Yoru watches Zephariel throw the proposals and the facetious invitations into the marble fireplace with an unexpected calmness and leisure. On the burgundy velvet chaise-lounge, Yuri lies with a practiced lethargy – one where his porcelain skin is partly visible through the open collars of the oversized shirt while the rest of his supple body is left to the beholder's imagination. It must be hell living with him, Yoru bemuses, nodding with satisfaction. I love it.