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Summary
A man looks up from the couch. He is… long. Evgeny doesn't know how else to describe him. Lanky and tall, the man sitting on the sofa resembles a dropped pile of kindling, all sharp angles and limbs akimbo. Despite the room's occupancy, the air is somehow warmer inside, and the space is bigger than the others he's seen so far.
Shuddering in the doorway, Evgeny tucks his chin deeper into his collar. He glances at the vacant couch.
“M-may I?” He asks through chattering teeth.
The man looks him up and down, expression blank. Vaguely unimpressed.
“Whatever,” he says, “it's not my house.”