Phichit has to relinquish the death grip of his fingertips on his phone to take the plate from Victor, which he must end up doing, because Yuri sees it out of the side of his vision while the waiter from before is finally making his way quickly toward them. The stack of plates in his hands, and Yuri can't tell if he's relieved to be able to turn away for a handful of seconds -- or worried that something, he doesn't even know what, might happen if he does.
But someone has to take the plates, and Phichit has a platter, and Victor and Celestino are out, so his hands are already out, too. Taking them with a conflicted, unthinking, "Arigato," amazed his voice even works, in time to cringe with a wrinkle of his nose. "I mean," He fumbled, making his brain work. He even knew this one without the help of a translator or a book, still he forgot. "Xièxiè."
The man's expression went from something politely passive to remotely pleased.
Even though, he responded in his same broken English. "No problem. Anything else, you tell me."
There are still plates in his hands, getting set, carefully, on this end of the table, only by himself and Phichit, Victor laughing at something -- that Celestino seems to be laughing at, too, that he didn't catch, making his nerves slip into snakes, the already evoked questioning if it was about him, about his slip seconds ago -- as Victor said something that sounded like hot springs, and then Yuri's name, demanding he look toward Victor to catch a sentence that makes no sense.
Except that Victor really is, maybe, probably, very likely, very drunk.
He wants to ask. It's on his tongue to, flitting against his teeth and the press of his lips, but Victor is an adult, older than him, and Victor went out while in Hasetsu even. Not with him. Until dawn. Always a little later, a little more rumpled those mornings, in a way magazines would have been dying to photograph him, and Yuri couldn't help being both envious of and ... troubled by. (Even if, all these months later, that's still the wrong word, and he doesn't know the right one still.)
It's not really his place to ask, or tell Victor what to do like this, right? Maybe this is normal for him. Maybe this is what did before and during and after competitions, when he met up with other skaters and their coaches. Maybe Yuri never knew, like he never knew what any of them did when they weren't on the ice or on the podium. Never willing to ask. Not a one of them. Definitely notVictor.
It's uncertain, but more normal sounding, when he says, a little off balance to need to correct something even a child would know, for a drunken Victor, which he's still trying to wrap his mind around there being: "They don't cook people. The water isn't hot enough for that."
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But someone has to take the plates, and Phichit has a platter, and Victor and Celestino are out, so his hands are already out, too. Taking them with a conflicted, unthinking, "Arigato," amazed his voice even works, in time to cringe with a wrinkle of his nose. "I mean," He fumbled, making his brain work. He even knew this one without the help of a translator or a book, still he forgot. "Xièxiè."
The man's expression went from something politely passive to remotely pleased.
Even though, he responded in his same broken English. "No problem. Anything else, you tell me."
There are still plates in his hands, getting set, carefully, on this end of the table, only by himself and Phichit, Victor laughing at something -- that Celestino seems to be laughing at, too, that he didn't catch, making his nerves slip into snakes, the already evoked questioning if it was about him, about his slip seconds ago -- as Victor said something that sounded like hot springs, and then Yuri's name, demanding he look toward Victor to catch a sentence that makes no sense.
Except that Victor really is, maybe, probably, very likely, very drunk.
He wants to ask. It's on his tongue to, flitting against his teeth and the press of his lips, but Victor is an adult, older than him, and Victor went out while in Hasetsu even. Not with him. Until dawn. Always a little later, a little more rumpled those mornings, in a way magazines would have been dying to photograph him, and Yuri couldn't help being both envious of and ... troubled by. (Even if, all these months later, that's still the wrong word, and he doesn't know the right one still.)
It's not really his place to ask, or tell Victor what to do like this, right? Maybe this is normal for him. Maybe this is what did before and during and after competitions, when he met up with other skaters and their coaches. Maybe Yuri never knew, like he never knew what any of them did when they weren't on the ice or on the podium. Never willing to ask. Not a one of them. Definitely not Victor.
It's uncertain, but more normal sounding, when he says, a little off balance to need to correct something even a child would know, for a drunken Victor, which he's still trying to wrap his mind around there being: "They don't cook people. The water isn't hot enough for that."