Fond and warm, and maybe a little too close to the shell of Yuri's ear, but he's finding it difficult to pull back, or to let go of Yuri's upper arm, where his right hand has decided to find a hold.
Even if he's not sure why they need more plates. Even if he can't remember why Yuri went to ask for them, anyway, or even anything beyond the way Yuri's cheek is turning pink just inches away. "It's kind of hot in here, isn't it?"
Hot, hot. Not as hot as the hot springs at Yu-topia, but hot enough that his shirt feels like it's clinging.
Or maybe it's just being this close to Yuri, like he hasn't been for months, since before their conversation down at the beach, since the days when he'd thought Yuri was still on the same page as him and he couldn't understand why it wasn't working.
(Maybe he still doesn't. Maybe he never did. Maybe he's still just as confused as he was those first few weeks, because Yuri hasn't even once mentioned – )
Well, either way, it's hot, so he leans back, even though his first inclination is to lean even closer, and brush his lips against that ear, and whisper into the skin of his neck, and find those moments from the banquet all over again ... but his fingers slip reluctantly away, and he shifts back towards his own seat, blinking in surprise at the boy across the table.
Right. Phichit. Yuri's friend. Celestino's current skater. Currently staring at him like Victor's head has rolled right off his shoulders and into the hot pot.
Victor beams at him, and offers up one of the trays, the meal on it now partly taken apart. "Shanghai crab?"
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Fond and warm, and maybe a little too close to the shell of Yuri's ear, but he's finding it difficult to pull back, or to let go of Yuri's upper arm, where his right hand has decided to find a hold.
Even if he's not sure why they need more plates. Even if he can't remember why Yuri went to ask for them, anyway, or even anything beyond the way Yuri's cheek is turning pink just inches away. "It's kind of hot in here, isn't it?"
Hot, hot. Not as hot as the hot springs at Yu-topia, but hot enough that his shirt feels like it's clinging.
Or maybe it's just being this close to Yuri, like he hasn't been for months, since before their conversation down at the beach, since the days when he'd thought Yuri was still on the same page as him and he couldn't understand why it wasn't working.
(Maybe he still doesn't. Maybe he never did. Maybe he's still just as confused as he was those first few weeks, because Yuri hasn't even once mentioned – )
Well, either way, it's hot, so he leans back, even though his first inclination is to lean even closer, and brush his lips against that ear, and whisper into the skin of his neck, and find those moments from the banquet all over again ... but his fingers slip reluctantly away, and he shifts back towards his own seat, blinking in surprise at the boy across the table.
Right. Phichit. Yuri's friend. Celestino's current skater. Currently staring at him like Victor's head has rolled right off his shoulders and into the hot pot.
Victor beams at him, and offers up one of the trays, the meal on it now partly taken apart. "Shanghai crab?"