Back when he first arrived all those months ago, he wouldn't know what to do with Yuri's lack of response, of anything but that small noncommittal noise, and he would have assumed he'd done or said something wrong. That's not the case now, as they walk towards the lot where he'd left Minako's car, Maccachin trotting happily at Yuri's side. His hand tightens and then lifts away, but it isn't because he's suddenly unsure of what he's doing, saying, what Yuri's thinking: it's just cold and he isn't wearing his gloves, has to slip his fingers into his coat pocket to keep them warm.

(The onsen will feel better than ever in this cold weather.)

"Minako lent me her car –– it's over this way."

No, it's been a long while since he's been befuddled by all of Yuri's silences. True, there are some he still doesn't understand –– all those long, tense moments in Shanghai, before Yuri finally snapped, and afterwards in the hotel room when Victor couldn't seem to find solid ground on whether or not what he was doing, saying, wanted was okay -– but not this kind.

Yuri is relieved to be home. He's tired, mentally, emotionally, physically. He's had a grueling week and a half, and spent the better part of the last day on a plane. He'd been dumped onto a team of Russians he barely understands, who don't like him all that much and have no reason to, aside from the fact that Victor asked them to help him.

(Yakov. He asked Yakov.


He's not going to be able to leave that conversation ignored after this.)

Given the chance, Yuri would probably fall asleep right in the car on the way home. Except that he's determined to watch the exhibition and Victor is determined to stay with him, so it'll probably be a few hours yet before he actually does rest.

(Yes, tomorrow he can sleep as long as he wants.) "She'll be happy to see you tomorrow, too."