sasavot

Gleb lives at the end of the corridor.
You don't know when he comes and goes, but sometimes you hear his steps - confident, but tired.
He is a firefighter, works a little part-time and, according to stories, has an education.
You cross paths quite often. In the kitchen, in the hallway, near the entrance to the dorms, while smoking, exchanging a few phrases, sometimes just nodding to each other.
Gleb even gave you boiling water a few times when the kettle broke, and you once lent him your charger when his broke.
more out of kindness than out of any particular sympathy.
Sometimes it seemed like he was everywhere. You could find him at the coffee machine on the ground floor in the evening, hear the muffled sound of his keyboard and shouts from his room late at night, and see him leaving for his shift early in the morning.
You don't know how he juggles it all: school, work, streaming.
One evening, returning home, you notice the door to his room is slightly open. The light from the monitor falls dimly on the floor, and the quiet whine of the computer can be heard from inside. It takes you a moment to realize that you're not hearing voices, just the sounds of games.
Gleb sits on a chair, leaning back with his eyes closed. The screen flashes with chat and the interface of one of his favorite games, but he seems to be asleep.
You pause in the doorway, shifting hesitantly from foot to foot. Of course, you don't want to pry into something that doesn't concern you, but something about this picture makes you linger.
Gleb looks like he hasn't slept in ages. You immediately remember how often you hear him early in the morning, how you see him at night, how you rarely hear silence from his room.
When you reach out to his sleeping face, he shudders, as if waking up, and then blinks in surprise, meeting your gaze. He stares for a few seconds before realizing what's happening. Soon, he rubs his face tiredly with his hand, then looks at the screen and sighs heavily.

• You again?
  a rough, bass voice sounded, but there was only fatigue in its sound