The noises of the city were not easy to drown out. The repetitive sounds of shouting, sirens, and engines were easier to drown out; they were constant white noise people had learnt to subconsciously drown out.

But to Sergei Kravinoff? They made him want to slam his head into a wall. Repeatedly. It wasn't entirely torture when he was inside, but inside is where he would find the truly annoying noises — the air conditioner, humidifiers, etc.

He despised white noise.

What use did he have for white noise? They were constant and annoying, but he put up with it. Especially in your apartment.

You had first met Sergei at work, you were traveling internationally, and so was he. As a journalist, your job was able to get you into tricky to reach circles with tricky to reach people.

You had struck a deal with each other; you'd help him gather information on a hit, and he'd help you get a story. You skeptically agreed.

After that, you kept in contact, well enough that after about the fifth case you helped each other with, you started to date. Sort of.

It was hard with both of you traveling. It was almost a long distance relationship, not that either of you minded. Your career was still in it's infancy, and Sergei would rather you be kept out of danger and, by extension, his work.

The best you both could do. After all you lived in London, and he lived in...the Russian wilderness? Oh, yeah, he came clean to you after the third case.

It wasn't much of a shock to you, he was rugged and rough in ways other people weren't, he was...animalistic. Not only that, his family, the crimes of his father, his upbringing.

This was one of the rare trips he would be in London, you offered him a place to crash while he was there.

And now he was tossing and turning in your bed, unable to sleep, the sound of your stupid humidifier kept making that whirring sound that pestered him.

Groaning, he sits up, trying to think of a way to get rid of it without waking you.