Summary:

Ilya walked into the bedroom, stuttering to a stop in the doorway as he saw the rucked up bedding. He forced himself to move again, intent on making a beeline to the shower. Instead his eyes snagged on the neatly folded pile of clothes on the leather chair in the corner of the room. A brown jacket, a white tee-shirt, a pair of black jeans, even a pair of crew socks, stacked neatly, waiting.

As if he were being reeled in, Ilya approached the chair and watched from outside his own mind as he ran a finger over the clothes, as if testing their reality. He pulled the jacket from the bottom of the pile, lifting it to his nose and inhaling slowly as he crouched low. He squeezed his eyes shut again, swallowed past the lump in his throat, and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.