[The way people perceive him isn't just a reflection of Yuri. What would Abyss look like to an outsider, seeing him weak and struggling? Or his gang? An easy target. Yuri is all too familiar with being made a victim, knows exactly the walls he needs to put up to keep from ending up underboot. A wolf backed into a corner still snarls and bites.

As for the facade lingering even amongst friends, lingering even in the privacy of the dorm... well. Old habits die hard, and these are old, old habits. But even in the past half year, Yuri's changed. It's subtle. A hint in the candidness of his expression, or the way he holds his body... Around Balthus, Yuri has allowed his mask to slip.

Balthus approaches, and Yuri sits up straighter in his chair, like that'll make him look any less worn down. The headache behind his eyes hasn't ebbed any. He snorts as he watches Balthus's perfunctory glance at the paperwork, covered in Yuri's delicate, looping penmanship. There's something almost... antiquated about the way his letters are shaped, as if mimicked from an ancient relic.]

I figured.

[Yuri crosses something out, writes another line while playing absent-mindedly with the ends of his hair. It's grown an inch or so longer than he usually keeps it, more by coincidence than anything intentional.]

Who do you think you are, my mother?

[Purely a turn of phrase. She was usually working when Yuri would have been shirking curfew.]

I'm fine, Balthus. I've slept less for worse. I'm not tired-- I don't have the time to be.