He's not as anxious as he probably will get. He knows that. Worries, when Victor asks and he turns his head and part of his far shoulder to face Victor, about getting as caught up in as the last time he took the ice in front of this many people. When even being in first place was a source of so much stress he all but cracked under it, too.

But even more because it is here. Russia. Victor's Russia.
Where it'll cut closer to everyone there. Yuri on ice, and not Victor.

There's a slow, but present, nod. "A few minutes ago."

Victor had nodded to his phone and he looked down at his hand, then just beyond it, a pause lingering there, before lifting his hand from his phone. He moved it a few inches to lay his hand against the space of Victor's arm right above his elbow, even while speaking. "One from them, and another from Minako-san, mostly filled with pointers and reminders."

Reminders they would all be watching and cheering him on, even if they felt not an ocean but worlds away removed now. Like a hallucination, he might have dreamt. But at the same time, he missed them in brilliant color. Missed details now, a week away, that he'd somehow forgotten while he was away for five years.

The smell of his mother cooking in the morning. The precise texture of salty sea air being breathed in. The warmth of the onsen, and the easy luxury of it. The feeling that filled him, skating in Ice Palace, in the middle of the night, that no other rink gave just the same.

"The rest is fine." As fine as things get. There's a level of soreness that is as prevalent as breathing, but the day without moving much and without pushing himself the same as he had all other days of this week, has even added a small layer of reprieve to that, too. "I'll be ready."

It sounds certain. Even if it feels less certain by the time it's off his tongue.