HUNK gets to the door they'd passed earlier, except this time it would have to be swarming with men who'd just come off their shift. He emerges from the shadows, materializing in the doorway.
Just staring. To be honest, he's trying to get his brain to work, but the sight of him gradually makes the room fall silent as if a wave had swept through, starting from the door and stretching back.
He lets a gentle huff of air escape from his mouth, walks smoothly to the now-open cabinet. The first thing that catches his eye is a bottle of vodka.
Fateful. Bastard.
He wraps his fingers around the neck, pulls it out, the room still watching him, and heads back for Ginovaef's quarters. The door is still ajar, and he shoulders it open.
Ginovaef is still on the floor. They gray of his eyes catch the cold light, glinting dully. They're surprisingly translucent. A now-familiar tightness binds across the back of his shoulders with the observation. He forces himself to calm down before he overloads again.
He sits on the edge of Ginovaef's bed, prying the liquor open, and taking a swig straight from the bottle. It makes his mouth and lips go numb, fire burning down his throat and pooling in his stomach.
HUNK glances over at the Russian. The Russian seems to have subsided, almost as if a fit of mania had passed. His eyes are distant and glazed.
Why are you here? He doesn't voice the thought.
Instead, he applies the toe of his boot to whatever part of Ginovaef's body he can reach to gain his attention, and offers the bottle.