long !! chapter !! please !! comment !!
LOVE IT IF WE MADE IT
THE 1975
déjà vu was a suffocating as the pain victor had grown so used to after he headed out into the street, an address circling his head, cigarette smoke choking him, having just pushed his way into jj leroy's apartment and found out where akio fucking tanaka was.
victor was still angry - still so fucking angry. he was still so angry after punching jj leroy square in the jaw, bloodying his knuckles, and demanding why the fuck he was giving yuri heroin again.
the video akio fucking tanaka had sent him still playing through his mind, victor had been almost - almost - too fucking angry to listen to jj protesting, saying he hadn't shot up for weeks, showing the fading dot on his arm as evidence, bottom lip bleeding.
victor took a harder, longer drag as he remembered everything piecing together in jj's apartment, and ignored the rain starting to hammer down; as he remembered jj telling him that it was akio fucking tanaka giving yuri heroin, because it was akio fucking tanaka who'd sold heroin to jj months ago.
at one of those god-awful, ear-splitting, mind-numbing, vodka and crop top laced parties.
yuri💌; i want to use heroin again
yuri💌; and my boyfriend only uses me for sex
yuri💌; fucks someone else
yuri💌; then looks over at me
yuri💌; tells me i'm pretty
yuri💌; fucks me
the pouring rain washed jj leroy's blood off of victor's right hand and soaked up his white shirt as he headed down the rain-kissed streets.
the address he'd demanded from jj as he lay on the floor of his apartment with bruised lips - akio fucking tanaka's address - circled his mind like sea-foam gathering over waves.
his hands were already balled up into fists, nails cutting into his palms like the metal of a cigarette lighter.
victor.
victor.
victor this -
this -
this won't -
this won't help yuri -
rain water washed away the nicotine from his lips like it had jj leroy's blood from his knuckles.
vodkabubblegumvanillayellow1975iloveyouafuckingwhoreakioiceglassneck
victor got there before he thought he would, either that or he was losing his mind. the streetlights had passed in a blur like the headlights on the motorway, as quick as he'd lost control and kissed yuri katsuki three days before. and before he could begin to think about what he was doing - fists clenched, rain in his eyes - he was hammering on the front door, cigarette discarded somewhere down the street.
"are you fucking kidding - "
no sooner had akio fucking tanaka opened his mouth -
afuckingwhorelipstickheroincroptops
- victor pushed his way inside, and couldn't stop himself from punching him, couldn't stop himself from feeling his fist connect with bone and a crack, tapes of ruby red dots and dun-coloured coats running through his mind.
"bastard - " victor spat, and akio stumbled back and groaned in pain. as he leaned back against the wall, victor slammed the front door shut and caught his breath; his fist was bruising, but he didn't care.
he saw blood on akio's lips, and if he hadn't have been looking through the room desperately to find yuri - praying to a god he'd never believed in that he wouldn't be lying still as he had been on that hotel bed. but all his ocean eyes found were two men smoking joints on the couch, crumpled cigarette packets, filled ashtrays, faded blue cushions -
and his own blood-stained denim jacket lying on the couch, beside the fair-headed man with dazed eyes making the room smell like marijuana and mint chewing gum.
"jesus...fuck..."
victor could hear akio groan in the hall, wincing, coughing, wincing again, as he made his way over to the couch, ignoring the two men's cursing at him, asking him who the fuck he was.
he ignored them all as he held the jacket, creased, in his hands, rubbing the material under his fingers. he breathed in the scent of it, and could've sworn he could smell bubblegum amid the weed and nicotine tainted the denim from the room's empty atmosphere.
emptiness; that's what victor felt as he held the jacket to him, and hid his face in the faint, soft scent of yuri katsuki. because this was all his fault - his fault that yuri was here, with akio fucking tanaka, doing heroin again. that everything he'd said to chris giacometti was his fault, and that it was him who called yuri katsuki "a fucking whore."
victor heard akio's voice, strained because of the pain, loud in anger as he told the other two men smoking weed to "call the fucking police," and hated to let the jacket go, because now he was back in that empty room that smelt like marijuana and cigarettes, and the scent of bubblegum was gone.
"what the fuck, nikiforov?" akio shouted, blood running slowly from the corner of his mouth as he punched victor in the jaw and sent him to the floor. victor could taste blood in his own mouth, but he didn't care.
"where the fuck is he?" is all he said, picking himself up off of the floor, fists clenching on their own, waves rolling and crashing, rolling and crashing in his head. akio wiped blood from his lips with the back of his hand, and laughed.
"where the fuck is who?" he sneered, breathless, hair in his eyes. the two men on the couch said something that didn't register with victor, who was so fucking angry, the pain in his chest breaking over the shore.
"akio, the fuck is this?" one of the men from the couch asked wearily, joint burning out between his fingers. he was in expensive clothes, hair shining too much, eyes red-rimmed; just another drugged-up rich kid with plenty of babble notes in his pockets, who made the victor nikiforov want to both laugh out loud and cry.
"he's looking for yuri," akio managed, spitting a little blood, which was staining the colour of his shirt. then his lip curled, and he was smirking at victor. "wants to fuck him, don't you, nikiforov?"
victor couldn't breathe, he was so fucking angry.
"yeah," akio laughed, sniffing, wiping blood from under his nose. victor thought he looked just how he'd always imagined he himself would look if he overdosed. "gets off on the thought of him having sex with other people."
"you shut the fuck up," was all victor could say, through gritted teeth, voice scarcely audible at all because he was so fucking angry. akio glanced at the two men in the couch, then at the blood-stained denim jacket beside them.
"is that a threat?" akio scoffed, hair still in his eyes, and laughed tastelessly. "you really are quite something, nikiforov, did you know that?"
"where's yuri?" victor demanded, voice slow, trying to keep it level, trying to stop his fists from clenching tight by his side.
the sight of this man, who'd hurt his yuri so bad, and was now giving him heroin - taking advantage of him, keeping him here, using his body. like all those countless other drugged-up rich kids - made victor want to smash a vodka bottle over his head and see red.
"what, you want to fucking hit me again, is that it?"
akio took a step back, and opened his arms, laughing.
"well," he said, blood in the corner of his mouth. "come on then."
victor was shaking, he was so angry,
so fucking angry, and yet he couldn't do a thing. he couldn't move, couldn't breathe -
"where's yuri?" was all he could say again, and his voice was strained so tight to keep it level that it was as thin as the paper of page 98 in yuri's yellow book.
"it's all about him, isn't it?" akio sighed, wiping away the blood from his bottom lip. victor's fists tightened. the men in the couch took another drag on both joints.
"you really going to get yourself fucking arrested," akio went on, taking a daring step towards victor, "trying to take back somebody who doesn't want you anymore?"
victor couldn't move, couldn't breathe -
"you saw that video," akio said in a lowered voice. "he was moaning my name - "
glass was shattering -
"where is he?" victor almost shouted, grabbing akio by the shirt. akio regained himself, and shrugged victor off. the sea of victor's mind was too violent, too caught up in itself and every fucking emotion in those waves to react.
"you want to hit me?" akio repeated, his voice steely, and victor remembered the blood on yuri's bottom lip, the bruises of hickeys on his neck, the way his breathing was high-pitched and quick in fear as victor pulled him out of chris's apartment.
after akio had forced his hands down yuri's jeans.
"damn," akio laughed again, eyes bright. "i mean, i know he's good in bed but...damn...i didn't know he was this good - "
"stop," victor growled, pulling him again by tight handfuls of his shirt, but akio barely winced. he kept that same smirk on his lips.
"go on," he said to victor, and one of the men on the couch re-lit his spliff. victor hated to think of yuri being there. the blood-stained denim jacket was still on the couch, just visible out of the corner of his ocean eyes.
"go on," akio repeated. "tell me. how much did you pay him?"
victor couldn't breathe.
"i mean, the victor nikiforov falling for a slut, who would've thought?"
akio laughed again, and stepped away from victor, who was so fucking angry that he'd loosened his grip.
"tell me," akio said again, eyebrows raised, "how much? if he was this good, so good that you'd get yourself nearly fucking arrested to have him just once more - "
he gestured to the blood on his face.
" - c'mon, tell me. twenty?"
banknotesthismustbemydreamvodka
"thirty?"
FOOLSlucalilacsugardenimheaven
"maybe love was the wrong word, huh?" akio went on, heading into the hall, victor following him without even thinking about it, the two men still smoking marijuana on the couch.
akio picked up his phone, and waved it a little.
"i could call the fucking police, nikiforov, i could. GBH sends you away for quite a fucking while. that celestino cialdini knows that all too well."
hearing that man in the boss suit's name made the anger freeze over, then shatter into shards of ice like glass and sent the waves crashing down.
"yuri got yuri away from him, didn't you?" akio went on, wiping away some of the blood from his mouth again. "i guess that was you showing how much you love him, right? was that before or after you told him you thought he was a fucking whore, huh?"
victor stood still as glass.
"he told me about that," akio said softly, before shrugging again. "it's true, though."
victor shattered.
"what the fuck did you just say?"
akio sighed, and shook his head.
"i said," he went on, taking a step towards victor, "that it's true. he's a fucking whore, a lolita, a slut, even when he's not charging for it. i mean - "
victor could feel blood running down his palm, from where he'd dug his nails into the skin.
" - he leaves you, and a few days later, he's letting some artist boy fuck him, but he's still talking to you, still letting you give him hickeys, probably sucking you off in your car - "
akio laughed shortly at victor, shaking his head, sending dark hair falling into his eyes.
" - i saw those hickeys on his neck," he went on. "and a few hours after he saw you, i fucked him myself. and he didn't seem to be complaining, did he?"
he took another few steps towards victor.
"you should know, shouldn't you," he muttered, keeping his stare on victor's ocean eyes. "after all, you saw the video."
victor's hands were wet with blood. he could still see that denim jacket on the couch, smelling like bubblegum and weed.
"who the fuck are you kidding, nikiforov?" akio laughed. "coming 'round here to hit me around, show yuri how much you care about him, is guessing. jesus, it's not like you do love him, is it? he's a fucking whore, who you paid to fuck at some party months ago, thought was cute and decided to fuck aga - "
a vodka glass hit the wall in victor's mind, and before his conscience could cry out above the waves for him to stop he threw himself at akio fucking tanaka, kicking him after he crumpled to the floor, over and over again as he had done celestino cialdini, punching him until his knuckles were bloody, elevator lights and needles and red fucking lingerie swirling around and around and -
"i've called the fucking police - "
"he's fucking crazy - "
"he's fucking high - "
the shouting of those two drugged-up rich kids cut through the haze of marijuana and blood, and stopped, chest heaving, blood on his hands, blood in his mouth, bruised fist, akio fucking tanaka scarcely moving in the floor at his feet.
he moaned, one hand on the wall, before he slumped down.
victor lit another cigarette, using the lighter peeking out of one of the other stoners' jacket pockets on the banister. he could hear one of them gushing down the phone line, voice slightly slurred from the weed.
"...attacked...he...bleeding...nikiforov..."
victor took another drag and sat down on the bottom step, the unconscious akio fucking tanaka only two metres away. he heard the phone click as the man hung up, rubbed his face and cursed under his breath again. victor saw that akio's fingers had left a smear of blood on the wall.
oh god.
oh god.
victor.
look at what you've done.
look at what you've done.
victor ran a bloodied hand through his silver hair, still dropping with rainwater, and breathed in nicotine that was doing nothing to dull the pain in his chest.
the police would be there soon. he took another, longer drag and listened to the two men talking from the other room, smoking joints anxiously, trying not to focus on the blood on the wall.
one of them suddenly looked over to the stairs, catching victor's attention.
he wouldn't have seen yuri katuski standing at the top if he hadn't been watching those two drugged-up rich kids in expensive suits on the couch.
"victor?"