Victor hands over the plate, and reaches for the bottle, waggling it to judge how much is left.
Not much. Surprisingly. They haven't had that much, have they?
But he refills Celestino's glass, and tops off his own with what's left, without noticing that Celestino is turning faintly green around the gills. He does notice, though, that it's definitely hotter in here than it was when they came in: even without his jacket, he feels flushed and feverish.
Maybe it's because he's used to having a hot bath every day, now. His body is used to, expects a temperature change.
Or maybe it's just really hot in here.
Even Yuri looks a little pink in the face, even though he never answered Victor's question –
(And he never did, did he:
Don't you want to come with me?)
Except that wasn't the question he just asked. He thinks. He's pretty sure. He hasn't asked that question in almost two years. In the end, he was the one to come to Yuri, and not the other way around.
Not that he minds. Not that there's anything about this last half a year that he minds, except for that one part that's missing.
The one big part. Huge. That he can't seem to forget or stop wanting, no matter how hard he tries. Even if everything else is amazing, a whole world he never knew existed. Time with Maccachin. Every day with Yuri. His family. Time to himself, to go sight-seeing around Hasetsu, to spend days at the beach or in the rolling hills nearby. A hot bath every day, big enough to swim in, almost.
Like the hot pot on the table. Only. With people. And less actually getting cooked.
Across the table, Celestino is slumping, giggling about something or other into his nearly empty glass (Victor notices with a start that his own is empty again, too – when did that happen?). He looks tired, but Victor doesn't feel tired. It hasn't been that long of a night yet. "That hot pot..."
Laughed, in Yuri's general direction, while the world swings. "Doesn't it make you think of the hot springs, Yuri? Your parents shouldn't cook people, that's cruel."
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Not much. Surprisingly. They haven't had that much, have they?
But he refills Celestino's glass, and tops off his own with what's left, without noticing that Celestino is turning faintly green around the gills. He does notice, though, that it's definitely hotter in here than it was when they came in: even without his jacket, he feels flushed and feverish.
Maybe it's because he's used to having a hot bath every day, now. His body is used to, expects a temperature change.
Or maybe it's just really hot in here.
Even Yuri looks a little pink in the face, even though he never answered Victor's question –
Don't you want to come with me?)
Except that wasn't the question he just asked. He thinks. He's pretty sure. He hasn't asked that question in almost two years. In the end, he was the one to come to Yuri, and not the other way around.
Not that he minds. Not that there's anything about this last half a year that he minds, except for that one part that's missing.
The one big part. Huge. That he can't seem to forget or stop wanting, no matter how hard he tries. Even if everything else is amazing, a whole world he never knew existed. Time with Maccachin. Every day with Yuri. His family. Time to himself, to go sight-seeing around Hasetsu, to spend days at the beach or in the rolling hills nearby. A hot bath every day, big enough to swim in, almost.
Like the hot pot on the table. Only. With people. And less actually getting cooked.
Across the table, Celestino is slumping, giggling about something or other into his nearly empty glass (Victor notices with a start that his own is empty again, too – when did that happen?). He looks tired, but Victor doesn't feel tired. It hasn't been that long of a night yet. "That hot pot..."
Laughed, in Yuri's general direction, while the world swings. "Doesn't it make you think of the hot springs, Yuri? Your parents shouldn't cook people, that's cruel."