As soon as dinner was over and he was released, he returned to his room and crashed. Three hours, he estimated, before things were quiet enough for him to be able to move anyway. If he could sleep those three hours, it would be progress. He was getting to the point where he could function, but the finer details were becoming a blur, and he couldn't allow himself that.
With the hours since the last mental upheaval, with Karpov's visit, hours for training and self-discipline... and exhaustion to kick in, he was out like a light.
It wasn't three hours later to the minute when he woke up - that kind of precision was reserved for missions - but close enough. The quiet settling around his room was prompt enough, for his sufficiently trained mind. He splashed water on his face and neck, changed into a clean shirt - the intensive training tended to make that a necessity, sometimes several times a day - and stood just inside his window for long, still minutes as time slogged around him, treacly. But he had to make sure. That nobody was watching, that nobody was observing. That there were no new observation cameras that he couldn't evade.
And only when he was satisfied did he leave, quiet and focused. Attracting nobody's attention. Taking an indirect route and spending about as long watching the area around her dormitory before slipping down to her window.
A few more moments as the smile of her face amongst the fire spilled around it brought up a smile of his own. So beautiful. Like a spring flower, blossoming among thorns and winter dried statues of beauty that she couldn't not stand out beside.
Taps. Quiet, with the pad of a gloved finger. He wasn't calling her name out loud, not tonight, and the taps were halfway a notification that he was there and halfway a question. Was she still sure? Did she want him there?
no subject
With the hours since the last mental upheaval, with Karpov's visit, hours for training and self-discipline... and exhaustion to kick in, he was out like a light.
It wasn't three hours later to the minute when he woke up - that kind of precision was reserved for missions - but close enough. The quiet settling around his room was prompt enough, for his sufficiently trained mind. He splashed water on his face and neck, changed into a clean shirt - the intensive training tended to make that a necessity, sometimes several times a day - and stood just inside his window for long, still minutes as time slogged around him, treacly. But he had to make sure. That nobody was watching, that nobody was observing. That there were no new observation cameras that he couldn't evade.
And only when he was satisfied did he leave, quiet and focused. Attracting nobody's attention. Taking an indirect route and spending about as long watching the area around her dormitory before slipping down to her window.
A few more moments as the smile of her face amongst the fire spilled around it brought up a smile of his own. So beautiful. Like a spring flower, blossoming among thorns and winter dried statues of beauty that she couldn't not stand out beside.
Taps. Quiet, with the pad of a gloved finger. He wasn't calling her name out loud, not tonight, and the taps were halfway a notification that he was there and halfway a question. Was she still sure? Did she want him there?