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Yuuri was this close to resigning.
Who let him think he was capable enough to take care of a toddler?
“Yura-- Yura, no! You can’t run around the house shirtless!”
A small giggle could be heard from down the hall, and as Yuuri chases it down, he considers asking Lord Plisetsky for a raise. If not a raise, then a bonus; he certainly deserved it after all the recent visitors to the manor. More visits means more time spent trying to dress Yuri; you try to get a child to do what he doesn’t want to and see how it goes.
“Please come out,” Yuuri begs, tightening his grip on the towel in his hands. “You must get ready soon.”
“No!” a high-pitched voice cries out. “Not see him.”
“Young Master, it’s just your godfather and his men.”
“He’s ugly,” Yuri grumbles. “No hair.”
“Lord Feltsman is considered a highly eligible bachelor amongst his peers,” Yuuri replies, craning his neck to try and see into the dark hallway. The thought of Yuri standing alone in the dark was enough to send adrenaline rushing through his veins. “Even your grandfather calls him handsome.”
“Not some.” The two-year old peeks his head out from the corner, holding out his arms. “Hand two, like me.”
“Yes, of course, he has two hands like you and I.” Yuuri takes this opportunity to scoop him up, bundling Yuri between the soft fabric of the towel. “What I mean is Lord Plisetsky considers him pretty, just as many others do.”
Yuri huffs, tugging on the towel with one hand. The other reaches up and pats the left side of Yuuri’s glasses, where the frame and temple meet. “Dedush’a blind. No see.”
“I think he’s able to see just fine,” Yuuri laughs, rubbing the toddler’s back. Yuri mumbles back a negative response, muffled by his face buried in Yuuri’s shirt. “Now, let’s get your ready, shall we?”
“No.”
“Yura, please.”
- - - -
“Katsuki! Katsuki, have you heard the news?”
Turning around, Yuuri comes face to face with Zelensky, one of the stable boys working under the Plisetsky household. He’s only a few years younger than Yuuri himself, a teenager who hasn’t yet experienced the horrors of the world.
That seems to have changed; Zelensky’s eyes are wide, cradling an element of fear and shock within them. He grasps Yuuri’s arm, shaking it rapidly.
“Ze, Ze!” Yuri cries, waving his arms up. “Hi!”
“Greetings to the Young Master,” Zelensky hastily addresses, ducking his head down in a quick bow. He turns to Yuuri, who stood there, hands frozen in the middle of dressing Yuri.
“What happened?” he asks, continuing to button the shirt. Yuri absentmindedly babbles to himself, unintelligible words spilling from his mouth. He twists and turns, making Yuuri’s attempt to slide his arms into sleeves that much more difficult.
“There’s been another disappearance!” Zelensky says. “It was Lord Cialdini this time; they can’t find any traces of him past his bedchambers!”
“Cialdini? That’s the clan who tried to betrothed their daughter to the Young Master, isn’t it?”
“Me!”
“Yes, that is you,” Yuuri coos, smoothening down Yuri’s thin blonde hair. He absentmindedly rubs a finger over the toddler’s cheek, clearing away a speck of dust that had fallen onto the skin. “What did they find in his bedchamber?”
“Just some stray scraps, a torn piece of his nightwear and hair clippings,” Zelensky says, eyes darting across the room. “You don’t think whoever’s behind this will come after us, will they?”
“Who knows?” Yuuri hums. “They do keep coming after families in the same business as the Plisetsky household. We could be next.”
“Katsuki!”
“Sorry, sorry!” Yuuri can’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry; our guards are much better than theirs. No one who should not be entering the manor will be entering.”
“Where Cia’dini go?” Yuri asks, squirming around in his formal wear. Yuuri picks him up, feeling his heart lighten as Yuri clings onto the collar of Yuuri’s shirt. “No goodbye to Yura?”
“We don’t know where Lord Cialdini’s gone to,” Yuuri explains. “That’s why everyone is fearful. They don’t want to be the next one to disappear.”
“Yura go disappear?”
“You don’t have to worry about that, Young Master.” Yuuri slides a finger down the small body of Yuri’s nose, tapping the tip of it. Yuri giggles, his face lighting up as he grabs the guilty finger, using his own hands to pat it in return. “I promise nothing will happen to you.”
“Do you think I should find a knife to sleep with?” Zelensky looks vaguely ill, lips pursed together and tilted downwards in a frown. His hands are slightly trembling, and so Yuuri covers them with his own, squeezing tight.
“Are any of Lord Cialdini’s servants missing as well?”
“No, just him.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about!”
“You seem very nonchalant about this,” Zelensky murmurs, though the shaking calms down, allowing Yuuri to return to his task of appeasing the fidgeting Yuri. “What about you? You stay with the Young Master most of the time; they might mistake you for a secret heir.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me.” Picking him up and softly bouncing him in his arms, Yuri is at last still, laying his head on Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri curls his lips upward, glimmering eyes hidden behind the frames of his glasses. “I can take care of myself just fine. It is in my job description, you know.”
- - - -
The first time Yuuri laid eyes on the Plisetsky Manor was in the aftermath of a harsh winter. Despite it being the third month, the chill still pressed on, snapping at the citizens living in its lands.
He was a new recruit at the same, freshly shipped over from a small kingdom an ocean away, nothing like the sprawling lands that he now resided in. He was adequate at childcare at best, and a complete novice most of the time, yet somehow had gotten assigned to take care of the newborn Plisetsky heir.
Well, that’s not exactly true. Yuuri knows exactly why he was hired on. After all, he is good at what he does.
Yuri was only a few hours old when they first met, quietly sleeping away inside a lavish bassinet, bundled in sheets that must have cost half an estate’s worth of gold. Yuuri was enthralled by the small facial features, the rosy skin, the halo of innocence that seemed to envelop the infant.
Then, Yuri opened his eyes. A battle of blue and greens blinked up at him as Yuri made a cooing noise, fingers twitching up at him.
Yuuri’s allegiance to the Plisetsky clan was sworn in almost immediately after.
He was named the head caretaker of Yuri Nikolaevich Plisetsky, next-in-line to the force that was the House of Plisetsky. Of course, Yuri had wetnurses and maids who cleaned up after him, but Yuuri was the one who accompanied him at all times, who soothed his cries and rocked him to sleep.
Raising Yuri had helped bring a certain light to his life, even if it is definitely causing him to age faster. Seriously, no one had told him about how hard it was to get a toddler to just sit still.
Really, a raise wasn’t that much to ask for.
- - - -
Yuuri, carrying a sulking Yuri, quietly shuts the door behind him, shutting him in with a grumpy toddler and a handful of men who look like they would fire him and kill off his entire family if he got their tea order wrong. Luckily, his boss is much more forgiving.
It’s only natural, after all; Yuuri gets the job done, despite any particularly… bothersome obstacles.
“Young Master, why don’t you go greet Lord Feltsman?” he suggests, kneeling down in an attempt to set Yuri down. The blonde clings on tight, arms wrapped around Yuuri’s neck in a tight grip. It was almost as if he was being strangled, not that Yuri’s technique would have led to much harm.
“No.”
“Please?”
Slowly, Yuuri manages to release himself from Yuri’s hold, smoothing out wrinkles on his small suit. He gently nudges him towards Lord Feltsman, watching from the side as Yuri stomps over, looking up at the seated man.
“Yura,” Lord Feltsman greets. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Hello,” Yuri says. “Bye now.”
Before he can make his escape, Yuri gets pulled up into Lord Feltsman’s lap, the gruff man tugging his ear between two calloused fingers.
“Who taught you this disrespect, huh?” he asks, though his tone was more affectionate than stern. “Was it your grandfather? If Nikolai has enough time to brainwash you, tell him to come down and host me.”
Yuri shakes his head, fingers reaching out to grasp the hat on top of Lord Feltsman’s head. He pulls it down, and it envelops his head, covering his eyes and nose. From the inside, a muffled voice calls out.
“Not Dedush’a. It was from… the green.”
Lord Feltsman raises an eyebrow, swiping his hat back from Yuri. He holds it out, and one of his men, wearing a uniform similar to Yuuri’s, comes and takes it from his hands. “The green?”
“Green two.” Yuri pats his chest, nodding to himself. “From in me.”
“The… green inside of me? You aren’t ill, are you?”
“No!” Yuri huffs. “Two. In the green.”
Both Yuri and Lord Feltsman cast a helpless gaze towards Yuuri’s direction, Yuri going so far as to squirm in Lord Feltsman’s lap, trying to drop himself onto the floor.
“Yuu’i!” Yuri whines, clenched fists flailing around through the air. “Green two!”
“Second nature, Young Master?”
Yuri bobs his head up and down, seemingly mollified. He beats his hands down on Lord Feltsman’s chest, soft skin sliding down silk fabric. “No hair, no respect. Second nature.”
“Are you calling me bald?” Lord Feltsman scowls, poking Yuri in the stomach. The toddler lets out a delighted shriek, trying to catch the moving finger in his hands. “Under that hat of his, your grandfather is just as bald as me.”
“No! Dedush’a best.”
“And I am not? Who’s the one who spoils you, huh?”
Yuuri is content to watch on in silence, vaguely aware of Lord Feltsman’s servants moving about the room, examining the artifacts and paintings scattered about. From the Plisetsky family, he’s the only one here, while the rest of the staff is busy preparing the floor for Lord Feltsman’s stay.
“Excuse me,” a voice says from Yuuri’s left. Turning his head, Yuuri catches sight of a young man, his soft silver hair falling down across his forehead to brush against cerulean eyes. The man is well dressed, bearing the crest of the Feltsman clan across his chest.
“Lord Nikiforov,” Yuuri greets, bowing his head. “How may this one assist you?”
Victor Nikiforov was a frequent visitor of the Plisetsky mansion. A close family friend, a relative of Yuri’s, or both. Yuuri doesn’t pretend to understand the intricacies and politics of this kingdom and their nobles, having only came two years ago. He does as he’s told, and generally things work out for him.
“Could you call Lord Plisetsky in?” he asks. “We have something urgent to discuss with him.”
“Of course. This one will be right back.”
Yuuri slips out of the room, as quiet as he came. He lingers in the empty halls for a while, pacing back and forth before tapping on the frame of an oil painting of the Plisetsky Manor. It covers the width of the wall, and shifts to the side as Yuuri steps through the archway hidden behind it.
Lord Plisetsky is lounging at his desk, absentmindedly scribbling on a scrap of paper. At least, that’s what it seems like at first glance. The small holes in the wall, hidden to the other side, allow for easy viewing of the room next door.
“My Lord,” Yuuri says. “They’ve requested your presence in the drawing room.”
“Did they?” Lord Plisetsky asks, absentmindedly waving a hand through the air. The pen doesn’t stop moving, not until he reaches the bottom of the paper and ends with a dramatic flick of his wrist.
“Well, I suppose I should go see what the old man wants,” he sighs. The paper gets rolled up and tied with a small piece of twine, then handed off to Yuuri. “Go out and do the shopping for me, will you?”
“Yes, this servant understands.”
“Thank you, Yuuri. Oh, and do be sure to hit everything on the list, yes?”
“Of course.” Yuuri prides himself on his work ethic. Nothing less would be accepted.
Lord Plisetsky grins, placing a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Be sure to come back in time for dinner. You know Yurochka hates it when he has to eat what the cooks make.”
- - - -
“Yakov!” Lord Plisetsky barges into the room, shooing away the servant who offers to collect his hat. “And Young Nikiforov as well! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Nikolai,” Lord Feltsman says. “Did your man finally manage to drag you out of your cave?”
Yuri perks up, turning his head around as if to see Yuuri walk in after his grandfather. “Yuu’i?”
“He’s out doing some tasks for me, kotonok.”
“Oh.” Yuri frowns for a moment before lifting his arms into the air, waving them around and nearly hitting Lord Feltsman in the head. “Dedush’a, up!”
“Not now,” Lord Feltsman knocks on the side of Yuri’s skull, causing the toddler to look up at him, releasing a stream of vaguely offended sounding babble. “Go play with your uncle.”
Lord Nikiforov lights up, leaving his discussion with a servant to scoop Yuri up into his hold. “It’s my turn now! Yura, I’m your favorite, right?”
“No uncle,” Yuri huffs. “Don’t know you.”
“Of course I am! Who else would I be if not your dearest friend?”
“Garbage.”
“Yura!” Lord Nikiforov gasps, poking his cheek. Yuri wrinkles his nose, leaning back and nearly falling out of Lord Nikiforov’s grasp and onto the floor. Yuri squeals, clinging into the silver-haired man’s neck. “Who’s garbage?”
“You!” the blonde cries. “No uncle, only stinky garbage!”
“They seem to be getting along fine,” Lord Plisetsky notes, watching as Yuri tugs on a strand of Lord Nikiforov’s hair. “Now, what was it you wished to discuss? I don’t have all day, you know.”
“Just needed to pass along a notice,” Lord Feltsman says, leaning back in his seat. “Heard of Cialdini’s recent disappearance?”
“Who hasn’t? Trying to be the next one in line?”
“We’re going after the suspect,” Lord Feltsman says, ignoring Lord Plisetksy, who raises his eyebrows.
“You know who it is?”
“You don’t?”
Lord Plisetsky hums, fingers tapping against the door handle. He still hasn’t moved from his spot at the doorway, covering the exit with his body. “So what are you going to do with them?”
“Give them a warm welcome, of course. Who do you take me for?”
“Oh? I wasn’t aware recruitment was still open?”
“They aren’t,” Lord Feltsman says. “He’s a special case. People are… interested in him. It’s causing a distraction, and I’d rather it be an internal problem than an external one.”
“People,” Lord Plisetsky snorts. “As always, you spoil him.”
Lord Feltsman can only shrug helplessly. “He’s good at what he does.”
“Mine are too; you don’t see me bowing down at their feet and fulfilling their every need and want.”
“Ah, but he’s better than your men, isn’t he?”
Lord Plisetsky smiles. “If that’s what you want to believe, I’ll agree. After all, I wouldn’t want to distract you from any bigger issues.”
- - - -
The basket swings alongside Yuuri as he walks down the path, waving to the familiar shopkeepers as he passes by. The building he’s looking for, a small store run by a group of farmers, was located at the end of the street.
A twinkling bell chimes, announcing Yuuri’s presence as he steps through the door. He’s greeted by the workers at the counter, the two of them just finishing dusting off the shelves at the back walls.
“Ah, Yuuri! Come in, come in,” the taller one, Liam, says. He manages the store while his cousin works as a washermaid at the Plisetsky’s manor. Yuuri’s seen him come in a couple of times, usually to deliver ingredients when everyone else was too busy. “How have you been?”
“Good, thank you! How are you two?”
“Eli and I just got done restocking! You get first pick.”
“As usual,” Elijah sighs. He’s standing right next to Liam, slapping the man’s hand away as it creeps closer to the bowl of candied fruits on the table. “It’s startling how well you are at knowing when we restock.”
“I need the best for my masters,” Yuuri shrugs. “And first pick means the highest quality ingredients are still in stock.”
“How is the little Plisetsky child doing?” Liam asks. “I’ve heard he’s got quite a mouth on him already!”
“Tremblay,” Elijah hisses. “He’s two.”
“And?”
“And, I can guarantee you were much more rude as a two year old.”
“You don’t know that!” Liam protests, tugging on Elijah’s crossed arms. “You hadn’t even been born yet at that time.”
“Your mother told me.”
“She what?! Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m her favorite.”
“You aren’t even her son!”
“Going on past precedent, being her son only lowers those chances.”
Yuuri leaves them to their bickering in favor of examining the fresh vegetables laid out in front of him. He takes out Lord Plisetsky’s list, scanning over the scrap of paper before searching the room for the written ingredient. He takes his time, making sure to examine each individual plant for any spots or blemishes.
Soon enough, his basket is filled, and the paper is filled with scratched on lines driving through picked ingredients. The rest of the unfulfilled order could be found in other places; herbs from the apothecary, a new toy for Yuri, spools of thread to be used for new clothes, the list goes on until Yuuri hits the bottom.
He spots a crate of carrots in the corner of the room. They’re in uniform shape and arranged in neat rows, as expected by Elijah’s meticulous care. Yuuri grabs a few, placing them on top of his basket.
“Got everything you needed?” Elijah asks, counting the coins Yuuri’s handed him. “You aren’t going to have to come back like you did last time, right?”
“That should be everything,” Yuuri smiles. “I do have some other tasks I need to get done first before I head back to the manor, though. If you don’t mind, could you watch over my basket for a while? Just until I get back.”
Liam nods, wrapping an arm around Elijah’s shoulders. “Leave it to me and Eli!”
“Campbell and I, Tremblay. Honestly, it’s like you never learnt grammars. Even Yuuri is better than you.”
“I won the spelling competition in primary school, remember? You said I did a good job!”
“Yes, because you were seven. But it’s good to know that you still have the comprehension level of a primary school student.”
“Mean, Eli!”
Elijah rolls his eyes, though the arm around him stays. He pushes the bowl of sweets in Yuuri’s directions. “Take one before you go.”
Yuuri selects a wrapped handful of lemon peels before waving them goodbye. The wooden door creaks shut behind him, and he’s once again out on the street, this time free of the basket previously in his arms. The list is clenched in one of his hands, the other furiously unbuttoning down his shirt.
“What should I make for dinner?” he murmurs to himself, shaking off the vest and sliding it over his shoulder. With a full restock, Yuuri had a number of possible options in front of him. Yuri was in the phase of simply spitting out anything he didn’t enjoy, so peas and garlic were out of the question. Perhaps something lighter? A soup?
Mind still not made up, Yuuri slips into an inconspicuously alleyway, the shadows swallowing him whole, leaving no traces behind.
Well, whatever. He has until this evening to decide. Right now, it was time to finish off the tasks Lord Plisetsky had given him. Then he could go back to planning dinner. Yuuri can only hope that Yuri’s been kept entertained enough by his godfather to not have thrown a fit.
- - - -
The clothes are heavy, and feel as if it’s trying to claw Yuuri down with each step he takes. Forget raising Yuri, this is what he should be getting a raise for.
He gently taps on the looming door in front of him with his knuckles, waiting with a smile on his face as it opens to reveal Jean Jauques Leroy, head of the Leroy clan. He was much younger than the other lords, but had already established himself amongst them as the most infuriating one. Then again, that might be Yuuri’s personal grudge; Lord Leroy had once told him that Yuri, not yet a month old at the time, was “so wrinkled you could store pieces of gold in the folds and not even the greediest of men would be able to find it”.
“Who are you?”
“My Lord, this servant was sent to serve you,” Yuuri says, dipping down into a bow. He can feel Lord Leroy watching him, eyes following the elegant curves of the pattern he picked specifically for this occasion.
“Come in then,” he grins, taking Yuuri by the arm and guiding him towards his bedchambers. He pins Yuuri against the wall, fingers pressing against his cheek. “How soft.”
“Shall I serve you some wine, My Lord?”
Grunting, Lord Leroy steps back, allowing Yuuri access to his liquor cabinet. He selects a bottle of red wine, so dark no one would notice if he slips something else in as well.
The liquid pours out smoothly into a wine glass, shining against the shadows made by the dim candles. Yuuri tops off the glass, handing it to Lord Leroy, who takes it, knocking back half the drink in one go.
Yuuri pours him more as the night goes on, until there is an empty bottle and Lord Leroy can’t stand properly. He pulls Yuuri down next to him on his bed, running his hands down the clothed torso.
“You’ve done well tonight,” he murmurs. “Shall I reward you?”
“This servant is glad to just have appeased you, My Lord,” Yuuri whispers back, pressing himself closer.
“Then, perhaps I’ll allow you to appease me some more.”
Lord Leroy strokes a hand down Yuuri’s spine, resting it on the small of his back. It’s used to push Yuuri towards him, their bodies now flush against each other. Yuuri lets out a breathy gasp, wrapping his arms around Lord Leroy’s neck.
Perfect.
“Relax, let JJ take care o--” Lord Leroy chokes, nose flaring up as he tries to take in air, throat constricted by Yuuri’s hands.
“What are you doing?” he gasps, jerking his shoulders in an attempt to knock Yuuri off. It only further damaged his neck. Lord Leroy was too inebriated to do anything; Yuuri made sure of that. “Let go of me this instant!”
“Shh,” Yuuri hushes him, thumbs digging into the front of his thyroid bone. “You don’t want others knowing of the activities in your bed, would you? That’d be terribly indecent of you.”
“Let go… please, I beg of you!”
“Are you? On your knees, then.”
Lord Leroy’s eyes roll back, finally succumbing to the lack of air. Yuuri unceremoniously drops him onto the ground, watching as the unconscious man slumps over, thighs resting on the balls of his feet. “Look at that: you really are begging. I’d suggest you change your stance, though; I’ve seen better posture in children half your age.”
He makes quick work of the scene, taking the empty wine bottle and knocking it against the mahogany desk. The bottle shatters, glass shards landing all over the chair, carpet, and untouched meal on Lord Leroy’s desk.
“I’ve got it,” Yuuri says to the dead room, eyes lighting up. “I’ll make pirozhkis, and steam the carrots for Yura to eat.”
He carefully selects the glass shard with the sharpest edge, running it across Lord Leroy’s fingers and wrists. The skin slices open as easily as ripping a page of paper, red streaks racing down the rapidly cooling skin.
While Lord Leroy bleeds out, Yuuri shakes off his wig, tossing it into the unlit fireplace. He selects a few more bottles of wine from the cabinet, popping the cork off and pouring some of the wine onto the floor. It stains the carpet, turning the soft white fur into shades of red. For good measure, or perhaps in an act of petty revenge, Yuuri pours some onto Lord Leroy as well, trickling some into his mouth and clothes.
Once empty, the bottles are discarded onto the floor as well, surrounding Lord Leroy like a circle of mistakes. Some get broken, similar to the first. Yuuri’s careful not to let any shards get stuck in his hands; he does have a dinner to cook, after all.
At last, the fire gets ignited, and Yuuri relishes in the heat coming off from the flames. He slips his mask on, something he really should have done much earlier. In his defense, they were uncomfortable, feeling nothing like the familiar frames he usually wore.
A series of slow claps from behind congratulate him on his well-placed timing. Yuuri doesn’t turn around, though his eyes roll as a quiet huff escapes his lips.
“Legend.”
“Eros,” the voice purrs. “I see you’ve outdone yourself once more.”
“I see you’ve found me once more.”
“How could I not?” The voice gets closer, clicking footsteps adding to the ambience. “I’ll follow you wherever you go.”
“Charming,” Yuuri notes with faint amusement. Legend chuckles, his breath against the back of Yuuri’s neck. “Is there a reason you’re here?”
“Mmm, can’t I come just because?” Hands run down the sides of his chest, slowing to a stop at his hips. They bunch up the fabric pooling there, thumbs drawing circles into the cotton. “I’d hate to miss out seeing you in this.”
“Jealous I pull off a dress better than you?”
“Jealous someone else got to see you in it,” he corrects. “It’s intoxicating.”
“Careful you don’t get too ill,” Yuuri hums. “Now, what is it? I don’t have all day.”
“I have a proposition.”
“Oh? Go on.”
Legend leans his head in, lips brushing against the shell of Yuuri’s ear. “My leader’s very interested in you.”
“Your leader or you?”
“Who says it can’t be both?”
Yuuri chuckles, stepping forward to put out the fire. The darkness envelops them both, and it is only then that he turns around, meeting Legend’s masked face. “That’s kind of you, but I’m not interested.”
“Being rogue is never a good idea,” the other warns, reaching out to recapture Yuuri. He caresses his cheek with the back of his palm, dragging a knuckle over Yuuri’s bottom lip. “Being in an organized group would benefit you.”
“Oh, liubimiy, who says I’m not?”
“What?”
Yuuri can’t help but smile, leaning in and pressing a fleeting kiss against the other’s man’s neck, right at the spots that led to Lord Leroy’s early demise. “Be a good boy and clean up after me, won’t you?”
He disappears into the night with a burning gaze seared into his back, watching him go.
- - - -
“Yuu’i!”
“Hello, Yura!” Yuuri sets down the plate of food in front of Yuri, who immediately makes a grab for him. Yuuri manages to stop his hand just in time. “Careful, you don’t want to get hurt,”
“Hurt?”
“Ouch.”
“Ouch,” Yuri nods, flapping his hands in an attempt to cool down the food. “No touch.”
“Good,” Yuri smiles. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the candy he received earlier from the store. “Do you want a treat?”
Yuri’s eyes light up, mouth widening into a toothy grin. “Want!”
Yuuri hands it over to him, watching with a settled fondness as Yuri gnaws on the candied peel. From across the room, the door swings open, and in walks Lord Plisetsky and Lord Feltsman, with Lord Nikiforov dragging his feet behind them.
“Honestly Yuuri, you spoil him,” Lord Feltsman says, shaking his head in bemusement. “I trust you’ve gotten everything on the list?”
“Yes, My Lord.” Yuuri returns the slip of paper, every word ticked off by a line drawn through, as quick and efficient as a strike.
“Excellent. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
“Of course not.”
Lord Plisetsky grins, clasping a hand on Lord Feltsman’s shoulder. “Come, Yakov, take a seat. You too, young Nikiforov. Stop moping in my house; it’s disrupting the atmosphere.”
Lord Nikiforov lets out a series of noises, similar sounding to when Yuri talks to himself. He slides into the seat next to Lord Feltsman, fingers running across his neck. Lord Feltsman rolls his eyes, tugging on the silver-haired man’s collar to snap him out of his daze.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“At least try to not act like a lovestruck maiden,” Lord Feltsman hisses. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Leave the boy alone, Yakov,” Lord Plisetky says. “We all have our distractions once in a while.”
“You’re just gloating.”
“Am I not allowed to? Then again, harassing the old is a moral crime.”
“You’re older, you saggy-faced hermit.”
“Yuu’i,” Yuri calls, tugging on the hem of Yuuri’s sleeve. “Come.”
“Hmm?” Yuuri leans down, smiling as Yuri bumps their foreheads together. “What is it, Young Master?”
“Love Yuu’i. My best.”
Well, maybe he didn’t need that raise after all. “Love you too, Yurochka.”
- - - -
Bonus:
“Katsuki! Lord Leroy’s been found dead as well!”
“Oh? What happened to him?”
“The doctors say he drank too much and cut himself. He was found next to his bed in a puddle of his own blood!”
“That’s terrible!”
“You don’t… you don’t think this was a cover-up, do you? Maybe he was murdered by the same person who took Lord Cialdini!”
“Zelensky, I’m sure Lord Leroy was just grieving his former mentor. Besides, there isn’t much connection between them. The Leroy house works in overseas oil trades, and the Cialdini house supplies mechanical parts.”
“I suppose… Don’t we do overseas trading as well? Lord Plisetsky or the Young Master aren’t going to suddenly die, are they?”
“There’s nothing to worry about. They’d have to get through all the guards first. Plus, they can kill the Young Master over my dead body, and that isn’t happening anytime soon.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have to be alive to raise him, don’t I? I was given a job, and I’m good at what I do. I plan to keep it that way.”