It's a common ground of knowledge neither of them has, instead of the playing field, the competing field, where they've both been learning, living, and riding the raw-edged of their entire lives. The few words make Yuri look from the door to the people around them. At the bar, at the table, not paying any much more attention to them than they'd paid the people earlier, but it feels more obvious, more central. To be up, and still possibly in the way of both those leaving and those coming.
It sits between Yuri's shoulderblade, burrowing a little deeper in with each drop of uncertainty.
Constant even as he tries to remember if it's been normal for him. The bathroom had happened twice. The only standing pattern. At least this time it had let him get dressed first, before bringing him to this place.
He'd closed the door, meaning to keep the word he'd given a few minuted ago, but Yurio's words have an announced kind of finality to them. What he needs to do now, what he'll keep doing going forward ... and it ends with a thank you, that Yurio doesn't seem any more certainly comfortable in giving than Yuri quite knows what to do when it does fall into his hands. Not pushed, or dropped, just sort of pressed into the air between them. Uncertain.
But.
Trying?
Even if a corner of Yuri is dubiously uncertain himself -- and some part of him always is, some part of him is always ready to jump for the ceiling, to want to run back to his room, always had been, even a world away from it, the kind of reaction Yurio has long since made manifest -- what happens doesn't come from there at all. It's not entirely a curve. It's more sidelong than that, but it's still curved at the edges of his mouth, too. Not certain those words are needed, but still able to see that Yurio is trying to be gracious.
For some reason. Even if it's ungainly. In his mouth. On his shoulders.
(He really is so young, isn't he? Even with the anger and all the biting, hissing, clawing edges.)
It always feel not-quite-right in English, but Yuri says, "Your welcome," as the better part of discretion of it never sounding right when he tried to point out of it wasn't necessary either. There were at least two different responses in Japanese that handled both of those at once. It hurt nothing to just nod and say it in the only language they did share, before awkwardly shifting back his gaze back to the door.
"I guess I should go down to dinner, then." Even if he'd only just before getting up said he could stay a few minutes. A mixed thing. Like he should before a trap could, world, spring. But, also, aware of the very different, very much more ... subdued way Yurio had been this whole time since he'd shown up. At least after the first shock of his existing.
no subject
It's a common ground of knowledge neither of them has, instead of the playing field, the competing field, where they've both been learning, living, and riding the raw-edged of their entire lives. The few words make Yuri look from the door to the people around them. At the bar, at the table, not paying any much more attention to them than they'd paid the people earlier, but it feels more obvious, more central. To be up, and still possibly in the way of both those leaving and those coming.
It sits between Yuri's shoulderblade, burrowing a little deeper in with each drop of uncertainty.
Constant even as he tries to remember if it's been normal for him. The bathroom had happened twice.
The only standing pattern. At least this time it had let him get dressed first, before bringing him to this place.
He'd closed the door, meaning to keep the word he'd given a few minuted ago, but Yurio's words have an announced kind of finality to them. What he needs to do now, what he'll keep doing going forward ... and it ends with a thank you, that Yurio doesn't seem any more certainly comfortable in giving than Yuri quite knows what to do when it does fall into his hands. Not pushed, or dropped, just sort of pressed into the air between them. Uncertain.
But.
Even if a corner of Yuri is dubiously uncertain himself -- and some part of him always is, some part of him is always ready to jump for the ceiling, to want to run back to his room, always had been, even a world away from it, the kind of reaction Yurio has long since made manifest -- what happens doesn't come from there at all. It's not entirely a curve. It's more sidelong than that, but it's still curved at the edges of his mouth, too. Not certain those words are needed, but still able to see that Yurio is trying to be gracious.
For some reason. Even if it's ungainly. In his mouth. On his shoulders.
(He really is so young, isn't he? Even with the anger and all the biting, hissing, clawing edges.)
It always feel not-quite-right in English, but Yuri says, "Your welcome," as the better part of discretion of it never sounding right when he tried to point out of it wasn't necessary either. There were at least two different responses in Japanese that handled both of those at once. It hurt nothing to just nod and say it in the only language they did share, before awkwardly shifting back his gaze back to the door.
"I guess I should go down to dinner, then." Even if he'd only just before getting up said he could stay a few minutes. A mixed thing. Like he should before a trap could, world, spring. But, also, aware of the very different, very much more ... subdued way Yurio had been this whole time since he'd shown up. At least after the first shock of his existing.