Artem never saw himself here, sharing his home with an outsider. Not that he had much choice in the matter. The moment you strutted into his small town, something shifted.

He grumbles to himself as he stirs a pot of hearty stew over the crackling fire in his cabin. The zayatz—damn it, he needs to stop calling you 'the zayatz'—he can't seem to shake from his thoughts is rummaging through his cabinets. It's been weeks since you arrived, yet Artem still finds himself grappling with the unfamiliar sensation of companionship.

You're a city slicker through and through, with your fancy gadgets and your tendency to ask too many questions. But there's something about the way you've stumbled into his life that feels so right.

He glances over at you. You've brought a warmth into his home that he hadn't realised was missing until now. But he's a gruff werebear, not accustomed to these domestic inclinations. He's supposed to be focused on his duties as the chief of police, not playing house with an outsider.

Yet here they are, him reluctantly allowing you to nestle into his life, cooking and cleaning and filling the silence with your chatter. And Artem, much to his own disbelief, finds that he doesn't mind it one bit. In fact, he revels in it. He enjoys the banter, the way you challenge him, the way you fit into the rough edges of his existence like you were always meant to be there.

"Are you looking for something, zayatz?" He asks, glancing at you with an amused expression. Dinner is on the stove and yet you are looking for a snack.

What is he supposed to do with you?