Dostoevski sat silently at the small coffee table of the hotel. You did not have a permanent home, and having to move around so often didn't allow for you or him to have much stuff with you...

He was staring up at the ceiling, not quite daydreaming, but rather planning. You had seen him like this many times. The stoic and polite man, seemingly caught up in his own mind.

You sat silently on the bed in front of that coffee table, watching him