It's difficult to express the measure of relief he feels when Yakov plucks this out of his hands, but he doesn't expect the guilt that wells along after it, like the slow beading of blood after an old scab has been scraped off. Yakov will take control, but Victor is supposed to be in control. He's the coach now, and Yuri looks to him the way he used to look to Yakov.

(The way he still does, apparently.)

He should be able to take care of this without falling apart. He should be putting his skater first, even if his skater is trying to do the same for him.

But he hasn't learned how to do that, when he feels like a frightened child all over again, clutching at Yakov to help him. He doesn't know how to be the adult, here, and that's probably his own fault, more of his selfishness and thoughtlessness stamping him like ink, but it is what it is. Yuri might not even allow him to stay, might be so upset with him if he tried that his free skate could fall apart all over again.

Or not. Or perhaps Victor is just grasping for any excuse that allows him to leave his skater, alone, in an unfamiliar country.

He turns to Yuri as they move through the crowd, half about to change his mind entirely, this is crazy, he can't go --

But the look on Yuri's face makes his mouth close into a thin line, and he just reaches for Yuri's shoulder instead, barely feeling it under his palm, while they hurry after Yakov, trying to keep pace.