It, actually -- it's strange, really, that this is the first thing Yuri says that actually sounds comforting. Not like it's meant to, Yuri isn't trying to be comforting, but it lands somewhere inside Yuuri's chest, and spreads in a comforting way. That maybe he won't really have to talk to them, if he doesn't want to. They won't bother him. He can just go practice everything Victor said, and he's only been handed off in the most basic of ways.

Someone to stand next to him and hold Victor's place, but maybe not in Victor's role, truly, at all.

"It wasn't that bad--" It bursts out of his mouth, without remembering to check with his brain. He's in the top third, even with everything that happened when he burst out of the gate more uncontrolled that Yuri had ever seen him. Something angry ... maybe hurt? He's never sure if there isn't some of that behind every time he sees that flare of fire in Yuri. He can't tell. He's not sure he knows Yuri well enough.

Not sure Yuri wants anyone to know him that well.

Is certain Yuri doesn't want anyone to see any weakness in his armor. Anywhere.

"That was the strongest ending I've seen you do--" He doesn't know where the drive that flares into his voice is pulled from.
He hasn't felt anything this strongly, this clearly, since fighting Victor that he had to go, while Victor tried to tell him that he couldn't.

Like that. It's just a truth, undeniable, and demands to come out his mouth. And if it gives that he's watched Yuri's other performances, between now and then, it doesn't matter. It's a given. They all watch each other. They should be. "--since Hasestu." No. Not good enough. Not true enough. "Ever."

It had been. So driven. Demanding perfection in his correction. Smooth and fluid, pressing for more stamina than ever.