Work Text:
Pitter patter, pitter patter.
The gentle sound of rainfall kept the young boy company as he chose to stay up rereading one of the books given to him to study languages. He only had a bedside lamp to illuminate the pages—if it was up to him, he'd keep the lights on, but his roommate was such a light sleeper.
Hell, Adamska hadn't even remembered his name. Igor? No… that's not it. Ivan? That sounds like it.
The boy was a fast reader, it had to do with the fact that he's read this particular book so many times that he's memorized it word for word.
He didn't like to admit it but it gets lonely sometimes. He knows they were trained for a greater future—at least… that's what he was told—but he wondered how other children were raised. The Colonel told Adamska that he was above other children, and that may be true, but… he's never met other children aside from his pretty-faced roommate.
Pitter, patter, pitter patter.
Adamska closed the book and returned it to the stack on his bedside table. He opened one of the drawers and took out a little wooden horse from it. The horse came into his possession when he visited the cinemas—again, to learn English—and they were giving them away to children. Truth be told, Adamska was surprised when the Colonel allowed him to keep it. Perhaps it was an incentive to study hard? Who knows for sure…
Still, he hid it as best he could for fear that one day, it will be taken away from him.
The boy stood in front of the window and placed the wooden horse on the windowsill. He imagined himself atop the horse, riding gallantly through a hot desert during a sandstorm. He may be trained to be a soldier, but you can't take away the child inside of him.
A tap on the glass caught his attention. Strange… no one was around. Only when he focused did he see the reflection of an old man with long grey hair and glasses. Yet when he looked behind him, the old man was nowhere to be seen. Adamska covered his mouth to stop himself from screaming and waking his roommate up.
It's not that this was the first time he's seen the old specter, he always seemed to come when it was raining, and he never meant any harm; it's just that… Adamska's not used to it yet. He continued to play with his wooden horse, occasionally glancing at the specter's reflection in the window. He looked… Adamska couldn't quite place a word on it. The specter was always smiling, but it was one of those smiles that seemed to hide so much more.
He wondered if his roommate can see the specter too. Surely he'd talk about it if he did, right?
Adamska did speak about it once, but he was met with ridicule, so he vowed to never speak about it again.
Maybe the specter chooses to only appear before him, but why? Was he lonely in the afterlife, too? Was the specter reminded of someone he knew in his life?
So many questions.
Whatever the answer may be, Adamska actually enjoyed the company. Even if neither of them spoke, he felt less alone in the old man's presence. Whenever it rained, he'd always stand by the windowsill even if the old specter's arrival would startle him—surely he'd get used to it eventually.
Adamska raised an eyebrow when he felt a gentle weight on the top of his head, when he looked at the reflection, he could see the old man had placed one of his hands on his head. The boy felt two gentle pats on his head, and despite it being an odd sensation, those phantom pats felt… nice.
He could see that smile on the old man's face again, and it made him smile, too. If only he knew who this was… perhaps if he eavesdropped on the Colonel, he may find some information. Either that, or he can figure out a way to ask the specter himself. He seemed kind enough.
Much to his dismay, the rain died down a few moments after, and with it, the specter's reflection. Adamska let out a soft sigh and childishly wished he could stay for a little longer. He then stored the wooden horse away and climbed into his bed.
He felt stupid for imagining such things, but before he closed his eyes, he imagined that old man tucking him into bed. Kids in the movies he watched always had someone to tuck them in! Sometimes… Adamska wanted that, too. But he will never admit it. He was being trained to be a soldier. Soldiers don't have anyone to tuck them in. The boy pulled the covers up to his neck and closed his eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep.