Relief is a cold wave breaking over his skin, momentarily washing away his exhaustion and fuzzy uncertainty. It doesn't matter how shyly Yuri says it, or how many qualifications he adds to it (Victor will be astonished if Yuri wakes up early tomorrow morning, no matter what bed he might be in) –– he said it, and he meant it. "Good."

As uncertain as Yuri is, he's just as sure. There's nothing small or waffling about his opinion on all this. "I don't want you to leave."

Although if Yuri's going to stay, he's right that there are some small things they ought to take care of, first: not least of which is the paper bag that keeps rustling near Victor's knee every time one of them shifts. He looks over at it now, mouth twisting. "I should probably put that in the fridge downstairs, shouldn't I?"

Food in the fridge. Door closed. Lights off. And then, finally ––

Maybe they'll be able to get some sleep.

(He knows he must be tired when that's truly all he wants, even with Yuri staying here with him: sleep, deep and dreamless and rejuvenating. Sleep that they both need. Sleep that neither of them have had for days.

Surely not even Yuri;s parents could begrudge them that.)

He looks back into Yuri's face with a gentle smile, arms slipping around Yuri's waist. "Do you think you can stand two minutes without me? You can get a head start on getting comfortable."

Really, Yuri ought to claim his part of this bed while he can: Maccachin very rarely spends all night on the bed on the floor.