Chapter 73

Yuri found himself momentarily speechless. Nothing had happened, so he had no answer worth offering. What occurred that morning felt far too trivial and embarrassing to report.

When Yuri remained silent, Alexei’s features twisted into something fierce. “Don’t tell me you still aren’t together.”

“…Cherriot belongs to a different world,” Yuri explained his reasoning, trying to persuade him. “I never expected us to date in the first place. As long as he is safe, that is enough for me.”

Yuri did not want to hear Alexei criticize Cherriot.

Alexei’s expression remained hard. “Is that truly enough?”

“If Cherriot can live happily and smile, then yes.”

“Yuri, you’re mistaken. Listen carefully, because I once watched Lerusha with the same kind of feelings you have now.” Alexei leaned toward the camera, his voice lowering significantly. “Love that does nothing but give is merely charity, and the way you look at Goodnight is nothing like benevolence. Leave giving endlessly without expecting anything in return to Jesus in the Bible. We are neither sages nor saints. There is no such person anywhere in this world.”

Alexei struck directly at the desire Yuri had been trying desperately not to acknowledge.

Deep within himself, Yuri already understood how impossible his modest wish truly was. How could he forget, after their lips had met even once? He still remembered Cherriot’s heat, warm enough to melt him, and the desperate hunger in every movement of his body. The mark carved into Yuri’s soul prevented him from seeing Cherriot as a simple friend.

When he remained near Cherriot, watching was no longer enough. He wanted other things. The urges that had plagued him throughout the day proved it.

“I told you before,” Alexei continued. “Bastards lower than dogs can try to slaughter their own families and still live shamelessly. Why should you, who has done nothing but lose your entire life, remain miserable forever?”

Yuri stiffened. Neither he nor Alexei often spoke of the parents they had lost. It had been a very long time since Alexei mentioned Yuri’s mother.

“What do you think your mother wanted for you?” Alexei’s voice softened. “Your happiness. Any decent parent would want that. Your mother was brave and full of love, so of course that was what she wanted. You finally escaped Igor. Isn’t it time you allowed yourself something?” His gaze did not waver. “Even at your greediest, you’d still demand less than an ordinary person. So want things. Be selfish. Do something that makes you happy, the way everyone else does.”

While Yuri lay unconscious, he had dreamed of his mother. He could not remember exactly what she said. Yet when he followed Cherriot’s voice calling him Wolfie, he distinctly heard his mother’s bright laughter.

For years, Yuri remembered only the resolute face of the woman who ordered him to live. Now, another memory returned. When he was a child, his mother sat beside his bed and sang lullabies. Before Yuri fell asleep, she always said the same thing: Be happy, my little jewel. He had assumed she repeated the words precisely because happiness was impossible for them. Yet Alexei was right. His mother must have sincerely wanted and believed that Yuri would one day become happy.

Another sentence, long buried beneath painful memories, hovered upon his tongue. Be happy… Alexei watched Yuri sink into thought, then stretched. He normally slept through part of the day because his schedule ran backward, and he was likely exhausted as well. He had spent the entire job infiltrating enemy territory and continued actively assisting the investigation afterward. It would probably take months for that fatigue to leave him.

“Come back when you want to, just as Vasya said. We’ll always be here.”

“It will not take long.”

“That depends on what you do.” Apparently pleased by Yuri’s answer, Alexei smiled. A white canine showed beneath his lip, making the grin look almost boyish. He greeted Yuri with a flick of his eyes and ended the call.

Yuri remained alone at the table, staring at the darkened phone.

For the moment, he decided to finish what he had originally intended to do. He opened the camera and photographed the food. For the first time, his gallery held a picture of a meal. He intended to show it to Alexei the next time they met.

Then Yuri carefully served the food, now slightly cooled, and ate every last bite. The kulebyaka was pleasantly rich and deeply flavorful. It tasted good enough that eating it alone seemed wasteful.

Yuri wished Cherriot had been there.

Perhaps next time we could make kulebyaka together. Or we could make medovik, like we discussed before. Father must remember Mother’s recipe. Yuri did not know whether Cherriot would choose to spend time like that with him. Even if Cherriot rejected him, however, Yuri wanted to ask at least once. Cooking together again would surely be enjoyable.

🜼 🜼 🜼

Time moved far more slowly than usual while Yuri waited for Cherriot.

Cherriot had expected to return sometime after lunch, but sent Yuri a message explaining apologetically that he would need several more hours. Yuri had been waiting from the moment Cherriot announced he was leaving, so denying his disappointment would have been dishonest. Yet the crying emoji Cherriot sent afterward was so endearing that affection and pity overtook the loneliness.

Then I’ll wait. Waiting was hardly difficult while sitting comfortably at home. The problem was that Yuri could not think of anything to do in this house without Cherriot. Apparently, he had grown far too accustomed to spending every hour beside him.

That was troubling.

In Vancouver, he could at least have occupied himself with work. Here, in a city where Yuri had no ties of his own, there was nothing.

After some thought, Yuri began tidying everything within sight. Cherriot kept the house so clean that there was very little to do, and the work ended in less than an hour. He attempted to study grammar next, but every time he sat still, pointless questions surfaced.

What had Cherriot been trying to say? When would he return? Yuri could not concentrate at all.

Eventually, he decided to explore the neighborhood. Cherriot was not present to become anxious over the slightest exertion, making this an ideal opportunity. Yuri had lived there for a month without learning what surrounded the house; becoming familiar with the area might prove useful. He might also find the dog.

Once he made the decision, Yuri changed quickly and put on his shoes. His old black sneakers had been worn for so long that the cushioning inside had flattened, making them unsuitable for an extended walk. If Yuri exhausted himself, Cherriot might worry, so he would turn back after a reasonable distance.

Should I buy new shoes? As he loosened his ankles, Yuri continued staring at the sneakers. He had worn them long enough to justify replacing them. Perhaps he could ask Cherriot to come with him. Cherriot would probably grow excited and chatter about leaving immediately. Once they reached the store, he would recommend something Yuri would never ordinarily wear, like white sneakers.

Then my next pair will be white. Smiling quietly at the thought of him, Yuri left the house and began exploring. He passed homes watched over by tall, old trees and gradually approached the shore, where the sound of the sea echoed through the streets.

Each time his feet struck the ground, the weight of his body settled heavily through his soles. He felt alive. In the past, even breathing had not made him feel that way. Perhaps dying once and returning had taught him the weight of life.

After seeing T-Mac nearly cry, hearing that his father blamed Alexei, and looking upon Alexei’s exhaustion from guilt and grief, Yuri understood that his life could not have been entirely meaningless.

If he had died before his father… Vasily had already suffered the agony of losing Yuri’s mother. Yuri would have inflicted another grief upon him, one that could never be undone.

Yuri looked inward. The summer when he was nineteen still remained within him, the source of so much suffering. The helpless boy who survived while his mother met a horrifying end lingered coldly in his memory. The recollection still hurt. He would never forget it, no matter how much he wished to, nor was it something he should forget.

Yet the sharpened memory no longer seemed to crush him as it once had. His mother’s dying command, “Live. Survive,” no longer felt like a suffocating obligation. Yuri now had reasons of his own to live.

Had he died, he would never have felt the sea breeze raking through his hair or remembered the sensation of walking. He would never have discovered how Cherriot’s pheromones changed when mingled with cologne, nor seen how beautiful Cherriot looked in a suit. He would never have known the taste of kulebyaka.

The thought made Yuri feel strangely attached to the life that had carried him into this Boston neighborhood.

Alexei’s scolding returned to him: wanting nothing was the work of sages. Yuri Kiselyov was neither noble nor enlightened enough to be one.

At last, with difficulty, he accepted that it might not be wrong for him to desire something. He drew a deep breath. Cold air filled his lungs, carrying the faint brine of the sea and the mineral smell of wet pebbles.

Without choosing a destination, Yuri wandered for a long time. He rarely forgot a road once he had traveled it, so he had no fear of becoming lost; he simply followed the seaside streets. Yuri had always moved according to duty. He found that he liked walking now without purpose or thought.

Eventually, the sky began to darken. Summer’s end overlapped with the beginning of autumn, and the sun showed signs of setting earlier each day. Yuri paused, wondering whether it was time to return, and stretched his back. A small seaside market caught his attention.

An elderly woman with snow-white hair was folding the sign outside, apparently preparing to close. A young girl hurried from the shop and insisted upon moving it for her. The old woman patted her shoulder affectionately. Beyond the window, a middle-aged woman moved past while arranging the shelves.

It was a pleasant scene.

As Yuri watched, his eyes met those of the girl carrying the sign. Mistaking him for a customer, she waved brightly. “We aren’t closed yet! Come grab whatever you need!”

Yuri had not intended to buy anything, but her cheerful voice made it difficult to ignore her and leave. Perhaps bright, radiant people now reminded him too much of Cherriot. He could no longer disregard them in silence as his former self would have.

Planning only to look around, Yuri entered the store. The girl rushed toward the elderly woman, proudly announcing that she had brought in a customer. Her grandmother’s pleased voice followed gently behind him.

Sunset rolled in like a rising tide, staining the entrance red.

The market served primarily the local neighborhood and carried few products. It appeared to share the building with a bakery, judging by the empty display cases and tables, while the grocery shelves occupied the left side. Cherriot’s house already contained everything necessary, so Yuri saw nothing worth buying until his attention fell upon canned meat for dogs. A white dog decorated the small tins.

Yuri picked up three or four and carried them to the register in one hand.

The middle-aged woman smiled kindly. “You must have a dog.”

They had not yet found the animal, much less decided who would keep it. “Yes,” Yuri answered anyway.

“What breed?”

Yuri knew only a few hunting breeds, and the brown dog from the backyard resembled none he regularly encountered. “I don’t know. I took it in after finding it wandering.”

“Oh, a rescue.” The woman looked up at him with delight. “You did a good thing. When a living creature with nowhere to turn finally gains somewhere it can rely on, its whole world changes. Poor thing must have been frightened and lonely out there. I’m glad it found you.”

After calculating the cost printed on the cans, Yuri handed her the cash he had brought. The woman gestured for him to wait and retrieved something from behind the counter. She placed the wet food in a paper bag, then showed Yuri a translucent packet.

“We have a dog, too. There’s a shop in the city that makes handmade treats, and we bought these chicken chews there. Let your dog try one. I think it’ll like them.”

“How much are they? I’ll pay.”

“No, take them. I simply like dogs,” she smiled, accepting only the price of the canned food. Then she came around the counter and half-ushered Yuri toward the exit, explaining that they needed to close and refusing his attempts to pay more.

The girl waved enthusiastically. “Goodbye!”

The elderly woman beside her offered Yuri a quiet nod.