It's quiet in the car. The music and the sound of the engine are nothing but white noise. He can't tell the difference between songs, isn't paying attention to melodies or lyrics. It's on just loud enough to be a soothing background noise, as the world rolls past the windows and they get closer and closer to home. Close enough, after twenty minutes, to smell salt in the air. Close enough to start thinking about what to do when they finally get there. Yuri will want to put his luggage in his room, and they'll both want to change into pyjamas, and then he'll have to find the livestream. Possibly he should do that first, and let it try to connect, since it might take a little while to catch up.
And then they'll watch Yurio. And after that ...
He looks over at the brush of Yuri's thumb against his hand, the pathetic little jolt his heart gives each time it happens, but Yuri is drifting, drifting, and finally gone , when Victor looks over next. Eyelashes a shadowed smudge against his cheeks, breathing soft and even, dropping off as thoroughly as Maccachin, there in the back seat. Who will probably want to join them while they watch the exhibition.
He'll be happy Yuri's home. He's in Yuri's bed in the mornings nearly as often as he's in Victor's.
But that thought only reminds him of having to give Yuri up almost as soon as they get home, and it's a sick clenching grip in his stomach. A violent, kneejerk negation.
He only just got Yuri back. How can he be expected to let him go, even for a night?
When it's so sweet to watch him sleep. He looks exhausted, even now: skin so translucent under his eyes that the dark shadows look like bruises. Hair mussed and rumpled. Face drawn and tired.
But here. Home. Back with Victor, where he's supposed to be. Resting, like he needs to.
It's almost enough to make him want to keep driving, instead of turning into the driveway at the onsen and coming to a gentle stop. Untangling his fingers, finally, from Yuri's, while Maccachin gets up in the back and noses at the door to be let out.
Lifting his hand to brush some hair out of Yuri's face, voice gentle. "Yuri, wake up. We're home."
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It's quiet in the car. The music and the sound of the engine are nothing but white noise. He can't tell the difference between songs, isn't paying attention to melodies or lyrics. It's on just loud enough to be a soothing background noise, as the world rolls past the windows and they get closer and closer to home. Close enough, after twenty minutes, to smell salt in the air. Close enough to start thinking about what to do when they finally get there. Yuri will want to put his luggage in his room, and they'll both want to change into pyjamas, and then he'll have to find the livestream. Possibly he should do that first, and let it try to connect, since it might take a little while to catch up.
And then they'll watch Yurio. And after that ...
He looks over at the brush of Yuri's thumb against his hand, the pathetic little jolt his heart gives each time it happens, but Yuri is drifting, drifting, and finally gone , when Victor looks over next. Eyelashes a shadowed smudge against his cheeks, breathing soft and even, dropping off as thoroughly as Maccachin, there in the back seat. Who will probably want to join them while they watch the exhibition.
He'll be happy Yuri's home. He's in Yuri's bed in the mornings nearly as often as he's in Victor's.
But that thought only reminds him of having to give Yuri up almost as soon as they get home, and it's a sick clenching grip in his stomach. A violent, kneejerk negation.
He only just got Yuri back. How can he be expected to let him go, even for a night?
When it's so sweet to watch him sleep. He looks exhausted, even now: skin so translucent under his eyes that the dark shadows look like bruises. Hair mussed and rumpled. Face drawn and tired.
But here. Home. Back with Victor, where he's supposed to be. Resting, like he needs to.
It's almost enough to make him want to keep driving, instead of turning into the driveway at the onsen and coming to a gentle stop. Untangling his fingers, finally, from Yuri's, while Maccachin gets up in the back and noses at the door to be let out.
Lifting his hand to brush some hair out of Yuri's face, voice gentle. "Yuri, wake up. We're home."