He looks healthy and happy, and, like Victor pointed out, unaware. If Yuri hadn't lived through the last two days, if he was just another one of the people in this room, he'd never have the cause to question it. It's as relieving as it is almost disjointing. Maccachin looks ready to romp and play, and bump into peoples knees, and go rolling around on the floor or chasing after them. It's hard to connect that with Mari's voice. To the idea of him with the bun stuck in his throat, losing the ability to breathe.
But as soon as he thinks it, he's glad he didn't see it, too. He wants to remember this part more. The part where it did work out.
The part where he's okay.
Yuri's mouth twitches when Maccachin goes leaping for Victor's hand held out to him, and there's no real chagrin for that. He can't help the smile as Victor switches to scolding his dog with an expression and tone that sound nothing like actually put upon. The way Yuri feels absolutely nothing like put upon to push up from the ground and stand by himself.
It's hard, in the way where the word is right and the word is wrong, but so right, just to be able to see them. Watch them. Everything about it is right. The fondness and complaining from Victor, the lack of manners and the endless, bounding affection from Maccachin. It's the way it should be. Yuri's not proud of all of the last weekend, no matter that Victor's word about everyone being proud of him spent replaying in the long dark flight in the mess of everything, but he has no conflict in this. This is right.
Victor, with Maccachin. Maccachin, with Victor.
Somewhere, something shifts, just a little more. Makes it just the smallest bit easier to breathe again.
It's not the same as easy and there's no promise, in the careful breath he takes in, starting to walk beside them, he won't just burst into tears again at the next brush of the wind or if Victor hugs him again, but easier. That there is something, one thing, that's exactly how it was supposed to be, unchanged and unbroken, and not tarnished even for what happened. "Were there any special instructions for his care now?"
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He looks healthy and happy, and, like Victor pointed out, unaware. If Yuri hadn't lived through the last two days, if he was just another one of the people in this room, he'd never have the cause to question it. It's as relieving as it is almost disjointing. Maccachin looks ready to romp and play, and bump into peoples knees, and go rolling around on the floor or chasing after them. It's hard to connect that with Mari's voice. To the idea of him with the bun stuck in his throat, losing the ability to breathe.
But as soon as he thinks it, he's glad he didn't see it, too.
He wants to remember this part more.
The part where it did work out.
The part where he's okay.
Yuri's mouth twitches when Maccachin goes leaping for Victor's hand held out to him, and there's no real chagrin for that. He can't help the smile as Victor switches to scolding his dog with an expression and tone that sound nothing like actually put upon. The way Yuri feels absolutely nothing like put upon to push up from the ground and stand by himself.
It's hard, in the way where the word is right and the word is wrong, but so right, just to be able to see them. Watch them. Everything about it is right. The fondness and complaining from Victor, the lack of manners and the endless, bounding affection from Maccachin. It's the way it should be. Yuri's not proud of all of the last weekend, no matter that Victor's word about everyone being proud of him spent replaying in the long dark flight in the mess of everything, but he has no conflict in this. This is right.
Victor, with Maccachin. Maccachin, with Victor.
Somewhere, something shifts, just a little more. Makes it just the smallest bit easier to breathe again.
It's not the same as easy and there's no promise, in the careful breath he takes in, starting to walk beside them, he won't just burst into tears again at the next brush of the wind or if Victor hugs him again, but easier. That there is something, one thing, that's exactly how it was supposed to be, unchanged and unbroken, and not tarnished even for what happened. "Were there any special instructions for his care now?"