angst™
IDFC
BLACKBEAR
22:56
yuri katsuki couldn't breathe.
received today, 17:45
victor🌅; i want to take you to the beach someday
victor🌅; to watch the sunset
victor🌅; and see that light catch your face
victor🌅; the breeze brush your hair against your face
victor🌅; i'm lying here thinking about it
victor🌅; right now
phone by his side, he was looking at the soft, untainted skin of his forearm, no ruby red dot to be seen.
and he wanted heroin more than anything else in the world, right then, right there; anything to be so, so faraway from the living room of that apartment, listening to luca di marco fuck somebody else from the other side of the walls.
there was blood on his hands and his lips, and another bruise forming around his eye. god, did yuri katsuki want to be so, so faraway from that apartment.
he wanted to talk to victor. he drew his knees to his chest on the sofa he was sitting on, and tried to block out luca moaning somebody else's name - so that yuri would hear him - by picking up his phone. the screen was still cracked from when celestino cialdini's had thrown it at the wall.
yuri📼; wouldn't it be such a cliché
yuri📼; if my boyfriend started hitting me
yuri📼; and i let him
yuri was swallowing useless, tasteless painkillers whilst he typing, with useless, tasteless tears coming down his face, and he was drowning, trying to scream, luca moaning some other boy's name over and over again, headboard banging, yuri surrounded by dust, dust, dust, fucking dust, everything around him crumbling to dust.
yuri📼; victor
yuri📼; i need you
yuri was crying now. he wished he wasn't. it was making the bruise around his left eye hurt.
yuri📼; i love you
yuri📼; i need you
the old damage left on his ribs by the man in the boss suit he knew all too well started to ache again. yuri by at his bottom lip until new blood mingled with that running from his nose. a few drops stained the flat sofa cushion he was sitting on.
yuri📼; victor
yuri📼; i want you i need you i i want you i love you victor he hurt me he
yuri📼; fuck
yuri was laughing tearfully to himself, blood tainting the taste of his mouth, the bruise around that same left eye swelling up, surrounded by dust, dust, dust, fucking dust.
and boom - the memories of seconds before started to play out again, again, again, again.
luca's mouth, the boy's dark jeans, cigarettes who's smell was too strong, luca taking yuri aside, whispering in his ear, yuri thinking of victor's lips, yuri shaking his head, his mouth bleeding, lying on the bedroom floor, luca starting to kiss that boy's mouth right there in front of him, pushing him down on the bed -
yuri📼; fuck
yuri📼; i can't breathe
yuri📼; i want you
yuri📼; why the fuck did i ever leave you
yuri📼; fuck
yuri📼; he
yuri📼; he tried to get me to let someone else fuck me with him
yuri📼; i didn't want to
yuri📼; i didn't
yuri📼; i said that i wasn't some fucking toy
yuri📼; god
yuri📼; that artist boy
yuri📼; it wasn't luca
yuri📼; either that or i was too fucking blind to see what was coming
yuri📼; i
yuri📼; i can't breathe
yuri📼; victor please
yuri📼; i
yuri📼; i don't want to be here
yuri📼; its all going wrong again
yuri shook his head and laughed to himself, wiping away tears and blood and wincing when he angered the bruise around his eye.
he couldn't stand it. he couldn't.
god, he wanted heroin again.
he grabbed that dun-coloured coat, and with blood on his hands - his blood - and with luca moaning that boy's name from their bedroom down the hall, yuri was out of the house, running down flights of apartment block stairs and outside into the open air.
the wet blood on his face was cold in the evening air. the sun was setting. yuri started thinking about victor's texts of sunset beaches as he walked down the street. he wasn't sure where he was walking to, but he didn't stop. he slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat. he was wearing the same jeans and sweater he had worn when he breathed in the smell of coffee and shower gel.
yuri wasn't sure he liked that smell.
god, he wanted heroin.
yuri got to the end of a second street seemingly stretching into nothing, took his cold, blood-stained hands out of his pockets and called jj leroy, who picked up straight away, coughed a little, then gave yuri an address to meet him at for a fix when yuri asked.
yuri hesitated. he wondered if he shouldn't have gone to victor nikiforov's big, expensive white house.
fucking nostalgia threatened to make it all so, so much worse than luca di marco hitting him, cursing at him and starting to fuck somebody else right in front of him. yuri remembered the address as the hotel jj had met him in before. he didn't go towards victor's house.
it was night. the sun had set. yuri hadn't seen the sun set that day. as he got onto the next bus, he thought about what he must have been doing when the sun was going down. he couldn't remember.
yuri didn't listen to the 1975 on the bus journey to the address jj had given him. instead, he sat at the back still, in that dun-coloured coat, forgot how to feel and didn't bother to wipe the blood away from his nose.
the bruise around his eye was lilac, he noticed, in the glimmer of his reflection he caught on the metal lining of the revolving hotel doors. it was warm inside, as
"hey," he heard a familiar voice say, as he stepped into the bar of the hotel he had overdosed in where jj had told him to meet him. it wasn't jj who was there.
"jj told me you were looking for a fix, baby," akio tanaka said, leaning against the wall and smiling pleasantly. yuri didn't bat an eye. he didn't mind. he asked akio how much it was going to cost. thoughts of red lingerie and what a fucking cliché x were drowned out with a longing for heroin.
he was following akio outside, hands in his coat pockets, and asked him again how much it was going to cost him. he didn't care. akio leant against he car door, before he touched yuri's arm, in such a soft way he could be mistaken for affection.
"you don't have to pay me," akio whispered in his ear, and yuri took a moment, nodded, and followed him out to his car. he looked across at akio from the passenger seat, and felt the strongest urge to cry - to lean against the window of a silver mercedes and cry - but just bit his lip and watched the street lights pass them by.
it didn't come as a surprise to yuri; he knew akio had been selling drugs at parties to make a quick profit; he'd heard drugged-up rich kids talking about it between one another as they had eyed him up through a crowd of expensive clothes and red-rimmed eyes.
he was thinking about sunsets again when akio's car pulled up outside his house. yuri had never seen akio's house before. he didn't much like it from outside. the inside was too warm.
"you ready?" akio asked, lighter on under the spoon before the syringe sucked up the clear liquid.
yuri suddenly felt very alone, and very cold in the muggy atmosphere and i his thick dun-coloured coat.
"yes," he said, clearing his throat, and akio pulled a blue tie around his forearm.
fucking nostalgia, yuri laughed tearfully to himself.
akio put the syringe between his teeth as he tightened the tie, a little too tight, before he poised to press it into yuri's forearm.
"i can do it," yuri muttered quietly, taking it from between akio's teeth.
"are you sure about that?" akio laughed, and sat back on his palms on the sofa they were sat on. "i heard last time you shot yo with jj you overdosed, baby."
yuri winced a little at that. akio rubbed away the streak of blood running from his nose onto his lips, left by luca.
"someone not treating you right?" he whispered, his thumb over yuri's lips, and in that one moment, sitting on that couch in a room that was too warm, yuri's head was swimming with tearful thoughts of sunsets, heroin, blood and lilac watercolours.
and yuri leant his head against akio tanaka's shoulder - as he had done to victor nikiforov only two days before - because he kissed himself that the soft touch of wiping blood away was affectionate.
his mind was screaming that is wasn't real. his mind for screaming for him to get up. his mind was screaming out to him that yes, this was akio tanaka sitting before him - akio tanaka - and that yes, victor loved him. victor loved him.
"you don't have to go back to him," akio said, softening a little, and his hand was on yuri's back. yuri hated this; he hated, hated, hated this. a mess. like lilac watercolours mingling with water and running down a canvas, their colour lost, too weak.
"wait," yuri whispered, and managed to snatch a breath of air from above the water's surface. he sat away from akio, got up, and took his phone out of his back pocket.
calling contact victor🌅...
"hello?"
chris?
"oh...i..."
"victor's sort of...busy, now..."
"oh."
he heard the rustle of akio's jeans in the other room, and that familiar pain was his chest; a pain that came with broken glass, "a fucking whore," chris's lips and victor's scent.
"why are you calling him?" chris asked. "you want to talk to him, or want to fuck him?"
yuri's chest tightened. he felt like drowning.
"i want to talk to him," he said through gritted teeth, trying to stop his voice from shaking. "what are you doing, answering his phone?"
"i'm in his fucking bed. the phone was nearby. i picked it up. want to leave a message i can give to him?"
yuri felt a lump in his throat. he knew victor was sleeping wth other people - "meaningless sex" - and he knew that chris giacometti was one of them.
victor✉️; i'm fucking someone i know is in love me
victor✉️; so i guess i'm exploiting them for sex
yuri didn't know why, but the thought of victor was chris hurt. god, did it hurt.
he heard akio clear his throat in the other room, and the television start playing as he it had done when he'd gone back to luca's apartment after leaving victor's house. leaving his yellow book on the dresser chris could surely see then from the bed.
victor✉️; no one else smells like bubblegum
victor✉️; their hair isn't as soft
victor✉️; their skin doesn't feel the same
victor✉️; but i'm thinking about you
victor✉️; because i can't have you
"chris?"
"what?"
yuri didn't know what; for some reason, the words god, do i want you had lost their meaning; had lost their feeling.
"...god, i should've let chris fuck me..."
yuri thought of victor with chris. it hurt. he thought of going back to victor and feeling that feeling all over again. he stood in akio's hall, biting at his nail, listening to chris breathing down the other end of the line.
redlingeriesunsebeacheslilacwatercolourswhatafuckingclichédustthe1975
it's always going to hurt.
celestino was right.
it was a fantasy.
a fantasy.
it wasn't real, yuri.
bathwatervanillaaftershavelemonsoftwhitebedsheetsyellowbooksvictoriassecret
yuri leant his head back against the wall, which was too cold, his arm still aching from the pull of the tie. he breathed out slowly, and but at his bottom lip. he looked at all of the fucking dust around him - everything had crumbled to dust - before he opened his mouth to tell chris that victor wanted him.
more to convince himself than anything else.
"chris?"
he heard victor's soft, gossamer smooth accent saying another's name, and hung up straight away.
heroin is going to make it all go away.
go so, so faraway.
let you leave it all behind, yuri.
"ok," yuri said to akio, and took off his coat as he sat back down in the sofa. he glanced up at akio as he adjusted the syringe, a tie around his own arm now, the skin around it red under the pressure. yuri had that urge to cry again, because only as the needle went into his skin did he see what a fucking mess everything was.
a mess of lilac, heroin, white shirts, the 1975, cocaine, denim jackets and cigarettes.