Katsudon is standing in the middle of the lobby like he's been turned to stone -- or ice, more likely, because he doesn't seem to notice or care that he's right in front of the doors, and if anyone goes in or out he'll be blasted in the face with the cruel cold of a Moscow winter night. And it doesn't take Yuri more than a second to figure out that if Katsudon is here in the lobby by himself, that means that Viktor is gone. Left. On his way back to Japan, to be there for his dog.

Which means that Katsudon is on his own.

But it's the expression on his face that makes Yuri freeze where he stands, because...because it's wrong. That's the only word he can think of to describe how strongly every gut instinct he has rebels against it, that desolate emptiness that's too sharp for grief and too numb for loss. It's wrong in a way that strikes through and erases and rewrites something deep inside of Yuri's core, and suddenly every other priority he has at this moment pales in comparison to the overwhelming need to do something, anything, that will take that look off Yuuri Katsuki's face.

In his pockets, his hands clench into fists. Or rather, one hand clenches into a fist, and the other hand tightens around the thin piece of plastic he'd been toying with not a moment ago: his room keycard.

At first, it's another thought to rebel against. He can't drag Katsudon back to his own room. There's nothing for them there but a window and three walls and a bed; nothing that could make that (wrong) look go away. And there's really nothing for them outside the hotel, either, out in the cold and the snow that would only solidify that frost in their hearts. There's no possible escape, inside or outside, because they're still --

(we're still in Shanghai)

-- and that's when everything slams into place, as impossibly possible as a quad axel. He knows where they can go. All he needs is a door to get them there, and he has the key to that door right in his hand.

It'll work. It has to work. He'll make it work. He's kicked his way through plenty of doors before; this one won't be any different. And he'll kick Katsudon through this one, too, if he has to. Because he has to.

Yuri's left hand is still clenched around his keycard, but he takes his right hand out of his pocket and uses it to flip his hood back and away from his face as he stalks across the lobby with his gaze locked on his prey. He doesn't call out or try to get Katsudon's attention from a distance, because there's no point in wasting his breath or his strength. Instead, he steps right up and plants himself in front of Katsudon, glaring up at him with an near-feverish intensity in his eyes.

'Katsudon.' It's not Yakov's commanding bark, but it has an authority of its own. If he has to be the one making decisions for both of them, to get them where they need to be, he can't falter in this. 'You're coming with me. Right now.'