The couch was nice, and he didn't complain about being in this place. His eyes settled on the make-up still on the coffee table, reflecting on what had just happened previously. His left hand absently rubbed at the bandages on his right wrist, unaware of the permanent scar he bore.

Right now, he knew that he needed to give Yuri time. As long as they were here in this world, he could do that. He was dead after all, and he considered this simply borrowed time. Perhaps he was here to make things right?

"You've grown up," he replied simply. The Yuri he knew was still a teenager, and even then, he had stopped paying much attention then. "I know nothing about you anymore, yet you're still my son and have taken me in. I don't know what is involved in your job."