Yuri listens, about as much as he isn't, too. Every step seems a little heavier, even when his weight doesn't change and their pace is good, but not too fast, but it suddenly feels all too fast, too. Because there's only one reason to get as far away from everyone as possible, right? Only one conversation they could need to have, and maybe he should be grateful there won't be witnesses?

Even if the whole world would know the first time Victor put up a picture back home, wouldn't they.

Even the cheerfulness of and the ease of his current chatter now seems suspect. How many stories has he sold on the ice, to every person watching? How many interviews and autographs, even when not in the mood? How easy would it be, to just make it look good until they got to the beach and they had it out about this morning?

(And every day before this morning. Where he tried, he did try, kept trying ... but not enough, too.)


Yuri wrinkled his nose a little, the dip is his thoughts not helping the description of the first breaking food which sounds a bit terrible. But that's rude to say, and even ruder to even consider saying with where he's headed. He can at least be respectful, if not graceful, before it all ends.

The second one isn't all that terrible, but both of them different,
and he doesn't know entirely what to say, so instead he says, "Right."