'Maybe, yeah.' It's simple enough for Yuri to agree with the thought, staring at the door handle without really seeing it. 'It's usually just the other side of my bedroom door, for me. I didn't even know whether I'd be able to make it open last time -- until it did. But if it works now....'
(I shouldn't have brought us here)
That thin unpleasant thread is starting to tangle through him again, and in an effort to break free from it he takes a step back from the door. His right hand and arm have started to stiffen up during this pause from the unusual exercise he'd been giving them, so he rolls his shoulders back and clasps his right hand with his left, using the pad of his left thumb to knead across his right palm.
'I need to finish dinner. And get another set of chopsticks to take back with me.' The webbing between his right thumb and index finger is still a little sore, so he shifts his grip to focus on that area for the time being. 'I'll keep working at it. And I'll...I'll tell Dedka you helped me with it, when I show him how to use them. He'd want to know.'
Perhaps it's the lingering bruise in his memory of his grandfather's disapproving silence, as much as anything else, that pushes an unexpected conclusion to that sentence out of his mouth. '...so thanks.'
At least he manages to not look away when he says it, though he does press his lips together tightly immediately afterwards. As if he's somehow concerned that that wasn't the right thing to say.
no subject
(I shouldn't have brought us here)
That thin unpleasant thread is starting to tangle through him again, and in an effort to break free from it he takes a step back from the door. His right hand and arm have started to stiffen up during this pause from the unusual exercise he'd been giving them, so he rolls his shoulders back and clasps his right hand with his left, using the pad of his left thumb to knead across his right palm.
'I need to finish dinner. And get another set of chopsticks to take back with me.' The webbing between his right thumb and index finger is still a little sore, so he shifts his grip to focus on that area for the time being. 'I'll keep working at it. And I'll...I'll tell Dedka you helped me with it, when I show him how to use them. He'd want to know.'
Perhaps it's the lingering bruise in his memory of his grandfather's disapproving silence, as much as anything else, that pushes an unexpected conclusion to that sentence out of his mouth. '...so thanks.'
At least he manages to not look away when he says it, though he does press his lips together tightly immediately afterwards. As if he's somehow concerned that that wasn't the right thing to say.