Chapter 27

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The clatter of dishes reached Yuri first, prying him from the depths of sleep. His brow furrowed slightly as he forced his eyelids open. Sunlight streamed through green-striped curtains, painting a rectangle of gold across the bed where he lay.

Perhaps it was because he had spent the last two days mired in thoughts of his mother, but for the first time in years, he felt as though he had drifted back into childhood—waking gently, without the usual sensation of being dragged, hair-first, from some stagnant pool. This time, his eyes opened naturally, leaving him oddly refreshed.

…I was sitting in the kitchen.

The pleasant haze of deep sleep lasted only a heartbeat. Why was he waking in a bedroom? His gaze flicked around the unfamiliar space—unfamiliar, but not unknown. He had briefly been in this room yesterday to deposit his dirty clothes and new purchases.

He retraced his steps in his head, and his eyes darted to the wooden desk against the wall. His small pile of clothes still rested beneath it. Relief flickered through him. At least he hadn’t woken in some random place.

I really must have lost my mind. When was the last time I slept this well?

Like the morning he had woken in the car, Yuri felt unsettled. This wasn’t mere rest; this was reckless. He had let his guard down like a fool. Self-reproach bubbled up, immediately chased by the question of how he’d ended up here at all.

Yuri glanced down at the blanket tucked to his chest, then flung it off and swung his legs over the edge. He was still in yesterday’s clothes, his ankles free. Checking under his pillow, he found the military knife exactly where he’d left it. He exhaled silently, sliding the knife into his pocket before creeping toward the door.

He had just reached for the knob when a melody drifted through the wood. A slightly rough baritone, warm and masculine, accompanied by the gentle strum of an acoustic guitar. The tune was bright, yet the lyrics carried a bittersweet edge—dreams of someone not quite lost and not quite kept. It had the rustic pulse of country music, and Yuri thought, almost instinctively, Cherriot would listen to this.

A strange sense of welcome settled over him. He cracked the door open.

He was right.

Through the narrow gap, Cherriot stood in the kitchen, singing as he cooked. Alone, he still wore a faint smile, his voice resonant as he hummed along. The frying pan hissed when he flicked his wrist, and a pancake flipped, landing perfectly. Only then did Yuri register the golden sweetness of batter, the savory scent of bacon, and the warm aroma of fresh eggs.

Seeing Cherriot safe and unharmed eased a knot in Yuri’s chest. He would need to check the perimeter later, but for now, nothing bad had happened. Relief, tempered by self-disgust for his carelessness, surged through him.

He lingered silently, leaning against the doorframe, watching. Cherriot moved around the kitchen with lively ease, arranging pancakes on plates. The quiet domesticity reminded Yuri of his mother’s breakfasts, though what held his attention more was the sight of Cherriot—focused, content, vivid. He thought he could watch him like this forever.

When Cherriot finally glanced up and caught sight of him, his face lit up with a bright smile.

“Hi!”

Yuri didn’t understand what made him so happy. Cherriot tossed aside his dish towel and strode over. Yuri didn’t move.

“You’re awake, Wolfie?” he said cheerfully, stopping at the threshold. Yuri met his green eyes and answered in a low voice, “Yes.”

“Was the bed uncomfortable?”

Right. That. Yuri needed to know.

“Why was I sleeping in the room?”

“You fell asleep in the kitchen looking pitiful,” Cherriot replied matter-of-factly. “So I moved you.”

“…Moved me? Me?”

A low laugh rumbled out of Cherriot at Yuri’s incredulous tone. He closed the distance until their toes nearly touched and whispered, “What do you take me for, Yuri? I can carry someone your size easily. Hockey players aren’t just for fighting—we’re strong too.”

Yuri’s eyes narrowed in doubt. Yes, Cherriot was bigger and strong, but Yuri wasn’t exactly easy to lift. Dragging him would have made more sense.

“You must have dragged me across the floor.”

“No way,” Cherriot said with a grin. “You weighed about as much as a wolf, so you weren’t light. But you looked like a sleeping prince in the woods—it was worth admiring. You were so tired that even a kiss from me wouldn’t have woken you.”

…Kiss?

Yuri’s brow furrowed dangerously. He couldn’t believe he’d slept through such nonsense. He resisted the urge to check his lips, and Cherriot burst into laughter.

“I’m kidding! Even I don’t kiss someone without permission.”

Cherriot had a knack for shocking him before breakfast. Yuri felt something—not quite the irritation he’d felt at Cherriot’s earlier teasing, but close.

“You feel like saying things like that to someone you claim frightens you?” he asked.

Cherriot went quiet, eyes scanning Yuri’s face from forehead to chin like he was memorizing it. Yuri held his breath without meaning to until Cherriot finally spoke.

“Yeah,” he said, simply. The answer carried weight. “Because you’re my type.”

“If someone’s your type, that cancels out danger?”

“That’s not it, but…” Cherriot turned in an easy circle, then tipped his head back and winked. “I woke up this morning, didn’t I? Must not be that dangerous.”

It was both true and untrue. People were unpredictable. Yet somehow, in a single day, Cherriot had earned a surprising amount of his trust—or perhaps Yuri was misjudging entirely.

“Anyway, you woke up just in time. Breakfast is ready. This is a Cherriot Goodnight breakfast worth at least a hundred bucks on the market,” he said, returning to the kitchen to set plates on the island. A wooden salad bowl and two large, round plates sat ready—a meal clearly for two.

“You’re eating with me?” Yuri asked warily.

“Who else would I eat with?” Cherriot said, as if it were obvious.

“You can eat it all.”

“I’m a dessert guy. I don’t eat heavy meals,” he said, pointing at the plates. “I can’t finish this alone. Don’t want breakfast?”

Yuri hesitated at the genuine expectation in Cherriot’s eyes. He usually skipped breakfast—but he hadn’t expected anyone to cook for him, let alone twice in two days.

“…No.”

Yuri answered so softly that it barely registered. He slowly made his way to the kitchen, glancing around once to ensure everything was in order. There was no sign of forced entry, and the layout remained unchanged. Perhaps due to his guilt over sleeping so comfortably, he couldn’t help but keep looking around.

As he approached the table, Cherriot pulled out a chair for him, as if he had been waiting. Yuri’s face stiffened slightly at the excessive treatment. Not knowing how to react, he stood near the chair and quietly said, “Thank you.” He needed to express his gratitude. Such a simple, ordinary greeting had been absent from his life for so long that his voice caught. However, Cherriot seemed to hear him clearly.

“For a handsome man, this much trouble is nothing.”

The words that followed were somewhat irritating, but not enough to provoke an argument. Yuri chose to ignore them and sat in the chair Cherriot had pulled out. Cherriot slid out the chair beside him with a scrape and began eating as if he had been waiting. Breakfast consisted of toast topped with avocado, bacon, and sunny-side-up eggs, reminiscent of a restaurant meal. The salad was Caesar salad.

“We have a lot to do once we finish eating. The weather’s warmer than yesterday—perfect for going out to play,” Cherriot said brightly, slicing into his toast. His excitement was practically radiating from his profile.

For a brief moment, Yuri felt tempted to indulge him. But he turned away, answering firmly, “No.”

I never thought I’d eat this kind of city food.

He stared at the green avocado on his plate, debating whether to remove it. He had never eaten avocado before—partly because it was expensive—but Alexei once claimed it tasted like butter. Alexei also said he only ate it because Valeri liked it, before adding it was a product of exploitation and that people were ridiculous.

“What?” Cherriot exclaimed suddenly, lowering his fork and knife.

“We’re not here to play,” Yuri said, his eyes still fixed on the avocado. He softened his tone instead of calling Cherriot’s idea foolish. “Going outside and exposing yourself is dangerous.”

“But the sun is so bright!” Cherriot whined, like a teenager whose outing had been forbidden.

“No.”

It was unfortunate, but Cherriot could save his roaming for an actual vacation. Unlike Yuri, he would have plenty of chances in the future. Quietly, Yuri pushed the avocado aside and tried Cherriot’s breakfast. He had noticed it yesterday as well—Cherriot truly could cook. The food was simple, but his sense for seasoning and timing made it delicious.

“Listen, Yuri,” Cherriot tried again, undeterred. “Big Fox really has a lot to see. It’s small, but it has everything you could want.”

Throughout the meal, he painted vivid pictures of the town: a shop selling incredible Alberta beef jerky, rich ice cream made from farm milk, and barbecued meats served with corn. He spoke of a rare bookstore–café, a beautiful Sunday church, a classically decorated park, and a lakefront spot called Paradise Beach. He repeated the pattern—bite, description, grin—so often that by the time Yuri finished eating, Cherriot had gotten through only half his meal.

To ordinary people, it might have sounded inviting. But Yuri felt nothing. Even if he had been tempted, it wasn’t safe for Cherriot. On top of that, tourism had never been part of Yuri’s life. Activities other people called “fun” had always been someone else’s business.

“And Big Fox is famous for beautiful people,” Cherriot said gravely, lifting the last piece of pancake on his fork.

Yuri gave him a sidelong glance.

“If we go out, we’ll see plenty of pretty Omegas. You like Omegas, right? How about we go take a look?”

So… Yuri had heard variations of this before. Most Alphas seemed consumed by some absurd drive for species propagation, obsessed with winning over beautiful Omegas—sometimes treating them like currency to exchange for status or affection.

Yes, beauty was nice to look at. But unless he was in rut, Yuri didn’t need Omegas—and since arriving in Vancouver, he hadn’t met any. The ones in Saratov were hardly what anyone would call quality: desperate, dealing drugs, or luring ordinary people into Igor’s trade. He’d seen too many who were beautiful on the outside but rotten within.

And besides… is that what you say to someone you’re interested in?

He found Cherriot’s suggestion oddly irritating. After all those sweet lines, after nearly kissing him, Cherriot was now trying to bribe him outside with “plenty of pretty Omegas.”

Get a hold of yourself, Yuri. Whether he meant any of it or not has nothing to do with you.

He turned away from Cherriot’s pleading, earnest gaze. If anything, the proposal now felt worse than before.

“No,” he said at last.

Cherriot’s disappointment was immediate. He furrowed his delicate brow and scooted closer. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll give you one more chance. Think again.”

“I refuse.”

Cherriot asked again like a persistent child. If Yuri kept listening, he might accidentally give in. If Cherriot were brash like Alexei—kicking the door open or ordering him around—ignoring him would be easier. But instead, he kept seeking permission, making it feel like a negotiation.

I can’t tell if he’s polite or just honest. With that hair and pretty face, he looks like he’d act like a fox.

“So this is all I get in return for a spectacular breakfast?” Cherriot snapped, his little rebellion short-lived.

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?” Yuri asked.

“Forget it.” Cherriot popped the last bite of pancake into his mouth, then pointed to the avocado left on Yuri’s plate. “But out of courtesy to the person who made it, you’re going to finish that, right?”

…Unbelievable.

Yuri’s expression shifted for the first time, and Cherriot immediately caught it, his lips curving into a wicked smile.

“Don’t tell me… you’re a picky eater? Like a child?”

Two days of indulgence had made him fearless. Yuri furrowed his dark brows, glaring, but Cherriot only giggled.

“Oh, so it’s true?”

The command to shut up climbed to Yuri’s throat, but reacting would only confirm the teasing had worked. Masking his reluctance, he picked up his fork. Cherriot’s gaze followed the movement, and Yuri, pretending not to notice, speared the avocado and popped it into his mouth in one go.

Avocado had the strangest taste Yuri had ever experienced. Based solely on Alexei’s description of it being like green butter and its unappealing green, mushy appearance, Yuri would have avoided it forever. Yet, to his surprise, it was neither greasy nor disgusting. It had a slight nuttiness, a fresh texture, and a very faint sweetness—so subtle that Yuri found it pleasant.

As Yuri chewed and swallowed the avocado, he glanced at the plate, where traces of the flesh remained, and felt a bit surprised himself. Was it because he had been so reluctant to try anything new? It felt like the first new sensation his senses had encountered in a long time.

“You eat it well,” Cherriot remarked.

Yuri had expected Cherriot to look disappointed that the novelty had worn off, but surprisingly, Cherriot seemed fine. Resting his chin on his hand, he watched Yuri eat, then met his eyes and laughed softly.

“You’re the type who saves what you like for later, Wolfie.”

“…Useless nonsense.”

“I should remember that. I shouldn’t steal it from you.”

When Yuri raised his brows, Cherriot winked instead. “I have to eat what I like first, or it’ll disappear,” he explained, leaving behind words Yuri didn’t quite understand. Cherriot then took the two cleanly emptied plates and reverted to being a dissatisfied teenager. “Ahh, I guess I’ll spend the day doing boring dishes and housework. It’s the start of the summer I’ve been waiting a whole year for, and it began with murder threats and then almost actually getting shot. Poor Cherriot…” Without shame, Cherriot pitied himself and muttered weakly.

Feeling a prick of guilt as if he were sitting on a cushion full of needles, Yuri followed him to the sink.

“I’ll do the dishes, so go to your room.”

“No. Your arm is hurt.”

“You don’t need to make such a fuss over a wound like this.”

At that, Cherriot set the plates in the sink and turned to look at Yuri. Perhaps because it was morning, his green eyes were especially clear and fresh as they quietly watched him.

“Rest, Wolfie.”

Cherriot didn’t say anything else, but for some reason, Yuri felt as if he had been scolded by someone much younger than him. A slight displeasure also passed through him, wondering whether Cherriot was treating him too comfortably because Yuri had allowed him to, but a subtler feeling was stronger than that.

You’re the one who needs protecting.

Even while thinking that, Yuri couldn’t keep insisting against Cherriot. Having lost his role, he stood in silence for a moment, unsettled, then left the kitchen to find something he could do. Thinking he would go outside and check the traps, he opened the front door, and Cherriot called from behind him, “If you go out without me, I’ll roll around on the floor and throw a tantrum in front of you!”

Truly unbelievable.

Leaving behind the bizarre threat from a twenty-eight-year-old man, Yuri closed the door. Wondering how even his threats could come out that way, hollow laughter escaped Yuri’s lips several times.

Once outside, sunlight reflected so dazzlingly off the lake that shadows of sparkling ripples seemed to touch everything. The branches swayed with the light breeze, the shaded places were cool, and under the sun, it was pleasantly warm.

Yuri circled the house and looked for traces of intruders. After confirming no one had loitered nearby, he straightened. From the spot by the window where he had set traps last night, he looked at the lake and thought he understood what Cherriot had meant.

The lake was blindingly blue.

Blue enough to make a person want to dive in at once.

Far away, Yuri saw the spray of water made by someone crossing the lake in a fishing boat. From what he guessed was the town center, he thought he could faintly hear laughter.

Yuri still had no interest in the scene beyond, but he became a little curious about how Cherriot’s laughter would sound if he went there and ran around as he pleased.

After looking out over the lake for several minutes, Yuri slowly took out his phone and left Alexei a message asking him to call when he saw it. Even as he turned back toward the house, Yuri glanced several more times toward where people might be, then looked away.

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