It takes Celestino waving a hand in front of his face for Victor blink, and realize he'd been asked something. "Huh?"
"I said, I'm glad to see Yuri back in the running. Even if it's with you as his coach."
There's a moment where they're both silent, but – thought as he refills both their glasses, and takes another swallow – there's another conversation going on under the surface.
The one where they both remember how Celestino pried Yuri off of him at the banquet, after Yuri had asked Victor to be his coach. The thing no one – not even Yuri – has brought up.
How unlikely it is that anyone there that night might think coaching was the only thing going on between the two of them. How he can see that very suspicion in Celestino's face, and he can't even defend himself against it, because it's true: he left his own career, his home country, everything he ever knew, and flew to Japan on what turned out to be a whim on Yuri's part, even if it had been followed up months later by that video.
The one he still doesn't understand. The one he still watches, now and again.
Celestino's talking again. "... –ad potential, he just never believed in himself. I'm happy to see how determined he is to do well this year."
Now looking at Victor, if a little blearily, and Victor's sure he should have some sort of response to that, but he's not sure how coaches talk about their skaters; only knows they probably don't say the things that are trying to burst out of his chest, out of his mouth, that have been tackled and taped down for almost two long years.
Settling for: "Yuri's very special," as neutrally as he can, and hoping to God that's what comes out, and not he's remarkable, isn't he, the things he does, the music he makes, the love he feels, how hard he tries, I'm prouder of him than I could ever be of even myself, he makes my heart beat, I love him, but Celestino is only nodding, a little loosely, so he thinks he managed it.
Thinking that it's getting not just warm, but hot in here now, and slipping his jacket off his shoulders, as a cheerful voice sounds, and he looks up, a little foggy, to see Phichit and Yuri come back around the booth wall.
And Yuri. With that half-awkward look on his face that he sometimes gets when he's uncomfortable, all slender lines and dark silky hair and cute glasses and Victor sort of forgets that Phichit, or even Celestino, is there, as he's hanging his jacket over the back of Yuri's chair, barely even able to feel it against his fingers. "Yuri!"
Unable to keep from gushing delight. It's only been minutes, maybe – longer, possibly? – but it's felt like years, and he's thrilled, and, also, Victor missed him. "You're back!"
After Victor asked if he wanted to come back with him. Except. No. That was a different night, and a different Yuri, and a different Victor, and a different everything. Everyone.
But there's nothing else in the room but Yuri's face. That Victor cannot lean in to kiss. Or reach out to touch.
Which he remembers just soon enough to make his hand go to the back of Yuri's hand, instead, in what he hopes comes across as his original intention. "We were just talking about you."
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"I said, I'm glad to see Yuri back in the running. Even if it's with you as his coach."
There's a moment where they're both silent, but – thought as he refills both their glasses, and takes another swallow – there's another conversation going on under the surface.
The one where they both remember how Celestino pried Yuri off of him at the banquet, after Yuri had asked Victor to be his coach. The thing no one – not even Yuri – has brought up.
How unlikely it is that anyone there that night might think coaching was the only thing going on between the two of them. How he can see that very suspicion in Celestino's face, and he can't even defend himself against it, because it's true: he left his own career, his home country, everything he ever knew, and flew to Japan on what turned out to be a whim on Yuri's part, even if it had been followed up months later by that video.
The one he still doesn't understand. The one he still watches, now and again.
Celestino's talking again. "... –ad potential, he just never believed in himself. I'm happy to see how determined he is to do well this year."
Now looking at Victor, if a little blearily, and Victor's sure he should have some sort of response to that, but he's not sure how coaches talk about their skaters; only knows they probably don't say the things that are trying to burst out of his chest, out of his mouth, that have been tackled and taped down for almost two long years.
Settling for: "Yuri's very special," as neutrally as he can, and hoping to God that's what comes out, and not he's remarkable, isn't he, the things he does, the music he makes, the love he feels, how hard he tries, I'm prouder of him than I could ever be of even myself, he makes my heart beat, I love him, but Celestino is only nodding, a little loosely, so he thinks he managed it.
Thinking that it's getting not just warm, but hot in here now, and slipping his jacket off his shoulders, as a cheerful voice sounds, and he looks up, a little foggy, to see Phichit and Yuri come back around the booth wall.
And Yuri. With that half-awkward look on his face that he sometimes gets when he's uncomfortable, all slender lines and dark silky hair and cute glasses and Victor sort of forgets that Phichit, or even Celestino, is there, as he's hanging his jacket over the back of Yuri's chair, barely even able to feel it against his fingers. "Yuri!"
Unable to keep from gushing delight. It's only been minutes, maybe – longer, possibly? – but it's felt like years, and he's thrilled, and, also, Victor missed him. "You're back!"
After Victor asked if he wanted to come back with him. Except. No. That was a different night, and a different Yuri, and a different Victor, and a different everything. Everyone.
But there's nothing else in the room but Yuri's face. That Victor cannot lean in to kiss. Or reach out to touch.
Which he remembers just soon enough to make his hand go to the back of Yuri's hand, instead, in what he hopes comes across as his original intention. "We were just talking about you."