It is, perhaps, a bit different to be slipping out from under your coach's nose to go a few blocks from the well-lit competition hotel in the city of your birth, versus emptying your own bank account for a twelve-hour international flight to a town that most people couldn't find on a map. Yuri still doesn't entirely want to find out whether Yakov already knows he's missing.

(At least he can say that he was making sure that Katsudon figured out how to get to the airport by himself. From what little he saw of that incident in the kiss-and-cry this afternoon, he suspects that Yakov is going to be a bit leery of being in close proximity to Yuuri Katsuki unless a certain irritating Russian skater-turned-coach is with him.)

'It's home,' he says simply, with a small shrug. 'Doesn't have to be anything else.' He stuffs his hands deeper into his jacket pockets -- it's not the best outfit for the weather, but whatever -- and starts to turn to go. 'Later, Katsudon.'

He's not really leaving Katsudon alone this time, he tells himself. He's done what he came out here to do.