He doesn't know all of the words, and there's a wash of connecting images to the things on the table back at the restaurant their first night. The gelled ducks blood and the still slithering shrimp. (Lingers for a second, when he's chewing a little longer than his other bites, thinking about the rest of that scene. The drinks and Victor throwing at him.

Almost kissing him.


Possibly several times, he realizes belatedly.


And later. The - his.)


The next swallow feels like he still might not have chewed it enough before he's pushing it down too big. Some thread between there and here. Between the way Victor is looking at him, eating, and talking like normal. Except. Here and other there and minutes ago between the bathroom and the door. It's real, whispers, surreal in Victor's voice, while Victor's real voice is still talking about food.

Detours to Yurio.

Who'll be back for the first time since he vanished amid their small competition.
Back for one that is nothing like small. This next step toward the Grand Prix Finale.

"Maybe," isn't entirely swallowed, but he can't even imagine being the person to ask about that. Victor, definitely could. Yuusan could have asked, and probably received an answer. They'd stayed in contact since his leaving, more than Yurio had talked to either of them, at least that Yuri knew of.

He sets his bowl down, finally, picks up his tea. "What will you want first?"

The words are in his mouth, but as soon as they are coming out, they aren't the question in his mind, filling up the curious distance in his expression. It's what does he miss most. Of this whole world, Victor hasn't returned to his home for more than half of this year.

It makes him think about Detroit and coming home the beginning of this year.
Wonder, for a not too brief second, how much Victor will miss it when they are there.