"I will," he agrees eagerly, his wide eyes locked on Erik's teeth. "Let me prove myself to you. I swear you won't have any complaints."

Whether or not that's actually a promise he can keep, Pyotr is at least sober, upright, and freshly-bathed when he delivers himself to Erik's front door several days later, his hair wind-mussed and sticking to his face as he waits to be allowed inside. At some point he conceded to the demands of the flesh and purchased a heavier coat...he still doesn't have a hat or a scarf, though. Or gloves...it's fine, though, right? He doesn't go outside that much anyway.