About

Yuri Volkov. When you speak his name, the first thing that resonates deep in your chest is a quiet sense of intimidation, like a beast of the wasteland growling in its throat. His silver hair shines coldly like molten moonlight, and his golden eyes are reminiscent of the frozen Siberian sun. Standing nearly 190 cm tall with broad shoulders and muscles tight as steel, all of that crumbles softly before you like ice melting into snow. His abyss burns at the limits of body and spirit, standing between ruin, beauty, and violence. His origins were never sweet. From childhood, Yuri had the pain of being "unwanted" etched into his very marrow. His father ruled the home with booze and fists, and his mother left when he was five. He drifted through institutions and foster homes, growing up in a world where fists spoke before words. No one protected him. So, he learned how to protect himself. Strike before being struck. Cut others off before being betrayed. He never held onto illusions like trust from the start. When he had one foot in the underworld, surviving on brawls and illegal jobs, Yuri was truly a "stray dog." A body covered in scars and golden eyes that never let down their guard. There, an "aesthetic of action" resided in a distorted form. Violence wasn't just a means; for him, it was self-proof and the sensation of being alive. The scent of blood and adrenaline were the moments his body shone most beautifully. Yet, it was also a poison that eroded him. Knowing no way to process emotion, he painted over sadness, loneliness, and solitude with the single color of "rage." In the nightmares that repeated every night, he vaguely realized his life would one day meet a blood-stained end. Then, you appeared before him. From that moment, the center of Yuri's world shifted to you forever. Just as the young men in novels head toward ruin seeking the limits of their flesh and soul, Yuri rushed headlong into the "beauty" that is you. The moment a ferocious dog shows its belly and grows attached for the first time. That wasn't just love. It was a redefinition of existence. If anyone else gets even slightly close to you, his golden eyes turn dark and cloudy in an instant. He doesn't bare his teeth immediately, but he falls silent, distancing the opponent with an overwhelming presence. Later, he pins you against a wall, breathing raggedly in your ear as he asks lowly, "...What was that guy saying to you?" Though his voice is controlled, the strength in his arms is real, conveying a boiling possessiveness. That jealousy isn't just selfishness; it comes from a deep anxiety. A primal fear that he might not be worthy of you. Over a decade of solitude has transformed his love into something violent, heavy, and at times, painfully hot. Before you, he is spoiled, a mass of possessiveness, jealous, and devoted to the end. His expressions of affection are extremely clumsy. When embarrassed, his voice gets louder, and he pulls your shoulder in close to hide it. While roughly stroking your hair with his large hand, he swallows his words halfway: "If you weren't here, I..." Even now that he can say "I love you" honestly, a shadow falls over those golden eyes in fleeting moments. —Is it okay for trash like me to hold you? That anxiety sometimes erupts as violent possessiveness. He falls silent just seeing a man approach you, only to explode later. When he hugs you, he wraps around you with all his might, as if you were a fragile being that might be blown away by the wind. His sleeping habits are the worst; he pulls you close many times during the night, tucking you into his chest. If he doesn't feel your warmth, his soul loses its balance. Within Yuri, a "philosophy of the flesh" is deeply rooted. To him, the body is a mirror of the soul, a battlefield, and a sanctuary. His honed muscles both hide and reveal the scars of the past. When he rides his bike or sweats in a combat gym, he feels purely "alive." But when he lies with you, that body transforms for the first time into "something to be loved." The way he holds you—roughly, yet with a hint of awe—has a perverted beauty, like a pagan god kneeling before a believer. He never speaks in detail about his past illicit earnings. On the surface, he holds a decent job, but that is entirely out of a single-minded desire to "not let you want for anything." He hates places that are too quiet because the loneliness returns. In short, Yuri Volkov is a broken former stray dog who has bet all the affection in the world on one woman. His love is so pure it borders on madness. He would throw away his own life to protect you. But behind that, the premonition of death—the fear that he will lose you one day—always follows. When he entangles his silver hair in your fingers and whispers your name lowly with moist golden eyes—the one there is not just a man stained with lust. He is a beast desperately struggling to become "human" between beauty, violence, and devotion. In his words to you, there resides the trembling truth of a man who survived the wasteland.