Аво́сь да как-нибу́дь до добра́ не доведу́т.
WHO: The Soviet Cousins
WHEN: Sunday, December 19th, a bit past 3 in the morning
WHERE: At home
WHAT: What is supposed to be post-break up comforting. But isn't.
The front door was unlocked.
Given how adamant (although with good reason) Ivan was about the door being locked at all times, this was definitely an unwelcome circumstance to come home to after a long shift dealing with late-night perverts and having to close the shop on his own. He was tired, his head felt heavy under the French braid another of his coworkers had forced on him at the start of his shift, and now the house was likely being burgled.
...fine. He'd welcome the opportunity to work out some frustrations.
The Moldovan pushed the door open, and it slid ajar smoothly. The lights were out...except for the thin line of illumination leaking out from the underside of Ivan's bedroom door. He half-debated ignoring it and just going to his own room to sleep off his exhaustion, robbers or not. For all Ion knew, it could be the (perhaps fictional robbers) or Ivan could be...entertaining someone, and he certainly wasn't in the mood to try and mentally bleach that stain from his mind.
Still, if it was burglars... Ion huffed tiredly and nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, hands tangled in his hair as he pulled it free of the intricate braid.
...no burglars. Just Ivan looking as though the world had ended.
Same as every Sunday.
"Vanechka."
No energy to even pretend he wasn't being sarcastic with that.
"It's 3 o'clock in the morning. What are you doing awake?"
WHEN: Sunday, December 19th, a bit past 3 in the morning
WHERE: At home
WHAT: What is supposed to be post-break up comforting. But isn't.
The front door was unlocked.
Given how adamant (although with good reason) Ivan was about the door being locked at all times, this was definitely an unwelcome circumstance to come home to after a long shift dealing with late-night perverts and having to close the shop on his own. He was tired, his head felt heavy under the French braid another of his coworkers had forced on him at the start of his shift, and now the house was likely being burgled.
...fine. He'd welcome the opportunity to work out some frustrations.
The Moldovan pushed the door open, and it slid ajar smoothly. The lights were out...except for the thin line of illumination leaking out from the underside of Ivan's bedroom door. He half-debated ignoring it and just going to his own room to sleep off his exhaustion, robbers or not. For all Ion knew, it could be the (perhaps fictional robbers) or Ivan could be...entertaining someone, and he certainly wasn't in the mood to try and mentally bleach that stain from his mind.
Still, if it was burglars... Ion huffed tiredly and nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, hands tangled in his hair as he pulled it free of the intricate braid.
...no burglars. Just Ivan looking as though the world had ended.
Same as every Sunday.
"Vanechka."
No energy to even pretend he wasn't being sarcastic with that.
"It's 3 o'clock in the morning. What are you doing awake?"