BEFORE THE BEGINNING or NEXT
BEFORE THE BEGINNING — three sentences (or more) about something that happened before the plot of my current project
“Viiiityaaaa…”
Yuuri slumps against the wall, face downcast, and tries to push his glasses up his nose. The problem is that his glasses are on the kitchen table. When he pokes himself instead, he blinks, squints at his finger, and then up at Viktor, confused, and Viktor sighs and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “C’mon, Yuuri. You’re drunk. It’s bedtime.”
Yuuri makes a face. “No drinking. That party had really bad punch. Made me throw up. A lot.”
“I know,” Viktor says patiently, guiding him away from the wall and toward his bedroom. God, his best friend is a mess, and it’s not fair how much seeing him like this, taking care of him like this, is tugging at his heartstrings. “I was there.”
“Oh, right.” Yuuri careens into his side before regaining his balance, clutching at Viktor’s shirt, and blinks several times, finally looking up with big, sad eyes. “Vitya? The floor is spinning. It’s being mean. Tell it to stop?”
“Floor, stop being mean to Yuuri,” Viktor instructs. The floor does not respond, because it is a floor, but he’s a simple gay and he can’t resist a request from Yuuri’s molten puppy eyes. So what if he’s maybe in love with his best friend? It doesn’t mean anything.
“It’s not listening,” Yuuri whines. “If the floor never stops bullying me how am I supposed to study for the micro exam next week?! I’ll fail and then I’ll have to drop out of school and die and I’ll miss you and - wait, no, I can’t miss people if I die, can I?”
“The floor told me it’ll stop bullying you once you get in bed,” Viktor interrupts, tugging him toward his room again. Poor Yuuri. He went to the party because he was stressed and needed a break, but now he’s just stressed and drunk. “It swears. So come on, okay? Just a little farther.”
“The floor is ugly and mean and rude,” Yuuri declares, swaying as he stabs a finger at the carpet. Viktor gives up, at this point, and leans down to wrap his arms around Yuuri’s hips to pick him up. “Wh-whoaaaa! Vitya! I’m flying!”
“Yes,” Viktor sighs, carrying him to bed. “Now you land,” and he does, with a thump, “and now you sleep.”
Yuuri grabs his sleeve, and his breath catches in his throat. “Stay,” he asks, eyes wide and plaintive again, and, well… Viktor is a simple gay, so he does.