It's not quite dark yet, but it's going to be if he stays out here much longer. He ducked silently through alleyways, down sidewalks, coming to a silent stop in at the front of the address Warsman sent him to--and for some reason, he's stuck there, his hands feeling as though they're made of lead at his sides, refusing to obey his direction to knock.

It's not quite dark yet, but it will be. And although he's been out in the dark before, he doesn't want to mess with the darkness proofing on the apartment. He needs to lift his fist, knock on the door, get inside and go from there. It's not a difficult task, knocking on a door--and yet his hands remain still.

Half of him is convinced that he's going to be kicked out on his ass, that Warsman will change his mind and slam the door in Sasuke's face. The other half feels as though he should be kicked out--even from the outside, he can tell the quarters aren't huge, and he's not going to be anything but a strain on resources, and his still has his job and he can survive just fine in the wilderness so why a few more nights in the mall bother him as much as they do--

He bites down on the inside of his lip. It's because he's gone soft here, living in more comfort than he'd had even in his apartment in Konoha. He's not fighting. He's not running.

He's becoming complacent.

Sasuke shifts his weight, grimacing in disgust--at himself, at the port, at Konoha. He drags air into his lungs, and the cold of it burns his throat.

He hates the winter.

With a final frustrated huff, he takes the urge to kick himself and forces his hand up and into a fist, rapping against the door.