Yuri woke up on a too soft bed with the smell of cinnamon and mint assaulting his nostrils. He was also warm, which was strange because Victor's bed always felt like Victor who always felt cold- not that Yuri was ever going to be someone to say that out loud. It would break the older man.
When he opened his eyes he found himself staring at an unfamiliar wooden floor covered in a colorful rug with intricate designs woven into the fabric. It looked equal parts old and new and made Yuri very uncomfortable. He also found his body felt good- better than it has in a long while.
He shouldn't be alive, and he should certainly be in pain. He wasn't. He was fine even if he feared to get up and check to see in a mirror. He was probably horribly disfigured or something. Old and wrinkly and grey.
I swear if I've been in a coma for ten years I'm kicking Victor's ass, he decided sourly the same time the door opened and JJ walked in.
No. Not JJ, even if they appeared to be the same age. JJ was taller, though, and would never be caught wearing such a solemn expression. Or so much leather.
"Who are you?" Yuri demanded before deciding he didn't care because it wasn't the most pressing issue and immediately asked, "Where's Victor?"
The man crossed the room, expression staying the same. He didn't seem particularly surprised by Yuri's recovery. He sat on the corner of the bed, eyes intense and staring. His sunglasses sat on top of his head, useless and forgotten.
I wonder if he knows that makes him look like a douchebag, Yuri thought spitefully before realizing he was probably twice the kid's age now and needed to mature a bit.
"I do not know a Victor," the kid confessed, and Yuri's brain halted because there was no doubt Victor would've found him and been there unless he couldn't.
"No," Yuri breathed, voice choked in a sob as the sudden pain of the words Victor and gone and forever crossed his mind.
The kid gave him a strange look before he ventured bravely, "Had he been there when the van exploded? Most of the others had already passed when I got to them."
Yuri shook his head, fighting back tears and wondering why the kid was talking about the explosion like it happened only a couple hours earlier. Maybe he wasn't, maybe it was just his sentimentally in his old age.
"Then I'm sure he's fine," the kid promised, and Yuri gaped back.
"How could you possibly be so sure?" he demanded, trying to put as much command in his voice as he was capable only it was still high and scratchy and if he was forever cursed as an old man with a child's voice he was going to cut someone.
The kid's eyes stared into him for a long moment before he seemed to realize something and he rose back to his feet. He walked to a chest on the other side of the room, grabbing a hand mirror from it and offering it to Yuri. Yuri accepted it reluctantly.
His fifteen-year-old self stared back.
Pale green eyes flickered to the expectant male as he muttered, "I don't understand."
"Do you remember the explosion?" the older teen asked and Yuri nodded, "You were gravely injured. I hadn't finished healing you when help arrived. You would have died if I left you."
Yuri blinked, calm. Some part of him didn't think he should be so calm. He should be freaking out because he'd died- or came as close as one could without actually dying. He should be upset because he'd actually been kidnapped, and Victor was probably losing his mind with worry.
He wasn't freaking out, though, because his skin was unblemished and his hair was shorter than it usually was but still held its pale blonde color. He didn't hurt either. If he hadn't woken up in a stranger's home the explosion could've passes as a terrible nightmare.
Except he did wake up in a stranger's home and it wasn't a dream and he suddenly realized he wasn't wearing any of his clothes.
The realization finally shocked him out of the muggy fog that's clouded his vision since the explosion. He scrambled for the quilt, hugging it around his neck as green eyes stared at the stranger trying to discern what he wanted.
"Answer me this then: what does the Hero of Kazakhstan want with my clothes?" he demanded but there was no heat in his words.
The explosion and the healing sucked most of his strength. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a week but knew he couldn't. Not just yet anyways.
The hero blinked at him. Yuri figured he wasn't used to people recognizing him. Not when the Hero of Kazakhstan tended to remain in the shadows, emerging only when the casualty number was high and the authorities either couldn't or wouldn't do anything for it. The hero is also not a resident of Russia, but St. Petersburg has attracted a lot of foreign attention lately.
"Don't worry," Yuri reassured as he thought of Victor and his own secret, "I'm not most people and as long as you hold off bringing people here and confessing to your powers you should be fine."
The hero wasn't impressed. Yuri folded his legs underneath his body as he shifted so he was closer to the hero, curious. He was so much different than Victor. Victor was all brittle smiles and gentle lies. This person wasn't trying to trick him, had seemingly accepted his fate to help a stranger. Yuri's heart felt for him.
Yuri reached out but never felt contact as his hand settled between them on the bed and he promised, "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."
The hero's stoic face softened minutely. Easy to miss if Yuri hadn't been staring at him so intently. It was enough.
Yuri figured now was a good as time as any and he was starting to feel self-conscious so he ventured, "Where did you place my clothes?"
The hero's eyes remained distant and uninterested as he explained, "They were ruined. I took the liberty of discarding them for you."
Yuri tugged the blanket tighter to his chest. He was uncomfortable, which was a weird combination with the gratefulness he also felt. He'd be dead or permeantly scarred without this man, but he also felt lost and vulnerable and he'd enjoy nothing more than to leap towards him and beat answers out of him.
He didn't- couldn't.
He swallowed and inquired, "So why me? Why heal only me?"
Dark eyes grew darker and grave as he explained, "The ones closest to the van died instantly. You were the first one I found alive and hadn't finished healing when help arrived. If I left halfway you would've certainly died, and I couldn't stay any longer so I brought you back here."
Yuri acknowledge his words with a hum and silence settled between them. It wasn't the comfortable silences he used to share with Victor when he was young and Victor was trying to make up for his initial cold demeanor towards him. They'd sit on the couch, Yuri tucked against Victor's side as the older man played idly with his hair and silence settled around them and he'd thought this is what normal people felt.
It wasn't one of those awkward tense silences he's felt whenever people realized he was an orphan and stared at him with pity and twisted sympathy. He'd have to gnaw on the bottom of his lip to prevent him from saying anything smart, crossing his arms over his chest to prevent himself from lashing out. His grandpa always hated his temper.
This silence was long and thin, but it wrapped around Yuri like a comforting blanket. The healing had suddenly caught up with him, and his shoulders sagged as exhaustion threatened to pull him under once more. He couldn't though. Not here.
His body was already betraying him and he felt his mind slipping towards unconsciousness. He sagged with it, falling onto a soft mattress surrounded by plush warmth and the cinnamon-mint smell that encompassed his small form.
"I will let you rest," the hero announced, rising to his feet and Yuri's body rebelled however weakly it turned out being.
"Victor," Yuri murmured and it came out as a whine but he didn't care because he needed Victor as much as he knew Victor needed him at that moment.
But then his mind pulled him down into the cotton infused softness of unconsciousness.
{…}
The next time he awoke his mind was clearer and his body was stronger. A pair of sweatpants and white sleep shirt was folded by the bed along with a pair of underwear and he slipped into them gratefully. They were loose and dangled off thin hips and even thinner shoulders but they worked and Yuri was grateful.
Bare feet crept across the wooden floor as he moved towards the door and out into the hall. The hall was bare- not so much as a picture dangling from an old nail on the wall. It was also a hideous avocado green that assaulted the eyes and clashed with the rich red carpet rolled over the wooden floorboards.
He found the hero in what must have served as the living room. It was small but it surprisingly worked as it wasn't cramped with furniture. The hero was reading a newspaper (people still read those?) but he glanced up when Yuri entered.
"I made you something to eat," the hero told him, gesturing towards the open kitchen before eyes focusing back on the paper.
Curious Yuri padded into the kitchen and found a blue pot sitting on the stovetop. He lifted the lid from it, glancing down into it. Chicken noodle soup. The smell alone made Yuri's stomach grumble and twist painfully.
He turned to ask about bowls, mouth open and words on the tip of his tongue only for it to die almost instantly. The hero was standing so close their backs could've been touching if Yuri didn't jump back in shock. The edge of the counters dug into his hipbones, pressing and persistent and uncomfortable. Not yet painful but certainly unpleasant.
The man reached out to open the cabinet by Yuri's head. He pulled out a bowl and handed it to him, eyes never leaving him. Yuri glared the whole time, stomach knotting for completely different reasons.
"What's your problem asshole," Yuri finally snapped, irritated at being cornered and hungry and worried about what Victor was doing at that moment.
The hero's face remained impassive as he turned to walk back towards his chair. Yuri watched him unmoving, glass bowl cold in his tight fists. His knuckles were white and pressing tightly against his skin. He forced his hands to relax as he took calming breaths in an attempt to quell his temper.
He set the bowl on the cabinet, moving forward so he was standing in the middle of the kitchen staring at the hero in his chair. It was as far as he allowed himself to dare, forcing himself to remain levelheaded and whatever passed as calm for him.
"Do I get a name at least?" Yuri demanded.
The hero didn't even glance up as he replied evenly, "You have a name."
Yuri growled softly, irritated, before he ground out, "I meant your name. Your real name, the one your parents gave you. Not strangers."
The hero's eyebrows rose to his forehead and those cryptic eyes found him once more. They made his skin itch and he had to force himself to not squirm in his discomfort.
Then they disappeared back to his paper and he offered, "Otabek."
Yuri swallowed, nodded, and something unseen meowed softly. The sound prickled Yuri's ears, and his heart leapt.
"You have a cat," Yuri announced a little too eager and a little too happy and he was well aware he sounded like an excited child.
Otabek gave him a curious look that was ignored as the next moment a fluffy white and black Himalayan cat leapt on the counter. Yuri's heart melted as a giddy sound (of which he is not embarrassed by because it was one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen before) escaped his mouth.
The cat took to him as fast as he took to her, it seemed, as the cat started to purr and rub against his hands and arms when he reached out to pet her. He hugged the cat to his chest, soft fur tickling his nose and chin.
"Aw. What's her name?" Yuri cooed, smile stretching his face.
Otabek was staring at him strangely now. His face was still a serious mask of hard lines and sharp edges but softer than before. Not gentle or sappy like Victor's face adopts whenever Yuri's playing with Makkachin but a little less serious. A little less detached.
He didn't move from the chair as he offered, "Potya."
"She's so precious," Yuri gushed fondly, long hair tickling his face as the cat rubbed against his cheeks and nose.
"She was a gift from my parents," Otabek explained before asking, "How are you feeling?"
"Better," Yuri admitted as his stomach twisted and gurgled at him angrily so he concluded, "Hungry. I miss Victor."
"I'll take you back to him as soon as you eat," Otabek promised, folding the paper in his lap, "and I suggest you take it easy the next couple of days. Your body is adjusting from the sudden change."
Yuri nodded, hiding his grin inside Potya's fur. He wouldn't ever admit it to the silver haired idiot but his heart did a goofy little flutter at the promise of getting back to Victor. Otabek seemed to pick up on it but didn't comment. Yuri was grateful.
Instead Otabek commanded from behind the newspaper, "Eat your soup."
Yuri could hear the smile in his voice. He didn't comment on it.
{…}
"Why am I wearing this?" Yuri asked, tipping the back helmet over his head so he could see once more.
Otabek had blacked out the face shield so when Yuri had it on he couldn't see anything. He also had insulated the insides so he couldn't hear anything either. It would've been impressive if Yuri wasn't expected to wear it.
"I can't risk you remembering how to get here," Otabek explained and Yuri scowled at him because that wasn't fair.
"What if I want to remember?" Yuri challenged with a pout, "What if I want to visit?"
Otabek shoved the helmet back over his face in reply. Yuri glared at the sudden darkness but didn't dare take the helmet back off. Not when Otabek made it clear that he wasn't going to take him home until he was certain Yuri was going to obey him.
It still saddened him when he thought of how Otabek didn't want his location to be known. He couldn't fathom why but trusted he had good reason. His heart ached at the thought of parting with his savior, but it hurt more the longer he remained separated from Victor.
The idiot was probably losing his mind with worry. He would never say it out loud because it would make him sound like a creepy old man but Victor memorized every route Yuri's ever taken since moving in with him. He had alarms set on his phone for when Yuri started home. He would've been able to place the pieces together. Yuri could only hope that he didn't think he was dead.
Otabek settled in place in front of him on the motorcycle. Yuri felt hands- larger than his own and warm and rough with callouses, a worker's hand- wrap around his own and guide it around Otabek's waist. Yuri squeezed, conveying he got the message.
As the motorcycle started he allowed his head to wonder. When he'd been eating Otabek explained how he'd been asleep for almost 26 hours, and he'd nearly choked on the broth. He'd thought of the last time he'd been several minutes late coming home from school and how he'd walked into the apartment to see Victor pacing, nose buried in his phone.
Victor had attacked him almost instantly, wrapping him in a warm tight hug. The interrogation came next, demanding to know what kept him and if he was okay and to promise to never make him go through that ever again.
He hadn't been late longer than ten minutes, having allowed himself to grow distracted gazing inside the store windows seeking inspiration for a Christmas/birthday present for Victor. He'd had to apologize and called Victor foolish for overreacting but he'd been grateful by how much Victor obviously cared.
Twenty-six hours.
He was almost frightened by what awaited him at home. If it wasn't for the fact that Yuuri adapted so quickly to being able to handle Victor's emotions then Yuri would've dumped the soup in the sink at that moment and commanded to go home now.
It was another hour before they stopped, and Otabek was removing his helmet. He blinked, recognizing the street instantly. They were back in St. Petersburg. Five minutes from the apartment walking, and he was thrumming with sudden excitement.
He was five minutes from Victor. Twenty-seven hours later and he was only five minutes away from Victor and yet something was making him linger.
"Thank you for saving my life," Yuri said suddenly, flushing with emotion.
Otabek's eyes widened in surprise, but it quickly faded into a startled sort of calm as he nodded. Yuri flashed him another smile as he climbed from the motorcycle. His thighs were sore from the ride and his rear ached and his legs itched to go and never look back. He didn't. He lingered.
"What are you going to do now?" Yuri asked, "Where are you going to go?"
"I'm going to go back," Otabek explained, clutching Yuri's helmet to his chest uncomfortably.
Yuri toed his shoe into the snow before he pulled out one of the pens from his backpack and scribbled his number on a sheet of paper and thrust it at him. Otabek glanced at it and made no move to take it.
"I know you don't have a phone," Yuri informed him with a roll of his eyes, "but just in case you happen upon one. I'd love to hear from you. You know, to make sure you're alright."
His cheeks were bright red by the end, and his heart had lodged itself in the back of his throat. He felt like a foolish child as he silently urged Otabek to accept the paper. When he did Yuri hadn't even realized his body was thrumming with tension until it left him with a whoosh of air.
"Take care of yourself," Otabek said and Yuri smiled and nodded as he stepped back as he watched Otabek start his motorcycle and start away.
Yuri watched him disappear before he turned towards the direction of his apartment and sprinted towards it.
{…}
Victor wouldn't let him touch him anymore- had stopped allowing it ten hours ago when Yuuri made the mistake of urging giddy happiness into the distraught male. It had calmed him for several quick minutes before Victor had jerked away and returned to his phone, keeping the distance.
He didn't say anything. He never voiced any of his conclusions, and he didn't verbally accuse Yuuri of being what he knew he was. He started to dodge all his advances at touching him- however discreet Victor hid it- and without the constant flush of warmth and assurance Yuuri offered he had become tense and agitated and something frightening.
For the first twelve hours Victor never got off the phone. He called the hospital and all the small clinics but they were all dead ends. No John Doe's by the description of Yuri had been rushed amongst them, and Victor would thank them before hanging up. Each time Yuuri watched Victor's eyes grow more distraught and less hopeful at finding Yuri alive.
Yuuri wasn't entirely sure who else Victor called but he occasionally realized he'd gotten Yuri's voicemail as the older man's voice would grow soft and needy as he begged for him to be okay and safe and to call him as soon as possible.
Then he ran out of people to call, ran out of contacts to try and beg and he camped in front of the television flipping from news channel to news channel in hopes of seeing something. It wasn't until three hours ago that the first list of known victims had been released.
Yuri hadn't been on it. Victor had checked it six times.
That had helped some. It alleviated some of the panic and desperation lurking inside Victor's shimmering blue eyes. It wasn't enough, though. Any moment he was going to break, and Yuuri's heart ached to reach out and take some of his pain away. Except Victor wouldn't let him touch him anymore.
"You hungry?" Yuuri finally asked because he needed to help him somehow.
He thought back to Yuri on Sunday when he'd threatened him for the sake of Victor. It had been so normal, so average, and most of the attention had been direction towards Yuuri because they hadn't known that was becoming increasingly more probable to being the last time they'd ever see the kid breathing.
Victor didn't look at him, didn't speak to him. He shook his head, eyes focused on the TV as they begged for information on the kid.
Yuri should've made it home. Yuri had been near the explosion, and now he just seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. Yuri's probably dead, the realization becoming increasingly more apparent every passing moment.
"You should eat," Yuuri decided but he wasn't foolish enough to convince himself that he'd be able to get Victor to eat anything he made.
He had to try.
The front door opened the same time he opened the fridge. Soft pants from someone who ran in the frosty Russian temperatures was the only sound for a long tense moment. Nobody moved, Yuuri was certain Yuri was the only one breathing.
Then Victor was on his feet, and Yuri was crumpling into his arms with a strangled sound. Victor's hands were frantic, moving and touching and patting everywhere he could. Yuri let him, child's hands fisting into the front of Victor's shirt. Victor didn't seem to notice, taking them both to the couch where he planted soft kisses into pale hair and pale skin and soft thanks to no one in particular.
Yuuri almost hated to ruin the moment.
"Yuri what happened to you?" he asked taking care to keep his voice gentle and reassuring and more curious than anything else.
Yuri peaked at him, eyes wide pools of clear green. Victor did too, arms gripping the body in his arms tightly. For the first time in hours he didn't look moments from shattering. Yuri pulled away, keeping a tight grip to the front of Victor's shirt. Victor's arms never let go.
"I-" Yuri started before he scowled and admitted with a sudden fire that sounded so much like the mouthy kid Yuuri met the first day, "I'm fine."
"You are now," Victor promised as he pressed his lips against Yuri's temple as he repeated, "You are now."
Yuri's eyes flickered up to his face and his eyes betrayed him. He wasn't fine, no matter how he looked and he looked fine. His skin was unblemished, and he didn't appear to be in pain as Victor clutched at him searchingly. Victor couldn't find any signs of injury.
"You're not fine Yuri," Yuuri announced before crossing his arms over his chest and asked, "What happened?"
Victor did glare at him then- warning him from pushing the kid too far so soon. It still seemed rather mild and Yuuri ignored it easily, eyes narrowed on the skinny youth staring curiously at him over Victor's arm. This time when Yuri pulled away, Victor's arms loosened themselves before he settled for hands against the teen's sides.
"The van," Yuri explained slowly, brow creasing as if thinking of it hurt him and Yuuri was already shaking his head because there wasn't even a scratch on him.
"You're unhurt though," Victor cooed- practically reading Yuuri's mind- and he hunched over so he was wrapping Yuri in his presence once more.
Yuri's hand landed on Victor's chest, small hands splayed amongst the fabric. He pushed just enough that Victor got the message and leaned back, face pinned in a pain expression at being rejected.
"Healer," was what Yuri offered and the pieces fell together and Yuuri's stomach knotted and soured as the voice chuckled darkly in the back of his skull- making it buzz.
Perhaps some good does come out from the boy's survival, it thrummed and it made Yuuri sick.
He ignored it, like he always did, but the laugh lingered. Buzzing. Echoing. Mocking. Yuuri almost wished he knew where the body lay so he could prove just how heartless he was capable of being.
You flatter me, the voice teased before commanding harshly, get the name of this healer.
Yuuri would've been more than happy to disobey- damn the consequences- but Victor was smarter than Yuri gave him credit for and he breathed, "The Hero of Kazakhstan."
Yuri nodded, the motion looking sluggish and subdued as shiny eyes stared into Yuuri. He did his best to school his expression, afraid of giving too much away- both out loud and internal. Victor didn't seem to notice or, rather, he chose not to.
Yuri was back and safe and in his arms and Victor made no indication of letting him go. Yuri looked well and not the lifeless dead pale thing Yuuri feared they were going to eventually find. If anything his cheeks were flushed from the cold, nose tingling a soft red color. The color of life.
And because the voice was still clawing at the corners of his mind, demanding attention and answers, Yuuri tightened his fingers around the fridge's handle and announced, "I'm going to start dinner."
Neither male moved to answer or acknowledge him.
He took their silences as an okay.
{…}
Yuri must've been sleepier than he'd let on as he dozed off before Yuuri finished in the kitchen. The smell accompanied with the slight breathing chest pressed against his own was enough to kick Victor's instincts back to normal and his stomach tightened, reminding him how hungry he was.
Cradling the back of Yuri's neck like one would a baby, he reached out to grab the remote from the other end of the couch. Yuri groaned at the movement, eyelids fluttering before he stilled. Victor released a relieved breath, flicking the television off before adjusting Yuri to a more normal position.
He knew enough about healers to know they exhaust the body- both their own and whoever's life they were saving. It taxed their strength so much that most of them refuse to use their powers at all, deciding instead to hide within the shadows of the crowds.
Out of all users, they were the ones who hid the best. That reason alone was made them so valuable because they were impossible to find and held so many different uses. Could literally save lives- have saved lives.
Victor guided the back of Yuri's head with his hand, tender as he laid the kid's head against his chest. Yuri didn't protest, didn't even stir, as his warm breath washed over Victor's skin. Never before had Victor ever welcomed any type of warmth as much as he did then.
His prayers hadn't been answered when he wished for Yuri to be spared in whatever war other users were trying to inflect upon St. Petersburg. Yuri had been at the explosion- had probably been hurt as the cause- but his life had been saved. He'd been revived and rescued and eventually returned to him, and it filled Victor with a sudden pressing burst of warm and cold he found he couldn't do much more than hug Yuri to him.
He planted a kiss against Yuri's temple, lost amongst strands of blonde hair for no other reason except Victor could. Yuri murmured his protests, proving that even in unconsciousness he was still a defiant little brat. Victor sucked in a sob at the thought, tightening his hold as he suppressed tears and what-could-have-beens.
Yuri was fine. Yuri was there and alive and Victor could release him any moment he chose and he wouldn't go anywhere. Even so, Victor couldn't bring himself to let go just yet.
Instead the hand pressed against Yuri's hip moved to encircle the kid's hand. It was pale and small- a child's hand- and he could feel the bumps of bones underneath the pad of his thumb as it traced small circles into the skin. Delicate, Victor's brain supplied, like it should belong to a pianist or an artist.
The world was rarely so kind, Victor knew but it returned Yuri to him so he suspected it wasn't outright cruel either. Somewhere in the middle then- like that thing Chris had said to him once.
The world was once black and white but then they combined to make grey and no matter how much white it added back into it, it will always remain grey.
Victor had rolled his eyes, growling something about friends being useless and unneeded children abruptly entering his life. It hadn't been too long after Yuri was handed to him on his doorstep, and he'd been complaining about how the world had been unfair. Chris had disagreed and glancing down at the sleeping form sprawled across his lap Victor concluded that his friend had been right.
Yuuri returned with two bowls of something that smelt as good as it looked. His stomach grumbled in protest, mouth salivating as his body reminded him he hadn't eaten anything since hearing of the explosion. Before that he hadn't had much of an appetite, flashes of Chris pale and struggling to breathe reappearing every time his eyes closed.
Yuuri set the bowls on the coffee table, crouched down at Victor's side. Large brown eyes were reflecting what little light the room held. A worried frown were pulling at the corners of his mouth and if Victor's emotions had been strung out of him for the past thirty hours he figured his body would've reacted accordingly.
Do you even know how beautiful you are? he was desperate to ask but refrained, choosing instead to catch that pale wrist as it reached out to rouse Yuri from his sleep.
Those eyes turned towards him, comely face drawn into an unsure frown. Something about his touches, Victor remembered, made him uncomfortable and at a time he'd had a theory but now Yuri was sleeping in his arms- breath making goosebumps dance along pale skin and his heart thumping in time with his own- and all he could think of at the moment was the kid in his arms.
"Let him sleep," was what Victor offered as an explanation, his own voice subdued and quiet to his ears. He didn't release Yuuri's wrist, nor did he make any move to.
Yuuri didn't seem to mind, hand going limp in his hold. His eyes never left his own- bright and worried and unsure. Victor knew whatever faults the man may hold, whatever secrets Victor had suspected only hours ago, he'd be willing to forget with that look alone.
"He needs his strength," Yuuri protested and apparently his emotions weren't as spent as he'd earlier suspected as his heart leapt painfully at the words.
He was worried about Yuri, Victor's brain bit out at him, and you wanted to let him go.
"He needs sleep," Victor answered already burying himself further into sleeping Yuri's hair, inhaling the scent, as he continued, "The clothes are not his own, and he was absent long past the explosion and cleanup. Whoever healed him took care of him, helped nurse him as best they could. What he needs now is rest."
And I'm not strong enough to part with him just yet. Forgive me, I am not strong enough.
Brown eyes stared a moment longer before the softened with defeat and Yuuri nodded, rising back to his feet.
"I'll place his in the fridge," he informed Victor and took only one of the bowls back into the kitchen.
Victor gathered the message of that clear enough. Still he didn't feel like moving as he sat there, hugging Yuri's sleeping form to his chest. He closed his eyes and finally allowed the tears to come.