Work Text:
Moscow is a breathtaking place, Yuuri thinks to himself.
His days here had been filled with nothing but practice and the anxiety that comes with performing in front of a crowd of people that he knows hate him. Only Victor's gentle affection had made it worthwhile. In return, his short program had been a demonstration of his love for Victor - a performance where every glide of his feet against the ice; every step and turn was done so with the intention of showing the crowd - showing Victor - how he was his and his alone.
Victor's hurried departure, with much encouragement from Yuuri, was necessary for him to realise how much he wants to win the Grand Prix Final with Victor.
It still doesn't make him feel less lonely - here, outside the ice rink stadium, with cold hands and a stuffy nose.
Yuuri sniffs and, out of his periphery, sees movement and hears what sounds like rapidly approaching feet before he's on the ground - reeling from the brunt of a kick to his side from who he belatedly realises is Yurio.
"Katsudon!" Yurio snarls. His eyes are narrowed as he regards the sprawled form of Yuuri on the snow-covered ground. "You made me look everywhere for you!"
"Wha-" Yuuri wheezes. He's still feeling winded from the kick and Yurio, seeing this, softens his gaze to something akin to guilt and then proceeds to point a finger at him.
"Just because Victor wasn't here today doesn't mean you can completely butch your performance like that! I was in top form today - even made a personal best - and yet I had to lose to JJ. Again."
He glares at him. His hand tightens his hold on what Yuuri now sees is a brown paper bag. With an exasperated sigh, he dumps it unceremoniously on Yuuri's lap.
"Eat it."
"What? Now?"
"Eat!"
The smell of fried dough fills his nostrils as he opens the bag that, surprisingly, contains three delicious-looking pirozkhis. He blinks. Why would Yurio give him this?
Yuuri looks up and feels his eyes widening at the expression of impatient anticipation written all over Yurio's face.
"C'mon! Try it!" Yurio snaps, a half-smile playing on his lips.
Yuuri brings the pirozkhi to his mouth and takes a bite. Instantly, his mouth is flooded with the taste of katsudon - with the taste of home.
"It's your birthday soon, right?" Yurio is saying.
His birthday... That's right. He'll be twenty-four in a few hours. He'd completely forgotten, what with the pressure of qualifying for the Grand Prix Final and Makkachin's condition laying heavily on his mind.
The fact that Yurio had remembered - even presented him with a gift - makes him smile and look at the boy. The boy he's coming to understand has more sides to him than he'd thought.
"I can taste eggs, rice and pork cutlet," Yuuri says, feeling his smile grow as he looks at Yurio. "It's... Katsudon!"
At that, Yurio smiles and Yuuri marvels at the beauty of it; how young and innocent it makes him look. Yuuri's convinced he's one of the lucky few who's witnessed the Russian boy make such an expression. The boy who bares his teeth and hides his hurt with the force of his anger and Yuuri knows that the warmth in his chest is not just from the pirozkhi he's just eaten, but from the affection he feels for this boy.
"It's good, right? My grandfather made them." Yurio grins at him and Yuuri can see the depth of love and pride he feels for the elderly man in his eyes.
Yuuri takes another pirozkhi and bites into it before returning his grin. "They're vkusno!"
Moscow really is breathtaking, Yuuri thinks. From the old, intricately modelled buildings to the young boy beside him who never fails to surprise him, and who's caused his chest to fill with a warmth he hasn't felt since Victor left.
The smile stays on him for the rest of the night.
Victor, I have so much to tell you.