Nine [February 23, 1964, 10pm]

[ilya-imanov.livejournal.com]

Ilya stared at the ceiling.

Was Andrei going to be back here to sleep tonight?

He missed the simple things deeply - falling asleep with a lazy smile from some last-second dozy joke, sharing warmth, secret midnight excursions to the gym...

Every single bit of it.

Ilya chewed the inside of his lip. He was better at carrying on with the way things were now, but somehow he just couldn't let it go. Hard, when he passed the guy all the time, and smiled and pretended nothing was wrong.

And he didn't want to. He really, really didn't want to.

He heard the sound of bootsteps in the corridor, and sat upright. Who was that, he mused, trying to place the rhythm of the footfalls.

Too heavy for Charushkin. Besides, he was already in his bunk. He seemed to have turned himself to bed earlier the last couple of nights.

Ilya's heart opted to jump a beat, much to his annoyance, on the slightest hope it would be his door opened.

If not, he'd find out who it was. He needed a good comrade right now.