The benefit of Yuri's late arrival is that the airport is slow, and traffic isn't bad: not getting out of the lot, or as they turn onto the main roads. It's still a further drive than he'd really want it to be back to Hasetsu, but there shouldn't be any delays. He has directions from Minako and Yuri here to help if he's not sure which way to go, and things could be worse. Maccachin, curling up on the back seat with a contented, dissolving sigh. Yuri, sitting in the passenger seat next to him, right there every time he looks over. "You've been home for a while now. It must be strange to be traveling again."
Yuri hadn't traveled at all last season, after all. Had skipped the whole thing after the Japanese Nationals the year before, and spent that last year in Detroit before coming back home.
(He can't imagine how Yuri managed to stay away for the five years beforehand. It seems impossible to imagine Yuri anywhere other than the onsen, or the Ice Palace.)
And there's that other thing, too. The one still niggling at him, guilt chewing away at his stomach even with Yuri here, Yuri who threw himself at Victor, Yuri who wanted Victor to stay with him. The apology that keeps crawling up his throat, even if he'd said it before he even left Moscow.
Sorry for leaving him. Sorry for dumping him on Yakov like so much luggage. Sorry for not being there when Yuri needed him.
It's over now, and everything is fine, but it still troubles him, that sorry that he'd whispered into Yuri's ear just before he left, but that seems to have stayed caught in his throat. "It shouldn't be too long of a drive. We'll be there before you know it."
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Yuri hadn't traveled at all last season, after all. Had skipped the whole thing after the Japanese Nationals the year before, and spent that last year in Detroit before coming back home.
(He can't imagine how Yuri managed to stay away for the five years beforehand. It seems impossible to imagine Yuri anywhere other than the onsen, or the Ice Palace.)
And there's that other thing, too. The one still niggling at him, guilt chewing away at his stomach even with Yuri here, Yuri who threw himself at Victor, Yuri who wanted Victor to stay with him. The apology that keeps crawling up his throat, even if he'd said it before he even left Moscow.
Sorry for leaving him. Sorry for dumping him on Yakov like so much luggage. Sorry for not being there when Yuri needed him.
It's over now, and everything is fine, but it still troubles him, that sorry that he'd whispered into Yuri's ear just before he left, but that seems to have stayed caught in his throat. "It shouldn't be too long of a drive. We'll be there before you know it."