"It's far too warm for the time of year to be Russia," Viktor said, looking around. "Also, the foliage isn't quite right. It's different." Of course Yuuri would think of his medal, of all things. He'd refused to take it off during the flight to Japan and wouldn't even pack it for the trip home, either. It was absurd, and precious, and so adorably Yuuri that Viktor couldn't help laughing. He took Yuuri's hand, brought it to his lips.
"Both medals," he corrected, as his fingers turned the gold ring on Yuuri's right hand. It was a connection to home that he found oddly comforting. "Whatever might happen," he said, choosing his words carefully, "don't forget that." He had given Yuuri this ring with a promise, one that he intended to keep no matter where they happened to be. Dom had scrambled onto his left shoulder to hitch a ride, and seemed unconcerned with what was going on. Viktor guessed there wasn't a lot that mattered to him other than food.
"What makes you think there are other - ?" he started to ask, then remembered. The backpack he'd left behind when he'd chased after Makkachin. It had completely slipped his mind. "Wait. There was a bag beside me when I woke," he said, and tugged Yuuri in the other direction. "It might have supplies. Or food."