He can't help feeling it was a good idea to leave his phone behind, today: he hadn't wanted to be distracted from Yuri and the conversation they needed to have, but now he's mostly just happy that he won't have to buy a new phone after getting the first one soaked in cold salt water and probably filled with sand.
Not that he's sure he'd care much either way. It's too nice a day, the weather is too mild, the water too fresh, and his cheeks too sore from laughing. Everything smells like salt and wet dog and fresh air, and even as he's trying to push Maccachin off, he's not struggling too much. Why would he?
It's the most fun he's had in months.
But Yuri comes to his rescue, jogging back towards him, windblown and brilliant, and if Victor were still trying to crack open that shell instead of coax it, he'd yank down on the offered hand and pull Yuri straight down into the wet sand and lapping wavelets with him –
But he's not, so he doesn't. That would be a bad way to earn the trust he's telling Yuri he deserves, wouldn't it?
So instead, he braces himself on his other hand, and pulls himself up instead of tugging Yuri down, trusting that even if he's smaller, that wiry strength of his will keep them both up, until he's on his feet, only to bend down and scold Maccachin, finger wagging.
"Maccachin! That was very bad!"
(It loses a little of its impact when he's laughing, and when Maccachin, the unrepentant, just swipes a wide tongue across his face, instead of looking ashamed or even the tiniest bit guilty.)
Leaving Victor to try and brush himself off, and shiver a little in the wind. Even if it's warm in the sun, it isn't warm enough to be standing around in soaked clothing, with a fresh breeze sticking it directly against his rapidly chilling skin. "Ah! Not warm enough to swim. Come on, Yuri, let's go back – I need a hot bath and a change of clothes!"
no subject
Not that he's sure he'd care much either way. It's too nice a day, the weather is too mild, the water too fresh, and his cheeks too sore from laughing. Everything smells like salt and wet dog and fresh air, and even as he's trying to push Maccachin off, he's not struggling too much. Why would he?
It's the most fun he's had in months.
But Yuri comes to his rescue, jogging back towards him, windblown and brilliant, and if Victor were still trying to crack open that shell instead of coax it, he'd yank down on the offered hand and pull Yuri straight down into the wet sand and lapping wavelets with him –
But he's not, so he doesn't. That would be a bad way to earn the trust he's telling Yuri he deserves, wouldn't it?
So instead, he braces himself on his other hand, and pulls himself up instead of tugging Yuri down, trusting that even if he's smaller, that wiry strength of his will keep them both up, until he's on his feet, only to bend down and scold Maccachin, finger wagging.
"Maccachin! That was very bad!"
(It loses a little of its impact when he's laughing, and when Maccachin, the unrepentant, just swipes a wide tongue across his face, instead of looking ashamed or even the tiniest bit guilty.)
Leaving Victor to try and brush himself off, and shiver a little in the wind. Even if it's warm in the sun, it isn't warm enough to be standing around in soaked clothing, with a fresh breeze sticking it directly against his rapidly chilling skin. "Ah! Not warm enough to swim. Come on, Yuri, let's go back – I need a hot bath and a change of clothes!"