Yuri could be offended. It wouldn't take much effort; it never does. But Katsudon's still clutching the bag of pirozh-katsu like it's something incredibly precious, and he sounds so surprised (and even a little awed, maybe?) to learn more about it that it's worth giving the suggestion serious thought, rather than dismissing it outright with a cutting remark.

'I'll ask,' is what he says after a moment. 'I've only got an extra day here at home, after everything, so there wouldn't be enough time to have anything sent while I'm here. But Dedka...he'd want them to be the best. Like how your mother makes it. So...so I'll ask.'

One extra day. He's not free yet. Even after the exhibitions and the gala, there'll be press-cons and meetings and some awful dinner with the sponsors, where they'll be drowning in a sea of overpriced caviar and Yuri knows he'll eat next to nothing and let Yakov do most of the talking. Maybe he'll stare at some of the old drunks a little too long, just to see if he can make them squirm in their seats. (If that one piece of scum who was ogling Mila the other night is there, he'll definitely be in Yuri's sights.)

But it's only two more days. Two more days, and he'll be free. Yakov had promised that he could fly back to St. Petersburg on his own, have that precious extra day at home, if he behaved himself. And for that Yuri will be obedience incarnate...or nearly so. It's not like he's going to run off to another country again any time soon, after all.

The thought of Hasetsu strikes a dull note in his mind, and when he looks back at Katsudon there's a different sort of thoughtfulness in his expression. 'You're going home tonight,' he says. It's a statement, not a question.