“Ah,” Yuuri says. They’re near the TVs, JJ’s performance broadcasting. “Mari’s calling. I’ll be right back.”
Viktor nods, letting go of Yuuri’s shoulder for the first time in a while; he hadn’t noticed he was holding onto Yuuri until he made to leave. Is he clingy? He might be clingy. The space at his side loses heat as he watches JJ’s short programme with a critical eye, cataloguing movements, similarities to other skaters. A glance at Yuuri’s back shows only high shoulders, his posture sheltering the phone from the noise.
A tiny coil of dread unfurls in Viktor’s stomach. Habit, maybe; he doesn’t like it when Yuuri adopts that posture, cut off from the people in the room. He turns back to JJ, but the programme is finishing. There’s nothing there to help Yuuri, anyway; JJ has a different appeal.
Or rather, Yuuri has appeal. Viktor wonders if he’s biased. He looks at Yuuri again, and now Yuuri is turning to face him, phone still clutched in his hand.
“Viktor—you have to go back to Japan. I’ll face the free skate alone.”
Victor: "You keep clutching your stomach, are you okay?" Yurio: "I'm going to be sick..." They are on the ice, practicing and Yurio cannot get anywhere conventional in time, so as much a Victor tries to stop him, he just skates precariously over to the side of the rink and holds onto the sides and throws up onto the floor on the other side of the bariers. Bonus points if he actually can't get anything up so Victor gives up stopping him and goes to help instead. (Also hi, btw, I felt brave~)