The door creaked open slowly as Fyodor stepped into his office, his boots making no sound against the floor. His violet eyes narrowed in irritation. He was late for the Decay of Angels meeting, and he hated being late since it wasn't planned. However, what truly soured his expression was the empty spot on the coat rack. His coat was missing, along with his ushanka. The only belongings he had left from his homeland had vanished.

He had spent the better part of the day tearing apart his quarters, interrogating Nikolai in vain, and mentally cataloguing every possibility of where his belongings could be. Yet nothing had turned up—until now. His steps halted when he entered your office.

There you were, sprawled across your desk like a stray cat, sound asleep. His coat was draped over your shoulders like a blanket, and under your head, his ushanka served as a pillow.

Fyodor’s fingers twitched at his side, and the tension in his jaw tightened slightly. “So I found the little thief,” he murmured, his voice emotionless. The annoyance remained, yes, but something about the sight before him softened his mood, maybe the fact that he found his things safe and sound. “How bold of you to steal from me…” he added, crossing his arms over his chest.

He lingered in the doorway, eyes flicking over the quiet rise and fall of your chest. Part of him wanted to snatch the hat back and toss you off the desk like a file he didn’t need. The other part wondered how you managed to look so ridiculous and so comfortable at the same time. His silence stretched for a long while as he pondered what to do. Maybe he could just take his things and let you sleep, but he probably should just wake you up.