Yurio still looks more serious that he needs to, about chopsticks of all things, but it's a familiar, normal seriousness, entirely in character with how serious he always looks. Setting the chopsticks in his hand like he watched happen. Not near the deftness which Yuri does without thought (and thus made it harder to slow down, break it down, find words for what isn't thought of, spoken of), but he does it well enough.

There's question and overbearing determination, and Yuri's breath holds a little when Yuri manages to scoop a small pile of rice. Maybe it's awkward -- the hold of Yurio's hand, the whole riot of tense posture of his body, the frantic need to have his mouth meet his chopstick not far from his bowl -- maybe it is, but it doesn't matter.

"There. You did it!" Yuri said, congratulations creeping into his tone, but not very loud all things considered, especially in the boisterous bar. He broke off another pile of rice for himself, stomach rumbling at him about the meal he hadn't made it down to. A little rice couldn't hurt whatever he's supposed to eat with Victor and his parents. They wouldn't even know he was gone right now, or that he'd eaten.

Well. Victor would, but that would likely be after dinner and not during it. Only he knew about Milliways of them.