He's used to the cold. Even in St. Petersburg, winters are long and dark and the cold freezes straight through to the bone, only fended off with hot, heavy food and exercise and the warmth of good company and good vodka, and it doesn't faze him to be chilled. He spends his life in rinks kept cold enough to maintain the ice, and he's always liked the cold, the silvery, cool days of winter, with blues brighter than any summer sky, and the sheen of ice.

But he isn't used to soaking clothes, and a fresh sea breeze, and he's shivering as he follows Yuri back up the beach, even as he laughs at Maccachin trotting ahead and shaking the excess water out of his curly coat. "Maccachin! We don't all have fur coats. Go shake somewhere else."

Reaching up to brush sodden hair out of his face (even if it just falls straight back down again), and jogging a few steps to catch up to Yuri, just as he's opening his mouth to tell Victor about how long this water will stay cold. "Oh?"

That's good to know: he makes a mental note of it, and hopes he won't forget.

"We'll have to come back for a swim then."

A day at the beach in mid-summer will be a good way for Yuri to take a day off. They'll be in the thick of training by then, and the strain will be high, so it'll be important to keep a few ways of blowing off steam in mind.

Besides, by the time summer rolls around, he may miss the afternoons at Laskovy, or the Fortress. "We could have a picnic!"

It's actually just about warm enough for that, but he'll have to keep it for another day. Sitting back on the sandbank, he grins, shaking damp hair out of his eyes to see Yuri a little more clearly. "We have to appreciate the nice weather while we have it, right?"