The moment Yuuri was out of Viktor’s sight, he leaned against the wall and let out a sob that he didn’t know he'd been holding in. He fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around Viktor’s dog, hugging Makkachin close to him. Himari, still keeping watch in the other room, started to come out to them, but his attention focused on Viktor still, because that was what she’d been asked to do. Yuuri held Makkachin, burying his face in the dog's fear. He muffled his cries, staying there for just a few moments. After about a minute or so, Yuuri strengthened his resolve and rose to his feet.
He made his way towards the kitchen again, searching for soap and water. He needed to rinse Viktor’s wound if he could, and his own hands as well. He found some water, and some soap, letting his hands get washed clean of the blood. He then filled a bucket with water and soap, then got a fresh rag as he made his way back to Viktor. As he stepped into the room, he had Makkachin at his side and he startled as Viktor mentioned some memory of him. He tried not to leap down the man's throat, excited that Viktor remembered some part of who he was. He nodded reassuringly, though, stepping closer again and settling on the side of the bed.
“Hai, I am,” murmured Yuuri softly. “Celestino was my coach, yes. That year, you skated to Stammi Vicino. I know the routine like the back of my hand. I, um, I learned it to get me out of my depression from losing at the Grand Prix horribly. I skated to it when you were competing, and one of my friends’ children posted the video online. It was so embarrassing.” Yuuri smiled awkwardly, holding out the rag. “I don’t know much about head wounds, but I should probably clean your wound. I, um…if that’s okay?”