Cole closed the door behind him. Ilya's door.

The walls in the entrance were made of veined tile, meant to look like marble. Faded but dignified. Bronze-toned fixtures hung from the ceiling, also dulled with age but still catching the dim light.

Before he could say hello, a large bundle of black fur slipped past Ilya, bounding toward him. Tail wagging, it inched its thin wolf-shaped head closer, sniffing Cole.

“What breed is this? I don't think I've ever seen one of these before,” Cole said, digging his hands into what felt like an endless void of fur.

“Groe… Groenendael.” There was something funny about Ilya struggling with foreign words for once. “I know. I'll learn how to pronounce it eventually.”

“Yeah, I shouldn't even bother trying,” Cole laughed. “Is there a story with this one?”

“Nothing crazy. I needed some support when I moved here, both to help me relax and to keep me active… distracted. He's a great companion on my daily jogs.” Ilya watched both of them, a fond glint in his eyes. “It's Shoko, by the way.”

That reminded Cole. He was in the apartment of a veteran. One he’d be a little hesitant to salute.

“Oh, that's nice,” Cole said.

Something unspoken hung in the air.

“Come with me,” Ilya said, turning to the hallway that led further inside.

Shoko was already ahead of him, trotting excitedly across the floor.

“So…” Cole joined them.

The doors along the corridor were solid and made of thick oak. Each of them stood in perfect alignment. There was a faint scent of aging wood and traces of incense from some distant neighbor.

“What happened with you? In the past? I… don't really know how to ask,” Cole said.

“I went in hoping to fight for what my family did. I guess I should have realized it was falling apart around the time I got in. The blinders just came on when I heard their stories.” Ilya stared listlessly ahead. “Can't blame me for dreaming, right?”

Cole's subconscious was already screaming at him to tell the man he should have expected that. To tell him the cause was pointless to begin with, like he had been told.

But being face-to-face with Ilya, he couldn't. Just listening to him made Cole feel as clueless as ever.

“I guess not,” Cole said. “I wish I had more to say. Or that I could relate, but…”

Ilya made a noncommittal sound, somewhere between a hum and a sigh.

The further they got, the louder the notes of a distant song became.

“I'll tell you something more your style,” Ilya said, swinging open the door at the end of the hallway.

As they went inside, the music increased in volume. It was in a foreign language. Ilya's, presumably. And considering the sound quality, an older song.

One massive bookshelf filled an entire wall of the living room, and a Persian rug covered the hardwood floor. At the other end of the room, a door stood partially open.

The furniture was simple but sturdy, with wooden armchairs and a low, oak table in the center next to a gray couch.

The song came from a CD player standing on a wooden table in the corner. Rectangular and a mix of silver metal and black plastic. It was nothing flashy and even layered in scratches.

Shoko headed over to one of the empty corners and sank to the floor, curling up in its own warmth. Perhaps they had been on that run not too long ago.

Ilya led Cole to the couch. They both sat down, getting comfortable against the cushions.

“There was… this other guy. One of my comrades. We were both so confused and scared of ourselves and… our desires. It didn't last long. The others also found out, some of whom were our good friends. Or, uh, I thought. He ended up leaving our unit soon after. I've mostly forgotten the details. On purpose.” Ilya carried that same lethargic expression.

It was comforting to hear about such a regular event, Cole knew all too well, from someone who had been vilified to the point of looking like a scary movie villain.

“Oh, I know all about that. It really does haunt every one of us,” Cole said.

“So it does…” Ilya said.

The music ended.