Victor’s expression went blank for a moment, then shifted into something more confused. How could…oh. Yuri…that’s right. He remembered now how Yuri had run from him, how he’d backed up in such a hurry to get away from him any time he’d gotten close. He tilted his head, but eventually relinquished control and let Yuri go. He pointed to the right, motioning down the hallway. “Just at the end of the hallway here, on your left. Makka, go with him, okay? Be a good girl and make sure he doesn’t get lost.” As if the poodle could help him more than just being there for comfort and petting, but that was half the point. Makkachin, barking once when Victor signalled, happily made her way down the hallway, ears flopping as she led the way.
Meanwhile, Victor made his way into the kitchen, leaning up against his cupboard for a minute, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. That had been so real, so desperate. His Yuri. His Yuri was here, willing and reaching out to him. Victor still couldn’t believe that Yuri had willingly kissed him and he could bless his luck. He missed Yuri, wanting nothing more than to hold him in his arms again, lazy mornings staying in bed, or even just sharing stories at the end of the day. Maybe here, he could have that again. It was so, so hard to be patient, but he knew he had to be.
Once he’d taken in a deep breath to still his own emotions, Victor moved and started to dice the onions. It wasn’t pretty by any means, but the onion was fully chopped by the time Yuri would come back. And yes, Victor did have tears in his eyes, just lightly, which he would swear up and down wet won my from dicing the onion. The onion was chopped in so many different sizes and styles; it was evident that Victor usually didn’t cook for himself.