Chapter 21

🜼 🜼 🜼

Cherriot navigated toward their destination with an intuitive grasp of the terrain, humming a tuneless melody as he drove. His left arm hung casually over the open window frame, a relaxed posture that harmonized with the vast, sweeping scenery stretching endlessly to their left.

“This town’s a desert for delivery apps, so we’re on our own for dinner,” Cherriot remarked, his tone light and conversational. “The restaurants shutter early, too, so drinking at home is our only option. It’s a bit of a letdown sometimes, even if everything else is decent.”

Cherriot kept up a steady stream of chatter, filling the silence even though Yuri offered little in response. For the first time, Yuri found it fortunate that the man talked so much. Exposing his scars had rattled him more than he had anticipated, leaving his usual composure in tatters. This constant stream of talk was a welcome, if loud, distraction.

“Wolfie, can you cook?”

Cherriot asked the question abruptly, utilizing the pet name without a second thought. Yuri frowned, stung by the moniker, but he was far too drained to argue. “To an extent.”

“Hmm. Everyone’s standards are different, so I can’t tell what that means. Tell me what dishes you can make.”

“Sandwiches.”

Cherriot fell silent for a moment, clearly processing the information. “What else?”

“If I know how to heat instant packages, that seems sufficient.”

Typically, Yuri only consumed ready meals, sandwiches with ham and lettuce, or peanut butter and jelly. His father had possessed zero talent for cooking, so they had always relied on purchased food. He only ate authentic Russian dishes on those rare occasions Alexei bestowed food Valeri had prepared—a gesture that felt like offering alms to a beggar.

There was exactly one more thing he could make: medovik. He had prepared the honey cake with his mother, and the recipe had remained etched in his memory long after her death. He could make it if forced, but desserts were time-consuming, and medovik in particular was complex enough to be a chore.

“Looks like I’m doomed to be in charge of cooking. This is serious.”

“Sandwiches aren’t enough?”

“They don’t have enough nutrients!”

“Isn’t it enough if they have carbohydrates, protein, and fiber?”

Cherriot snorted in dismissal. Food was not a pressing issue to Yuri, so he decided to yield the kitchen duties to his companion. They arrived at a shopping area with a grocery store and a liquor store situated side by side, having driven about twenty minutes from their cabin.

“All right, we’re here. Let’s go.”

“Wait.”

Yuri caught Cherriot just as he prepared to bolt from the vehicle. When Yuri yanked hard on the seat belt, Cherriot tilted backward, his head tipping into the space between them. Half reclining against Yuri, he looked up, blinking. The way Cherriot fluttered those long, pretty lashes with an expression of utter bewilderment was absurd.

“Hat. Mask.”

“Oh, right.” Cherriot widened his eyes as if he had forgotten entirely. Still half reclined, he stared at Yuri’s face and suggested, “You should wear sunglasses too. Because of the bruise on your face.”

“I don’t have any.”

“I do. I’ll lend you mine.”

With that, Cherriot sprang upright and reached toward the glove box. Yuri watched him, wary of his intentions, until a sunglasses case emerged from within. As far as Yuri remembered, it had never been there before.

“What is that?”

“I put them there to use while driving.”

“I’m asking why you put them in my car—”

Yuri frowned, displeased by the way Cherriot had trespassed into his territory, but Cherriot cut him off by sliding the sunglasses onto Yuri’s face. “They suit you. As expected, when the face is good, anything looks good.”

Cherriot donned his own mask, followed by a baseball cap. A little of his reddish-blond hair showed at the nape of his neck. At a glance, no one would likely identify him, but perhaps because red had been branded into Yuri’s mind as Cherriot’s signature, an uneasy thought crossed his mind that someone might recognize him just from that beautiful, vibrant hair.

Still, even if a photo were snapped, it would not be definitive. For now, it should be enough if I’m behind him.

Perhaps because their faces were similar in size, the sunglasses fit Yuri well. He disliked having them forced upon him, but Cherriot had a point, so they stepped out of the car. The moment they were outside, Cherriot pressed close to Yuri’s side, nudging him to hurry. Faced with that cheerful, oblivious movement—as though the terrifying scars he had seen earlier did not concern him at all—Yuri clamped his mouth shut. He was still confused.

Unlike his usual self, when he simply analyzed the situation and acted, his mind was crowded. He could not easily take a step. Then Cherriot grabbed his wrist. At the sudden contact, Yuri shot him a sharp look, though his eyes remained hidden behind the shades.

“Let’s hurry. We have a lot to do.”

“I heard you, so let go.”

“You weren’t moving.”

Cherriot gave Yuri no chance to refuse and began tugging him along like a child while still clutching his wrist. Yuri tried to pull free, but it was not easy with Cherriot gripping him so tightly. Within a few steps, they reached the entrance of the mart, and after taking a cart, Cherriot turned back to Yuri.

“There’s something I forgot to say.”

“Is it an apology for your habit of touching people whenever you feel like it?”

“No, I’ve clearly stated my preference for physical contact. I’m not apologizing for that.” Cherriot, with his long frame, bent over the cart handle, leaned on it, and raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “Why is your skin so pale?” Grinning, Cherriot pushed the cart forward in a posture reminiscent of a teenager, adding another line. “How did you know my childhood ideal type was a white wolf?”

The mart’s automatic doors slid shut in front of Yuri. The unwanted physical contact, the intrusion into his car—all the things that had irritated him vanished with the sound of the closing doors. Now, only the phrase Cherriot had tossed behind remained in his head.

Ideal type.

It was not a phrase he had never heard before. The Omegas he had met during ruts would link arms with Yuri while spouting nonsense about ‘bad boys’ being their ideal type, or they would ask handsome strangers what theirs was. There had been people who showed interest in him throughout his life, but since he had never returned that interest, Yuri had assumed he might not have one. To him, an ideal type was a fantasy, like paradise—a small attraction that evaporated the moment one saw the reality of a person.

But a white wolf?

That laughing voice, boldly calling something not even human his ideal type, lingered in Yuri’s ears. Cherriot had glossed over the earlier vulnerability by mentioning it like that. The fact that he did not deny having seen Yuri’s body, yet moved on without mentioning the scars, left Yuri with a strange, unsettling feeling.

They must have been disgusting. They must have felt like further confirmation of what he already knew.

Remembering Cherriot’s eyes when he had said he feared criminals, Yuri wondered why Cherriot had said such a thing. Was it courtesy? No, it had not felt like that. If Cherriot had said it back at the beginning, when he spoke politely, Yuri would have dismissed it as empty flattery.

Were they not horrible?

Yuri kept asking himself. Because he had seen a reaction outside of common sense, Cherriot’s behavior bothered him. Even the Omegas of Saratov, who knew he was mafia, looked startled when they first saw his naked body.

They were all quick enough not to say it aloud, but occasionally, a brave soul would touch Yuri’s back, only to belatedly grow frightened and pull away. Someone else had once lain dazed in the afterglow of sex and remarked, You really must have lived quite a life, just like the rumors say.

Yuri stood there, holding Cherriot’s lingering words in both hands, not knowing what to do with them. To dismiss them as idle nonsense and drop them to the floor seemed impossible; the words felt too much like fresh fruit offered to a starving man.

Yuri remained frozen, and Cherriot, having pushed the cart inside, returned nearby. Approaching the glass beside where Yuri stood, he tapped the window with his knuckles. Yuri looked inside, and Cherriot was there, resting his arms on the cart like a boy. He lowered his mask briefly and shaped words with his mouth.

Hurry up. I’m waiting.

He could not be sure, but—

Wolfie.

Yuri watched the shape of Cherriot’s whispering mouth, then slowly entered the mart. The automatic doors opened smoothly, as if waiting for him.

“Did you freeze because you liked my flirting too much?”

Cherriot, waiting at the entrance, pulled his mask back up the moment he saw him and asked with smiling eyes. At the mischievous nonsense, Yuri let out a hollow laugh before he could stop himself. Rather than wanting to strike him, he was simply incredulous.

“Stop there while I’m still letting it pass.”

Still, if left alone, Cherriot seemed likely to overstep every boundary, so Yuri issued an appropriate warning. Cherriot pouted and swung the cart around in a flamboyant half-circle.

RATTLE

“If it had been someone else, they would’ve blushed and stuck to my side.”

“You talk so much you’d ruin something that might otherwise work.”

“I told you earlier, I’m different in public.”

As they exchanged this frivolous conversation, they began circling the mart. Starting from the produce section on the far left, Cherriot slowed down. Contrary to his appearance, which suggested a picky eater, he carefully examined and placed avocados, tomatoes, and other fresh produce into the cart. Brussels sprouts, cilantro, broccolini—things Yuri had never even considered buying—were added to their growing pile.

“You’re going to eat these?”

“I’ll teach you that there’s food beyond sandwiches, Wolfie.”

It seemed to be a callback to their earlier argument. Since Yuri saw no problem with his diet, he felt a flicker of resistance and picked up a long head of lettuce, dropping it into the cart. Then he said quietly, “Shut up.”

“Oh, are you embarrassed because I teased you?”

“No. I told you to shut up because you’re loud.”

“When grocery shopping, serious discussion between us is necessary.”

Even being told to shut up did not stop Cherriot from chattering. “Not this one. Iceberg is crunchier and tastes better. We can use it for salads too, so let’s buy that.”

Yuri was about to tell him not to make such a fuss, but the lettuce Yuri had chosen returned to its place, and in its stead, a round, pale-green head of lettuce took its spot. Cherriot continued, “Is there anything else you want to eat? Seeing your skill at choosing lettuce just now, I think you might need my help. If there’s anything you want to make, I’ll pick the ingredients for you.”

“Nothing.”

Yuri answered with an uninterested face, and Cherriot looked around regretfully before finally moving the cart toward another aisle.

Cherriot gathered so many items that Yuri wondered if this much food was necessary for only ten days. Reese’s Puffs cereal, granola, milk, eggs, bacon, beef sirloin, crackers, bread, bagels, Coke, water—the list went on. In addition, Yuri watched, inwardly appalled, as Cherriot picked up cleaning spray and dishcloths, claiming they needed to clear the dust. When Cherriot stopped at the snack aisle instead of heading to the checkout, Yuri opened his mouth.

“You can’t possibly think you can add more to this.”

“Gummies and chocolate are small, so they’ll manage. Right?” Holding a bag of ketchup chips, Cherriot asked the chips themselves.

Yuri frowned at the red bag. “You’re really going to eat that? Isn’t that something only people new to Canada eat?”

“You have no idea how good these are. If you eat just three a day, it’s perfect.”

Next, Cherriot picked up two bags of the little bear gummies, one bag of worm-shaped gummies, caramel popcorn, and more. After nearly thirty minutes of mental exhaustion, Yuri decided to close his mouth and withdraw his interest.

“How much cash do you have? At a glance, it looks like this will cost about the same as your hotel room.”

“You haven’t gone grocery shopping much, have you, Wolfie? Unless we’re going to Whole Foods or Costco, it won’t come out that high.”

Yuri looked skeptical, and Cherriot finally pushed the cart toward the checkout with confidence. “I think it’ll be a little over two hundred dollars.”

By Yuri’s standards—he who had never spent more than fifty dollars on groceries—the pile in the cart looked well over five hundred. “I doubt that. It’ll be more.”

“If I’m right, you have to grant me a wish.”