Yuri watches him leave. Stands there in the doorway, making sure that Katsudon doesn't turn around, doesn't need anything else from him -- but then again, why would he?



'Fuck you, Viktor Nikiforov,' he whispers in Russian, the barest exhale of breath, and he has to close his eyes because they're starting to burn. From exhaustion, of course.

When he steps back into the bar and shuts the door behind him, everything feels detached, slightly out of phase. But he can't leave just yet. He started this whole thing, and he has to finish it. The empty teapot and cups go back to the bar proper. While he's there, a muttered request for a bag of ice, which appears without fanfare or comment. The coldness radiates from it into his hand as he carries it back to the door, and he takes out his room keycard again.

Outside. Close the door. Hear the locking mechanism click with an unpleasantly final sound. Look around, pretending as if he'd heard a noise or something.

(Katsudon's gone.)

Swipe the keycard. Open the door...and it's an empty hotel room once more.




The next time he gets a bright idea about helping someone out, he'll keep it to himself.