It's not that Yuri had been holding his breath while he watched Katsudon reach for the door. It's not like what happened last time, he'd said, and meant it. It wouldn't be like it was last time. But even though there's a definite sense of relief when Katsudon's hand makes contact with the door handle -- his hand doesn't slip through it, like he'd fallen for an illusion, a mirage -- his chest still feels tight even as he watches the door (thankfully) open, senses the faint rush of warm and humid air that the moving door ushers into the bar, even catches a hint of a scent that smells like the soap he'd remembered borrowing once or twice in the Katsuki family's bathroom.


...how can you miss something you barely remember?


'Fine,' he says quietly. 'All right. It works.'

He really should go back and finish eating. But if Katsudon's leaving now, he wants to watch that door close behind him, just to be absolutely sure that everything's all right this time. And if he's not leaving....

Fuck, what does it matter, anyway? It's enough to make him scrub at his face again, mostly to run a hand back through his hair and shove it out of his eyes.