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taras_olekseiTaras stepped into the hall, closing his door behind him.
He had showered and changed, and now had on the casual clothes he wore to work out, complete with a light jacket over his tank, to cover his shoulders and arms. That was better. Easier than having his tattoos on display, even if it was only Isaev's brother and his comrade.
Taras carried the bottle of cognac that he'd brought with him from Leningrad, Isaev's brand.
He felt the strange need to see Ilarion.
Taras crossed to Isaev's door and knocked briskly, then opened it and stepped inside, pausing to assess the situation.
The room was mostly as he'd left it. The Ukrainian sat in the corner, still clutching Lasha's vodka bottle, though it looked considerably less full than before. Taras frowned at that.
Ilarion and Andrusha sat next to each other, leaning close with chairs pushed together, like they had been talking.
Taras wasn't certain how long he'd been gone. A while.
He held up the bottle, as if it had only been a few minutes.
"Brought more cognac," he said.
He had showered and changed, and now had on the casual clothes he wore to work out, complete with a light jacket over his tank, to cover his shoulders and arms. That was better. Easier than having his tattoos on display, even if it was only Isaev's brother and his comrade.
Taras carried the bottle of cognac that he'd brought with him from Leningrad, Isaev's brand.
He felt the strange need to see Ilarion.
Taras crossed to Isaev's door and knocked briskly, then opened it and stepped inside, pausing to assess the situation.
The room was mostly as he'd left it. The Ukrainian sat in the corner, still clutching Lasha's vodka bottle, though it looked considerably less full than before. Taras frowned at that.
Ilarion and Andrusha sat next to each other, leaning close with chairs pushed together, like they had been talking.
Taras wasn't certain how long he'd been gone. A while.
He held up the bottle, as if it had only been a few minutes.
"Brought more cognac," he said.
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no subject
Date: 2008-09-23 05:00 pm (UTC)"Da. There's no problem."
It was true, he realized, though he didn't understand why. Not that he was arguing.
Taras stretched, spine popping, the tense set of his shoulders easing. He paused to pour himself another glass, taking a sip, topping it off.
"We're comrades, Lasha. That's what matters."
Taras moved, shifting to sit next to Isaev. He rested his back against the chair, so that they sat bare shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip.
He drank, thinking about what Lasha had said. About the man at his side. About devotion.
He turned his head to look at Ilarion, meeting his eyes, sidelong.
"There's no use having everything if there's no one to share it with."