He knows this voice. This is Victor's soft wheedling voice. This is the one that is sometimes followed with things being stuck in his face, or with Victor sliding to his side and making him look at something, or having an arm thrown around his shoulders and him hauled off in the direction of something that can't be lived without seeing, until he agrees out of sheer amusement or necessity for space and them moving on.

Yuri usually forgets somewhere in the middle. Victor is good at that. Making him forget, for a few seconds.
But tonight is different. Today is. These three days are different. It's not Nationals. It's the actual Prix performances.


Everything is different. He should have remembered that earlier too.

Yuri set his chin in his hand, giving Victor something else, aside from more and more words about food. They could come back to the food, probably would be given Victor's rapture. Instead, he offered, concerned with earlier and disregarding of the other, "I ran my mouth too much at the press conference."

It wasn't the same as suddenly make a declaration right after nationals on tv. This was International. World Wide. Everyone was watching now. This was him actually coming back to the ground where everything fell apart so horribly last time. Why had he thought to go into those questions seeming to have forgotten that? "What will people say if I lose after that?"

"Oh, Yuri?"

There was a voice with sudden exuberance, and Yuri looked over in surprise and something flared bright inside of him. Even knowing this was coming, with being in the same bracket this time, he felt his mouth drag itself from his control. Edges coming up in surprise, happiness, as he found the face -- "Phichit-kun!"

Still in gloves, dressed, like he'd just come from outside the doors, even with his phone already in his hand.
Smile already free and warm, everything just as welcoming and open as he'd ever been. "So this is where you're eating."