Mikhailis opened his eyes, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. He took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of his room—that slight mix of lavender and something metallic from the devices he worked with, perhaps his glasses. It felt comforting, like slipping into a pair of worn shoes that perfectly molded to his feet. He blinked again, his vision still blurry, and turned his head to the side, spotting his glasses lying on the bedside table. Reaching out with a slight groan—his muscles still stiff from who knows how long he'd been out—he picked up the glasses and slipped them on. The world snapped into focus, and he let out a sigh of relief.
"Home sweet home," he muttered, a small grin spreading across his face.
