It’s INDECENT— he shouldn’t do this, he knows that, but he leaves for London tomorrow and he could very well die, so what does James have to lose? Not a whole lot. He clutches the candle carefully as he makes his way down the hall. It’s shameful that he knows which room is Masha’s, but he’s spent many a night debating whether to go in; this time, he doesn’t give himself time to hesitate and change his mind before he opens the door. He doesn’t knock, he knows she’ll be awake, because anyone who can sleep the night before something like that is simply not human. Still, though, he asks the question: ❝ Are you awake? ❞
‘ … james? ’ masha flinches, slams her pen down on the table, candle flame guttering in the aftershock. it’s a foolish question - of course she’s awake, she’s always awake. sleep is something difficult to come by when it seems half the world would like to see you hanged for treason. ‘ what do you want? ’ cool, indignant eyes flicker up to the man, scrutinizing him with a vaguely uneasy gaze. he looks unkempt, somewhat disarrayed - but then again, being generally disordered is not an unusual condition for people like themselves. ‘ i would ask if you’re suffering from reservations, but i have a feeling that’s not what this is about. ’
