Yuri's more a little red in the face by the time he recovers from that skirmish with the noodle. Thankfully, whatever Katsudon must be doing to keep from busting a gut laughing at him seems to be working, because even when Yuri exhales forcefully and goes after another bite, he doesn't hear a peep from the seat next to his own.
The silence, however, reminds him that he himself is not doing anything to fill it. It's not like having dinner with Yakov and Lilia, who are usually as worn out as he is by the end of the day and also have the whole used to be married thing where a raised eyebrow or a tilt of the head can be an entire half of a conversation all by itself, without a single word said. And it's not like being at home, either, where he and his grandfather don't even need to talk (except that Yuri does, because texts and emails and phone calls and even the occasional awkward video chat can't ever replace the real thing, but it's still not the same). Not like the cafeteria at the rink, not like the dining table at Yu-topia...especially not that. But at the same time, it's not like it was the last time they were here in this place, two cups of tea in front of them, when Yuri had had to talk because it was the only thing he could think of that would keep them both distracted from everything on the opposite side of the door. There's none of that sense of urgency, or the hellish prospect of a long night and an unknown tomorrow hanging over them. It's just Yuri having dinner, and Katsudon eating whatever he felt he could get away with before he has his dinner, and if he keeps quiet any longer without cramming the whole bowl of noodles down his throat in one fell swoop, it's going to start to feel weird. Weirder.
'Lilia choreographed my exhibition skate,' is what comes out of his mouth, once he's finished chewing his next carefully managed bite, complete with a bonus soybean that gets stuck to one of the noodles. Which, yes, duh, of course she would've, why the fuck had he started off like that? 'In case you were wondering, from earlier,' he adds, trying to power through it. 'It went okay, I guess -- I wasn't a hundred percent feeling it at the time.' His shoulders twitch a shrug. 'Could've been better.'
No layer of freshly frozen ice could be thinner, or more transparent. It wasn't the best I could do. Don't think for a second you've seen the best I can do.
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The silence, however, reminds him that he himself is not doing anything to fill it. It's not like having dinner with Yakov and Lilia, who are usually as worn out as he is by the end of the day and also have the whole used to be married thing where a raised eyebrow or a tilt of the head can be an entire half of a conversation all by itself, without a single word said. And it's not like being at home, either, where he and his grandfather don't even need to talk (except that Yuri does, because texts and emails and phone calls and even the occasional awkward video chat can't ever replace the real thing, but it's still not the same). Not like the cafeteria at the rink, not like the dining table at Yu-topia...especially not that. But at the same time, it's not like it was the last time they were here in this place, two cups of tea in front of them, when Yuri had had to talk because it was the only thing he could think of that would keep them both distracted from everything on the opposite side of the door. There's none of that sense of urgency, or the hellish prospect of a long night and an unknown tomorrow hanging over them. It's just Yuri having dinner, and Katsudon eating whatever he felt he could get away with before he has his dinner, and if he keeps quiet any longer without cramming the whole bowl of noodles down his throat in one fell swoop, it's going to start to feel weird. Weirder.
'Lilia choreographed my exhibition skate,' is what comes out of his mouth, once he's finished chewing his next carefully managed bite, complete with a bonus soybean that gets stuck to one of the noodles. Which, yes, duh, of course she would've, why the fuck had he started off like that? 'In case you were wondering, from earlier,' he adds, trying to power through it. 'It went okay, I guess -- I wasn't a hundred percent feeling it at the time.' His shoulders twitch a shrug. 'Could've been better.'
No layer of freshly frozen ice could be thinner, or more transparent. It wasn't the best I could do. Don't think for a second you've seen the best I can do.