[Yuri follows along helplessly, squinting to block out the majority of the light. his hands were curled into the front of his shirt, just gripping down on the fabric as his head swiveled back and forth. It's almost uncomfortable how big and luxuious this place is, but...he supposes he shouldn't be too upset. It's Victor Nikiforov's house.]

Y...You cook? [He couldn't remember having seen that in any interview or article.]