down opposite the artist of the mess of violet and red splashed across his body.
celestino reached for the phone, and yuri but his tongue, thought of victor's soft, chapped lips against his in his silver mercedes and forced himself to do the same.
"yuri, baby," he laughed, but it came out more as a growl. "and what are you doing here, huh?"