Father Seraphim sighed, listening intently for any sound from Aleksandr. His left hand unraveled the prayer rope around his right arm and began thumbing through the knots--a nervous habit he had picked up from seminary.  Coincidentally, it was a habit smiled upon in seminary.  Matushka Theodora had tied the knots herself for one of his birthdays.  He could remember the callouses on her fingers--she used to tie the knots so quickly.  He didn't mind that her hands weren't as soft looking; her love always radiated through her works... and her smile.  He looked down a the prayer rope--it had been used over and over through the years, but he was determined to make it last.  He didn't want to [I]not[/I] use it because that would defeat its purpose.  However, he did not want it falling apart, either.  This week had already deemed to be a very stressful one.  Perhaps, Alekandr was feeling sick because he was not eating anything.

Aleksandr stretched his body out the best her could on the tiled bathroom floor, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath through a sick smile covering his mouth. [i]God, if only I could fucking actually kill myself.[/I]  The coldness of the tile touched his bare forearms and tingled through his body. Where was God when he even needed him?  He reopened his eyes to stare directly at the bathroom light, brightening the white room. There were cracks on the wall by the ceiling--which had been there since the beginning of his father and him moving into the house.  He concentrated on them, staring at the void beyond the separation.  He wanted to stay on the bathroom floor forever, letting the stinging of cold tile numb his pain.

Father Seraphim got up from the couch, tucking his prayer rope into his pocket. He went over to the bathroom and knocked on the door, "Aleksy..." he waited for a response, "Are you alright?"

Aleksandr turned to look at the crack under the door. His indisposed smile vanished as he was brought back to reality.  He sat up, "I'm fine..." he flushed the toilet and stood up to wash his hands.  The cold water poured over his hands, his smile flickered back on his face and faded when he looked at his reflection in the mirror.  He turned the faucet off and dried his hands.  He turned around and opened the bathroom door to see his father still standing immediately close to the door, concern in his eyes.

"Just a small bug?" His father asked.

"Yeah... I'll make it to Vespers, tonight..." he gave a half smile.

"Very good," his father nodded his head.  He turned, "I have some reading I need to get done.  I will be in my room [I]if[/I] you change your mind," his shoulders relaxed as he walked back to the desk in his room, to read.

Aleksandr stood between the bathroom and his room for a moment, shaking the sickness off of him. He poked his head into his bedroom to see Sylvia listening to music. He took several steps forward into his room, "Hey," he said rather loudly--not quite sure if he had her attention, "We should work on the project..." [@Arista]