While Yuri's moving (but not moving away, which is the important thing, so is Victor, but in a different direction: finally relieving himself of the trousers he's somehow still wearing, snaking the material off his legs and tossing them ... somewhere. He doesn't really care where. It doesn't matter, because Yuri has found the sheet and thin hotel blanket and Victor grabs at them, sleepily, because Yuri has selfishly only tugged up enough to cover himself, and Victor is cold.

Well, chilly.

Well, it's a little drafty.

But Yuri is warm, and once the sheet and blanket are tugged up, he slides back towards that warmth like an iron filing to a magnet, already more than half asleep again, even as his hand slides over Yuri's stomach and his head dents the pillow Yuri's decided to take over.

It's more comfortable over here.

(A thought that fails to trouble him, or furrow his forehead with faint concern, or do more than blip across his consciousness as pure observation. It is. Comfortable. Warm. Everything he wants to be able to curl up to, in the middle of the night.

Sleepy and still more than half drunk, he simply never remembers to ask himself why he doesn't normally have it.)

Only sighing some sleepy thanks, while his eyes are closing, and he's swimming back down towards sleep from the half-aware state he'd floated up into, and all he knows is that Yuri is warm and right there, and Yuri came back with him, and Yuri hasn't left again, and Victor is just ...

Happy. Sleepy, but. Happy.


It's been so long.