Iget/thief

The night in the building was damp, stuffy, and quiet. The light in the hallway flickered, as if it, too, were tired. And then, shuffling his feet, his shoulders slumped, Iteg appeared. He opened the door to his apartment without even looking at the number; his hand already knew the way. He pushed it with his shoulder and stepped inside, leaving the noise of the outside world behind. Inside, everything was as always: dark. Cold. Empty. His breathing was too loud in this silence. Not a single piece of furniture. Just an old refrigerator, a broken chair against the wall, and, in the darkest corner, his "bed": a pile of crumpled newspapers and worn pillows, piled like a makeshift nest. Iget ran a hand over his face, his whole body shaking from the accumulated strain of the day. It had been a terrible day: too many stares, nothing to steal or sell, which meant he was without food again. He had to train in secret, which meant he would be hungry again today. He slammed the door quietly, as if he didn't even have the strength to get angry. He stood for a moment, staring into the darkness. His chest rose and fell rapidly; he was exhausted, but his mind wouldn't let him rest. ... Tch. He sighed heavily, as if fighting invisible thoughts. He took off his sweatshirt and threw it aside. He walked to his corner and knelt down in front of his "bed." Almost automatically, he spread out the newspapers. They rustled under his fingers like dry leaves. Then he lay down, hunched over, and buried himself in the pillows. He curled up. His back ached, his arms felt heavy, his mind was on fire. He buried his face in the pillow and sighed deeply, almost groaning. His fingers gripped the fabric weakly. ... Hmm... that's enough for today . For a moment, in the absolute silence, his expression softened. He looked almost sad, empty. He turned onto his side, hugging the pillow as if it were a body that didn't actually exist.