He doesn't exactly love how he can feel the delight giving way to weight, as the topic turns the thing that holds it. The Cup today. The skate today. The paths closed and those left open for tomorrow, and next month. Not even if he started it. Not even if, without a word, it makes him relieved. Like a breath gets both let out and held in. Yurio had his grandfather today, and he'll probably have him tomorrow, and so maybe he can stop feeling guilty, too, for going.
But Yurio, also, did another thing for him. Last time an escape. This time a gift. A birthday, and celebration for winning, gift. A gift from his grandfather he was under no need to share.
But still had. Without anything to be gained.
It's enough to make that guilt well from a different spring.
"In one day?" Yuri's words are a quiet amazement. There's not a single thing he thinks he could make that he's been handed, aside from that open breakfast sandwich, that he's eaten since touching down in Russia. But to not even know what it looked like or to have had it, and he made it and made it like this? "He did a very good job. It's very much like it. He could use more--" But Yuri chokes a little at catching himself in offering to help correct or even imply any error of the man who did this for Yuri, without knowing it. Sullying any notion of his gratitude.
It's a little softer, even trying to push on, as an idea strikes him quietly in the next second. "There are some spices and ingredient if he's still testing it. If he can't find them here, we could probably have them shipped here?"
The internet was probably full of places Yurio could find them if he needed them, and recipes to tweak, too. But Yuri loved his mother's best, and if he was going to even pretend anyone knew better than the internet, it would have been her. She'd know what he needed, or they needed. (She'd love knowing all about this.) If they ever wanted any help to begin with, and he hadn't just stepped over the line unwittingly.
no subject
But Yurio, also, did another thing for him. Last time an escape.
This time a gift. A birthday, and celebration for winning, gift.
A gift from his grandfather he was under no need to share.
But still had. Without anything to be gained.
It's enough to make that guilt well from a different spring.
"In one day?" Yuri's words are a quiet amazement. There's not a single thing he thinks he could make that he's been handed, aside from that open breakfast sandwich, that he's eaten since touching down in Russia. But to not even know what it looked like or to have had it, and he made it and made it like this? "He did a very good job. It's very much like it. He could use more--" But Yuri chokes a little at catching himself in offering to help correct or even imply any error of the man who did this for Yuri, without knowing it. Sullying any notion of his gratitude.
It's a little softer, even trying to push on, as an idea strikes him quietly in the next second. "There are some spices and ingredient if he's still testing it. If he can't find them here, we could probably have them shipped here?"
The internet was probably full of places Yurio could find them if he needed them, and recipes to tweak, too. But Yuri loved his mother's best, and if he was going to even pretend anyone knew better than the internet, it would have been her. She'd know what he needed, or they needed. (She'd love knowing all about this.) If they ever wanted any help to begin with, and he hadn't just stepped over the line unwittingly.