The hotel is like the cab, is like the way he assumes a number of things here might be -- outside of the arena, where everything whille be clearly translated in a dozen languages at all times in different areas. He waits, and listen to Victor talk. Smooth Russian, and something light about it. It's not a light language. Russian. It's nothing like light.
He knows that even more the more he starts looking into it. Because of this weekend.
( ... because of other things.)
Which means it's not the Russian that is light. It's Victor. Light. Smiling. Even through the edges Yuri can see, too. Hanging on the way he moves, or the press of his mouth. It's still there. Through it. Like a light rippling through water, travelworn edges. While interacting with people and exchanging words Yuri gets by context, but not translation. Seeing Victor from the outside -- but not all at once. Seeing him here. In Russia. Talking the way he hasn't been able to for months maybe. Unfettered. His language. His world.
A juxtaposition of things, when Victor is standing in the elevator, leaning on the wall, travel clothes and dark sunglasses. Like a few minutes back was a track skipping, where this looks absolutely normal. Which maybe makes Yuri stare more. Even if it's not exactly head on, until Victor speaks again. Sighs first, and pushes his glasses up, tired familiar smile, fading from the center out, as Yuri nods.
"Anything has to be better than airplane food."
Victor had said honey cakes, Yuri hadn't forgotten. What he might want most.
(And the Red Square. The one Yuri has looked up since it was originally brought up, and had to be told the name again. With its hanging lights and massive glowing austere buildings, almost like American holiday decorations. That even on a screen still seemed so far away. Across the world, and across a divide of something so much greater than distance or time.
With The Rostelcom Cup between here and there, and the wholly realistic question of whether it would exist at all in two days, if Yuri didn't make it, couldn't make it, if Yuri had no reason to be here the last day and Victor would, instead, be figuring out what he needed to do now that he had no reason to return to Hasetsu.)
Yuri tried not to shift too much, fingers loose on the handle of his bag, swallowing and glancing toward the screen counting up the numbers to their floor. Pushing it back, taking a breath in. Something more. Something here, and now. "Do you want to order something while you shower? Or did you have somewhere in mind?"
This was his world, and it was Victor.
There was no doubt Victor could, without warning, whip out a plan detailed enough to make Yuri regret asking.
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He knows that even more the more he starts looking into it. Because of this weekend.
Which means it's not the Russian that is light. It's Victor. Light. Smiling. Even through the edges Yuri can see, too. Hanging on the way he moves, or the press of his mouth. It's still there. Through it. Like a light rippling through water, travelworn edges. While interacting with people and exchanging words Yuri gets by context, but not translation. Seeing Victor from the outside -- but not all at once. Seeing him here. In Russia. Talking the way he hasn't been able to for months maybe. Unfettered. His language. His world.
A juxtaposition of things, when Victor is standing in the elevator, leaning on the wall, travel clothes and dark sunglasses. Like a few minutes back was a track skipping, where this looks absolutely normal. Which maybe makes Yuri stare more. Even if it's not exactly head on, until Victor speaks again. Sighs first, and pushes his glasses up, tired familiar smile, fading from the center out, as Yuri nods.
"Anything has to be better than airplane food."
Victor had said honey cakes, Yuri hadn't forgotten. What he might want most.
(And the Red Square. The one Yuri has looked up since it was originally brought up, and had to be told the name again. With its hanging lights and massive glowing austere buildings, almost like American holiday decorations. That even on a screen still seemed so far away. Across the world, and across a divide of something so much greater than distance or time.
With The Rostelcom Cup between here and there, and the wholly realistic question of whether it would exist at all in two days, if Yuri didn't make it, couldn't make it, if Yuri had no reason to be here the last day and Victor would, instead, be figuring out what he needed to do now that he had no reason to return to Hasetsu.)
Yuri tried not to shift too much, fingers loose on the handle of his bag, swallowing and glancing toward the screen counting up the numbers to their floor. Pushing it back, taking a breath in. Something more. Something here, and now. "Do you want to order something while you shower? Or did you have somewhere in mind?"
This was his world, and it was Victor.
There was no doubt Victor could, without warning, whip out a plan detailed enough to make Yuri regret asking.