"Yeah!" He doesn't stop to think. He can't. His cheeks are warm and he's taking another bite before he can stop himself. Something deliriously like joy climbing into his cheeks with the widened corners of his mouth, when from somewhere he can't pinpoint it bounces across his brain like a crashing star, fiery blinding brilliance that doesn't hurt --
He's going to the Grand Prix Finale, and he's eating celebratory katsudon.
Right now. Right here. In the snow, in Russia. With Yurio.
It's not Victor, but for a second, that thought doesn't hurt. Victor is coming, soon and this is -- this is the second best thing he can even think to that. With the only other person who understands. Who heard him say those words, so long ago. Who knows what it is for him. Who brought it to him. As a gift. Who looks so happy to be sharing it. And Yurio must have seen his grandfather then, and he's almost laughing from where he doesn't know, doesn't care, when he's chewing. It's the lightest he's felt, even briefly in more than a day.
"They're вкусно!" He can't even stop himself eating more quickly than he's eaten anything since midday the day before.
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He's going to the Grand Prix Finale, and he's eating celebratory katsudon.
Right now. Right here. In the snow, in Russia. With Yurio.
It's not Victor, but for a second, that thought doesn't hurt. Victor is coming, soon and this is -- this is the second best thing he can even think to that. With the only other person who understands. Who heard him say those words, so long ago. Who knows what it is for him. Who brought it to him. As a gift. Who looks so happy to be sharing it. And Yurio must have seen his grandfather then, and he's almost laughing from where he doesn't know, doesn't care, when he's chewing. It's the lightest he's felt, even briefly in more than a day.
"They're вкусно!" He can't even stop himself eating more quickly than he's eaten anything since midday the day before.