He doesn't quite laugh at Victor's enthusiasm -- or maybe it's impatience to get out of his wet, and must be now cold, clothes, that are leaving an impressively obviously trail of sea water, from soaked pants and shoes, on the side-walk behind him -- but it does get itself caught up in Yuri's chest, the so subtle curve of his mouth, regardless. A quickness to his step that keeps up with Victor, instead of feeling dragged down by each and every one.

There's a glance, or two, in Victor's direction now and then, as they walked. Something bubbling up slow in that same space. The space of his chest, where it had been tight, and he's not sure he has a name for it yet. It's almost too reliving just not to feel like he's choking, like he's drowning.

Still surreal, not quite steady, to realize it's like he somehow isn't. Everything is dry and flat. Nothing is over.

Some anxiety to it. A need to get on everything right this second, like the pendulum has swung diametrically opposite. But there's still time before anything will start. Time for Victor to find clothes, or even take a bath if he wanted. Time, again, for Yuri to put himself down in front of the paper, to try again capturing the mood and meaning into the music he'd been trying to detail into a list for a while now.

"Maybe she'll still have leftovers from breakfast out, when we get back." Food. He could eat food. Food sounds amazing suddenly.

He might even make his bed, if he went back to that paper. Start over today. Not erase it as though it hadn't been. He did want to remember the last little bit of it. The last half hour. But maybe he could restart everything else. Maybe it could all be a little different today everywhere, maybe he could.