Far too much time has been spent in Eli's office. Truth be told, this isn't simple upset. Lev is grieving a great many things, make no mistake, but he's also searching. Snooping, his Pakhan would call it. There are a great many things he'd like to come by in this abandoned space. The whereabouts of Eli, some means of finding him, something more than just the comfort of this space. Real fucking stupid to attempt, considering everyone knows just how thorough Eli is no matter how rushed. It's with a heavy sigh that he sits on the couch, not daring to take that seat behind the desk. Betwixt his fingers, Eli's favored pen— a cheap Bic kind of guy, the sort that stop writing before they're even out of ink. His thoughts have turned inward to recent events. What would Eli do. A sigh escapes him, taking that knowledge and putting his own fucking twist on it.
Several texts later, that pen is tucked behind his ear and Lev's palms are sweaty as anxiety courses through his veins. He's up, moving as fast as he fucking can ( not that fast ). The door is barely closed and locked behind him; he barrels toward the kitchen in the hopes that he might beat Zed there. Best not to get caught in that lie— not that it matters. Anyone within a one mile radius could identify this particular gait on the manor’s polished, oak floors.
Fucking substandard. Now isn't the time to reinforce those ideals that everyone surely has. Lev can feel it when they look at him, that perceived weakness they see in him. They compare him to Eli, a man whose only legacy is Lev. Fuck, how could he ever hope fucking live up to that? He wipes his hands on his jeans before reaching for the coffee pot. Leftover dregs are dumped, pot rinsed, and machine refilled; the handle is slippery in his grip, but he gets it fucking done. By the time his cousin would arrive, Lev is dumping coffee grounds into the basket. "Людям нужно начать чистить это дерьмо и не оставлять его." Eight cups, four spoonfuls. He's lost count, and one glance into the basket has him biting back a sigh and dumping a fifth serving of grounds before shutting the lid. Start button pressed, and Lev turns to face Zed. He's on guard, and it's a foreign feeling around this particular pillar in his life. Zed is a comfort. He's safe. That's what had been drilled into him; complete trust. Right now, it's all there. Except the comfort. Slow breath in. Count to three. Exhale, counting to four. Clench and unclench your fists. Focus. Relax your jaw. Don't avoid eye contact.
"Я хочу стоять в этой обуви, Зед."
@zedekiah-vasile