eight

                                    

                                          
yuuri's POV
                          
i know i should be happy.
                          
sitting around the table with my loving family, eating dinner and chatting about miscellaneous stories we'll all forget about in 2 hours. my mom smiling brightly at the scene, looking in awe at her husband, daughter and son. 
                          
she's lying. i'm a disappointment.
                          
i politely excuse myself from dinner and stumble in my room, flopping face first on my bed and staring at the ceiling.
                          
what's wrong with me? most things in my life are stable. skating has been getting better recently, my friends are all happy and i love seeing them that way, and i have a caring and ridiculously supportive family standing by my side. 
                          
so why do i feel like a hollow, incomplete shell? like i haven't found my ocean yet?
                          
i reach my arm out in front of me, my chubby hands blocking the light as i stretch out my fingers and pull them in gracefully, one by one. 
                          
"victor..."
                          
that damn name has been swarming my brain like flies all day.
                          
it never leaves. everything i do is interrupted by my brain repeating "victor, victor, victor", constantly, and i think it's beginning to drive me insane.
                          
victor is a stranger. he could be anyone. he could be a homeless man living on the streets desperate for a friend, or a rich ice skater like he says he is, needing someone weaker than them to befriend so it'll make them look stronger. 
                          
but something in my brain tells me neither of them are correct. 
                          
victor is different to anyone ive ever known. we've only been messaging back and forth for a couple months maybe, but i just notice he cares. 
                          
he cares because he messages me everyday asking how i am, how my day was. and it's not forced, he's generally interested.
he cares because he calls me beautiful nearly on a daily basis.
he cares because he's never given up on me, even though he doesn't even know what i look like, or what kind of person i am at all. 
                          
maybe its a good thing he doesn't know what i look like, let's be real.
                          
but even though he doesn't know me, he truly cares about me. and he's the one person on this earth i've ever fully trusted. 
                          
i sigh deeply, exhaling all the anxiety in the pits of my stomach and close my eyes. 
                          
these thoughts always make my heart flutter. they make the hairs on my arms stand up. they make me sweat slightly, feeling like victor is standing right beside me.
                          
i sit up slowly, rubbing my tired eyes and reaching to pick up my phone, knots in my stomach as my phone brushes past messenger.
                          
{you have 0 new notifications.}
                          
of course.
                          
"where are you victor... I need you..." the quiver in my lip shakes, and the lump in my throat turns from a pebble into a boulder, and my brown eyes start to tear up.
                          
and, just as if on cue, my phone buzzes. 
not a message though, as a familiar jingle brightens my ears and a blue glow illuminates from my phone.
                          
{incoming skype call - v-nikiforov} 
                          
{accept/decline}