That Victor jumps in to comment is about as normal as it can be, and there's something to that, because the world would want to know. How Victor feels about what Yuri did, and how long was it planned, and whether it was just a sign of things to come, their own dramatic, last second of the first Qualifier, knock it out of the park, above everyone's heads, statement of how they were taking the road to the Gran Prix Finale by storm.
It's a little easier, too. To subside into surprise when Victor jumps into the forefront, from a common arm against his shoulder, to that presence right behind him when Victor isn't, to pushing forward, hands in the air, and tackles the question with the kind of pride and obvious confidence that makes him look like none of it could have ever been a surprise to him. Even when it was. Maybe most of all to him.
Even though Yuri, with the weight of silver hanging around his neck still, can't help but flush, even as he smiles. That Victor isn't even just taking it in stride. He's running with it, in front of all the lights and cameras, the way he always had, always does. Saying there's no way he won't win in the Rostelecom Cup, not now, not with Victor's flip in his repertoire, and that he'll be so glad to be coming back to Russia as Yuri's coach.
All the same, Yuri is still relieved when it's over, and the second question that might be asked, hovering just as loud and just as present at the edge of his mind, doesn't get asked. Not that he's certain it's not there, just at the edge of the manic focus, smiles and shouting voices of the interviewers. But ... it wouldn't be entirely proper to ask, would it? About what everyone saw at the end?
Which maybe does leave him a little off footed, and when was the last time he wasn't comfortable next to Victor?
Aside from earlier today. Or the first night here. But even those aren't quite like ... this.
Uncomfortable ... is the wrong word. It's not about comfort. It's. It's.
Not quite certain without being entirely uncertain, while Victor went on being himself. Effusive. Bright. Unruffled. All smiles and ready answers. Perfectly himself, juxtaposed against a frozen moment in Yuri's skin, and his head. That to think about still causes him to get goosebumps and his hands to find his pockets, his phone, his thighs. Something solid, like the world, wasn't quite solid, then. Like he'd fallen off of it, and might again if he look at it head on.
"I'll go change." There was still the gala tomorrow, and he'd probably need an epic ice pack for his side tonight, and still he lingered just a step too long, like the most obvious of sentences, of next steps, at the end of skating, and medaling, and interviews, had the strangest of question marks attached to it, in the space and silence after saying it.
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It's a little easier, too. To subside into surprise when Victor jumps into the forefront, from a common arm against his shoulder, to that presence right behind him when Victor isn't, to pushing forward, hands in the air, and tackles the question with the kind of pride and obvious confidence that makes him look like none of it could have ever been a surprise to him. Even when it was. Maybe most of all to him.
Even though Yuri, with the weight of silver hanging around his neck still, can't help but flush, even as he smiles. That Victor isn't even just taking it in stride. He's running with it, in front of all the lights and cameras, the way he always had, always does. Saying there's no way he won't win in the Rostelecom Cup, not now, not with Victor's flip in his repertoire, and that he'll be so glad to be coming back to Russia as Yuri's coach.
All the same, Yuri is still relieved when it's over, and the second question that might be asked, hovering just as loud and just as present at the edge of his mind, doesn't get asked. Not that he's certain it's not there, just at the edge of the manic focus, smiles and shouting voices of the interviewers. But ... it wouldn't be entirely proper to ask, would it? About what everyone saw at the end?
Which maybe does leave him a little off footed, and when was the last time he wasn't comfortable next to Victor?
Aside from earlier today. Or the first night here. But even those aren't quite like ... this.
Uncomfortable ... is the wrong word. It's not about comfort. It's. It's.
Not quite certain without being entirely uncertain, while Victor went on being himself. Effusive. Bright. Unruffled. All smiles and ready answers. Perfectly himself, juxtaposed against a frozen moment in Yuri's skin, and his head. That to think about still causes him to get goosebumps and his hands to find his pockets, his phone, his thighs. Something solid, like the world, wasn't quite solid, then. Like he'd fallen off of it, and might again if he look at it head on.
"I'll go change." There was still the gala tomorrow, and he'd probably need an epic ice pack for his side tonight, and still he lingered just a step too long, like the most obvious of sentences, of next steps, at the end of skating, and medaling, and interviews, had the strangest of question marks attached to it, in the space and silence after saying it.