The question takes him aback, but leaves him laughing, amused. "Oh, I had a little much last night, huh?"

That would explain the gap in his memory, at least, but he feels fine now. A little tired, perhaps, but it's difficult to focus on anything that could be wrong when there is so much right (if bewildering) happening right in front of him.

Yuri. Here is his bed. (In all his clothes, but still.) Looking more annoyed than anything else, and definitely not the blushing, stammering, uncertain innocent who Victor had to consciously stop flirting with, who would probably have sunk into the floor in embarrassment if this was even suggested.

And even since then –– but it's been nothing like this, has it? He'd stepped back, re-focused himself. Coach, not lover. Even if, lately, the lines have felt more and more blurred.

Was that it? Did he say something, do something, ask something last night? The somethings he's been trying to pretend aren't there, eating away at his ribs and lungs and stomach ...

But Yuri wouldn't be looking at him like this if he had, would he? He wouldn't be just this side of annoyed, sounding like all he wants to do is roll his eyes or throw his pillow at Victor.

So maybe it was just a late night. Maybe it really is as innocent as it all appears to be.

He has no way of knowing, and it doesn't seem like Yuri is interested in sharing, so he just smiles, and shrugs. "Well, we have plenty of time for breakfast before we have to get to the rink for the morning practice. "

Thank goodness. He's starving.