There's no gear emergency they aren't prepared for – there's that sewing kit, and extra blades and laces – but it's nice to know there's nothing they have to fix tonight. Yuri can just relax: take a hot bath, if he likes, or do some stretching or yoga, or just go to bed. Whatever works best for him: Victor's learned he can usually trust Yuri to do what needs to be done without nagging at him too much, so long as Yuri isn't being swallowed up by his own thoughts and anxieties.
In those cases, he usually needs Victor to distract him, but when Victor studies him as he flicks the bathroom light off and heads back into the room, he looks alright. There's no tapping heel or bouncing knee, no distant stare, no pinched crease tucking between his eyebrows. Getting here early enough for Yuri to walk around and loosen up was probably a good move. "Go brush your teeth – I'll put these back."
Nodding to the costume and skates, and already reaching for them, resisting the urge to worry around Yuri like a mother hen, when Yuri's already told him that his bruised hip and sore muscles are fine. He'll need to stretch them out well in the morning, and maybe have a few knots worked out, but Victor isn't going to interrogate him the way Yakov would, an iron, unyielding stare that felt like it bore into his very soul.
He doesn't love settling back on his own bed, a bare foot of space away from Yuri's but feeling too far even at that distance, but that's for the best, too. What Yuri needs tonight, and tomorrow, is sleep, and Victor knows himself too well to believe that all his good intentions would survive longer than the first few minutes of crawling into that other bed.
So he doesn't.
(Even if he considers pushing them a little closer together.)
Besides, he's tired, too, and when Yuri's slipped into bed, and he's said his goodnights and hit the lights, there are only a few moments of gratitude for the quiet dark and the warm bed and the soft sound of Yuri breathing before he's slipped away from them all.
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There's no gear emergency they aren't prepared for – there's that sewing kit, and extra blades and laces – but it's nice to know there's nothing they have to fix tonight. Yuri can just relax: take a hot bath, if he likes, or do some stretching or yoga, or just go to bed. Whatever works best for him: Victor's learned he can usually trust Yuri to do what needs to be done without nagging at him too much, so long as Yuri isn't being swallowed up by his own thoughts and anxieties.
In those cases, he usually needs Victor to distract him, but when Victor studies him as he flicks the bathroom light off and heads back into the room, he looks alright. There's no tapping heel or bouncing knee, no distant stare, no pinched crease tucking between his eyebrows. Getting here early enough for Yuri to walk around and loosen up was probably a good move. "Go brush your teeth – I'll put these back."
Nodding to the costume and skates, and already reaching for them, resisting the urge to worry around Yuri like a mother hen, when Yuri's already told him that his bruised hip and sore muscles are fine. He'll need to stretch them out well in the morning, and maybe have a few knots worked out, but Victor isn't going to interrogate him the way Yakov would, an iron, unyielding stare that felt like it bore into his very soul.
He doesn't love settling back on his own bed, a bare foot of space away from Yuri's but feeling too far even at that distance, but that's for the best, too. What Yuri needs tonight, and tomorrow, is sleep, and Victor knows himself too well to believe that all his good intentions would survive longer than the first few minutes of crawling into that other bed.
So he doesn't.
(Even if he considers pushing them a little closer together.)
Besides, he's tired, too, and when Yuri's slipped into bed, and he's said his goodnights and hit the lights, there are only a few moments of gratitude for the quiet dark and the warm bed and the soft sound of Yuri breathing before he's slipped away from them all.