'I want to send it before I leave for Zagreb.' Yuri isn't ceding ground in the slightest in the face of this predictable wave of uncertainty he's getting from the seat next to his own. Don't make this difficult, Katsudon. 'I didn't send anything sooner, but I want to send it now. Especially if -- '
He breaks off, though it's not completely the result of a reluctance to dig deeper into his own shortcomings. For the past few minutes, his grip on the chopsticks has been tightening incrementally to the point where his hand is starting to cramp. It's finally reached the point where he can't ignore it any longer, and so he has to set the chopsticks down next to his bowl and flex his fingers again.
It's not easy. None of this is easy. But he doesn't know how else to make things right.
(Viktor Nikiforov could show up on the doorstep of Yu-topia without warning, with most of his worldly possessions and an elderly poodle in tow, because he had come with something to offer. The chance of a lifetime. The promise of victory. Everything to gain, and nothing to lose. And Yuri had followed him there with nothing but himself and his white-hot rage and a maxed-out credit card, and yet he'd received the same warm bowl of katsudon and a fork to eat it with. Until he'd explained it to his grandfather, he hadn't really seen it for what it was. Even if he hadn't known it then, he knows it now.)
' -- especially if your mother has something for me,' he finishes, as he reaches for the chopsticks again. 'If you want my address, I need yours.'
no subject
He breaks off, though it's not completely the result of a reluctance to dig deeper into his own shortcomings. For the past few minutes, his grip on the chopsticks has been tightening incrementally to the point where his hand is starting to cramp. It's finally reached the point where he can't ignore it any longer, and so he has to set the chopsticks down next to his bowl and flex his fingers again.
It's not easy. None of this is easy. But he doesn't know how else to make things right.
(Viktor Nikiforov could show up on the doorstep of Yu-topia without warning, with most of his worldly possessions and an elderly poodle in tow, because he had come with something to offer. The chance of a lifetime. The promise of victory. Everything to gain, and nothing to lose. And Yuri had followed him there with nothing but himself and his white-hot rage and a maxed-out credit card, and yet he'd received the same warm bowl of katsudon and a fork to eat it with. Until he'd explained it to his grandfather, he hadn't really seen it for what it was. Even if he hadn't known it then, he knows it now.)
' -- especially if your mother has something for me,' he finishes, as he reaches for the chopsticks again. 'If you want my address, I need yours.'