It's right there, playing out behind his closed eyes like a movie he can't shut off. Viktor, and Yakov...and a few feet away, Yuuri Katsuki, looking lost and uncomprehending in a sea of Russian faces, Russian voices. When a few hours ago, he'd looked as happy as Yuri had ever seen him, flushed and triumphant but still a little shy, not quite sure how to feel about his success. Only now all of that's been ripped away, and tomorrow --
Tomorrow, he won't have his coach with him. Because Viktor might not have his dog.
(But you know it's not just Viktor's dog, a little voice in his head reminds him. Even for as little time as he'd stayed in Hasetsu, he'd seen how the entire Katsuki family seemed to dote on that poodle. Always ready with loving pets or little treats; eager to ruffle that curly fur or stroke those shaggy ears. Because there was another poodle, once, that isn't there now. Only a photograph of that poodle being hugged by a smiling little boy, and a set of metal tags.)
Yuri might not be a dog person by any stretch of the imagination, but he knows that kind of love. And he knows that Katsudon's big sister wouldn't have called her little brother like this, right in the middle of a competition when he's thousands of miles away from home, unless she was really afraid of what might happen. And Viktor wouldn't have thrown himself on Yakov in absolute desperation, with no real hope that his old coach would forgive him enough to come to his aid, if he wasn't afraid of what might happen, either.
It's too much, all of this. He can't just stay here. The hotel room feels like there's no real air in it.
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Tomorrow, he won't have his coach with him. Because Viktor might not have his dog.
(But you know it's not just Viktor's dog, a little voice in his head reminds him. Even for as little time as he'd stayed in Hasetsu, he'd seen how the entire Katsuki family seemed to dote on that poodle. Always ready with loving pets or little treats; eager to ruffle that curly fur or stroke those shaggy ears. Because there was another poodle, once, that isn't there now. Only a photograph of that poodle being hugged by a smiling little boy, and a set of metal tags.)
Yuri might not be a dog person by any stretch of the imagination, but he knows that kind of love. And he knows that Katsudon's big sister wouldn't have called her little brother like this, right in the middle of a competition when he's thousands of miles away from home, unless she was really afraid of what might happen. And Viktor wouldn't have thrown himself on Yakov in absolute desperation, with no real hope that his old coach would forgive him enough to come to his aid, if he wasn't afraid of what might happen, either.
It's too much, all of this. He can't just stay here. The hotel room feels like there's no real air in it.
But where the hell can he go?