Yuri closes the door to his room, and tosses the balled up blanket from the floor back on his bed, before he opens the closet itself. A disparaging look going toward the not entirely un-neat pile of things, absolutely obvious from, to him, even before the door is half open. It's not that he hasn't even considered the idea of getting rid of it, somehow, without his family spotting it and drawing attention to it, and Victor finding out that way, too. But he can't.
He just. Can't. There are pieces it took ages to get, and some which had to be duplicated because there was so little he could take with him when he left, with his single piece, for America. An assortment of clothes, normal ones, and practices ones. His skates, and his laptop. The knowledge he could buy most of the rest of whatever he might need on the other side, through the school or somewhere in Detroit once he worked that out.
Mostly that meant necessities, but inspiration and direction were a necessity of five years training, too.
Yuri might be frowning frettingly at it now, under his messy bangs, but there was more history in that corner of his closet than he could ever explain. Than he could ever point to on his own skin. All of it somehow pieces that led to whatever exactly is happening in his life now. Practicing to somehow reach the Grand Prix Final with Victor. Yuri pulls down a blanket from the top shelf and there's some annoyance to his own reluctance before he tosses it over. Then, tugs it in some places.
It looks worse for the attempt. A kid trying to cover a mountain under a sheet. Yuri groans before just grabbing a random shirt and shutting the closet door.
A pair of long shorts come next and socks. Running a brush through his hair. Stopping into the bathroom, both to use it and to brush his teeth, before he makes his way to the kitchen. There's a quiet, respectful "おはようございます" for his mother, already up and bustling in the kitchen, likely both this one and the restaurant, before he rounded it for his seat on the mat.
Breakfast, at least, is one of the few meals a day he can match everyone without needing something swapped out. Fish, soup, a portion of rice. The last, half the size of everyone. Some vegetables from the night before. Usually green beans, but this morning it's a small bowl of crispy slices of daikon and lotus root. There's a small, but warm, smile for his mother and the hand that rests on his shoulder just long enough to put the last of the small plates and bowls down while he sat.
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Date: 2017-06-16 04:31 am (UTC)Yuri closes the door to his room, and tosses the balled up blanket from the floor back on his bed, before he opens the closet itself. A disparaging look going toward the not entirely un-neat pile of things, absolutely obvious from, to him, even before the door is half open. It's not that he hasn't even considered the idea of getting rid of it, somehow, without his family spotting it and drawing attention to it, and Victor finding out that way, too. But he can't.
He just. Can't. There are pieces it took ages to get, and some which had to be duplicated because there was so little he could take with him when he left, with his single piece, for America. An assortment of clothes, normal ones, and practices ones. His skates, and his laptop. The knowledge he could buy most of the rest of whatever he might need on the other side, through the school or somewhere in Detroit once he worked that out.
Mostly that meant necessities, but inspiration and direction were a necessity of five years training, too.
Yuri might be frowning frettingly at it now, under his messy bangs, but there was more history in that corner of his closet than he could ever explain. Than he could ever point to on his own skin. All of it somehow pieces that led to whatever exactly is happening in his life now. Practicing to somehow reach the Grand Prix Final with Victor. Yuri pulls down a blanket from the top shelf and there's some annoyance to his own reluctance before he tosses it over. Then, tugs it in some places.
It looks worse for the attempt. A kid trying to cover a mountain under a sheet.
Yuri groans before just grabbing a random shirt and shutting the closet door.
A pair of long shorts come next and socks. Running a brush through his hair. Stopping into the bathroom, both to use it and to brush his teeth, before he makes his way to the kitchen. There's a quiet, respectful "おはようございます" for his mother, already up and bustling in the kitchen, likely both this one and the restaurant, before he rounded it for his seat on the mat.
Breakfast, at least, is one of the few meals a day he can match everyone without needing something swapped out. Fish, soup, a portion of rice. The last, half the size of everyone. Some vegetables from the night before. Usually green beans, but this morning it's a small bowl of crispy slices of daikon and lotus root. There's a small, but warm, smile for his mother and the hand that rests on his shoulder just long enough to put the last of the small plates and bowls down while he sat.